Page 4 of Kept

I mean, I did it yesterday, but there’s nothing quite like the feel of clean bedding.

An hour later, I’m crouched in front of the little shelf in my corner. My fingers trace over the old, cracked spines almost reverently. Carefully, I pull out a tattered hardback copy of Pride and Prejudice.

“Hello, Mr. Darcy,” I murmur absently, curling into my chair. I pull at my hair until it offers a cushion for my arm, opening the book to the ballroom scene.

“Such an ass,” I mutter fondly.

My hand reaches out for caffeine-y goodness, but it only grasps empty air.

Ireallyhope Ethan brings coffee. If I’m really lucky, he might bring a new book too. My eyes flick to the clock.

A few hours. Plenty of time.

2 – Ryder

“God, you’re sexy.”

The dyed redhead – topandbottom – underneath me groans, her ass jiggling around my cock as I speed up, my hips pumping into her. My eyes aren’t on the cougar giving her bestWhen Harry MetSallyimpression though.

Winking, I blow myself a kiss in the huge mirror the chick has hanging above her bed.

“Fucking gorgeous,” I coo. Fuck knows I need the motivation to keep going. She moans loudly as I reach forward and casually tug on her nipple, flicking my fingers until she convulses around me with a strangled scream.

“So good, sweetheart,” I praise easily, sliding my cock out and shoving it back into my pants, zipping up the denim before she can get a good look and realize that only one of us came until our knees were shaking.

Preening, she rolls onto her back, long painted talons plucking at her surgically enhanced tits as she grins at me. “Second round?”

“I would, but I think that filthy cunt has sucked me dry.” Just as I knew she would, she groans at my words, her arms flopping to her sides.

“Close the door,” she mumbles, but her eyes are already sliding shut.

I wait until a loud snore shakes the walls – and holyshit. No wonder our client doesn’t hang around after his weekly fuck. This woman could be a weapon of mass destruction with the strength of her snoring.

Sliding off the bed, I casually make my way over to the painting hanging opposite. There’s a little wooden sign in fancy curling calligraphy underneath announcing the prestigious artist, and I roll my eyes.

It’s the work of a minute to swing the false door open, and I grin at the metal in front of me. You’d think, with all the expensive technology hanging around now, people would learn that a safe in the bedroom isnotthe best way to store expensive shit.

But it makes my life easier, and I whistle under my breath as I twist the tumblers. Gina was kind enough to share that today is her birthday, and it only takes a few quick guesses before it’s opening smoothly and I can grab the little blue velvet bag that sits in the middle.

So. Fucking. Cliché.

As I head out, I spy a little notepad next to the still-snoring Gina. Grabbing the pen, I scribble a quick note before I sweep out, jiggling my prize in my hand.

You snore like an agitated hippo.

P.S. Your painting is a fake. A shit one.

Whistling, I exit Gina’s West Side apartment block, sweeping straight past the concierge watching the game on his little screen. His beady little eyes don’t even look up as I head through the double glass doors into the still busy New York street.

I merge into the crowd, just another faceless New Yorker as I stroll leisurely down the sidewalk. I wander for a few streets until I reach the bar where I charmed gaudy, snoring Gina out of her panties, ducking into a side alley to grab my bike.

Well. Technically, it’s Enzo’s bike.

Not my fault he didn’t lock the door to his precious garage.

He might actually stab me for taking his one and only love on a little joyride into the city, but I can’t say I care as I pull out, uncaring of the cop car on the corner as I shoot past. They’ve got bigger fish to fry than one guy on a bike going a little over the speed limit in this area.

Although they might be more interested if they knew I was carting around a ten-million dollar necklace.

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