“What’s this, Sugar?”
“This is the back of the bike make-out session you owe me.”
A grin creases his face, his closely trimmed beard and still growing hair no longer jarring after a year of getting used to them. “You’re right. This is a debt I shouldn’t leave outstanding,” he says, leaning in, hovering his lips in front of mine.
I close the distance, tugging him closer until we’re chest to chest, the handlebars supporting my back as I wrap my legs around him, unbothered when my skirt slips all the way down my legs, pooling in my lap.
Sometime over the last while, my careful lover has come into his own, his natural intensity taking over. So I’m not surprised when his hand wraps around the back of my neck, and his soft voice whispers something that takes whatever corner of my swimsuit bottom that was still dry and soaks it all the way through. “Hands behind you, Sugar. Don’t move until I tell you to.”
I brace myself, gaze locked on him as he slips first one leg of mine, then the other, from the bikini bottom I wore for the party, tucking it into his pocket while staring at my exposed flesh. A knuckle brushes my slit, and I shiver, aching, wanting more.
“I’m going to be selfish, sweetness. I’m going to take this first orgasm for myself, with nobody else around. And when you walk in there on wobbly legs, dripping from what I’ve done to you, they’ll all know exactly what happened out here.”
I nod, already struggling with words, wanting exactly what he’s offering.
It’s achingly slow, exceptionally thorough.
And when I come with a gasp, squeezing his fingers like I plan to keep them inside me forever, he finally presses his lips to mine.
“You come so beautifully,” he whispers, still knuckle deep in me, the outline of his erection mouth-watering as I try to find my mind.
“God, you’re handsome,” I eke out, taking in his dark skin and golden eyes, the gentle smile and the wicked intelligence that shines through everything he does.
He presses his lips to mine again, and reluctantly pulls his fingers free, triggering an aftershock, swallowing my gasp.
When I finish trembling, his smile returns, softer, just for me. “You can move your arms now,” he says, and I wrap them around him, wishing that there were fewer layers between us.
He doesn’t wipe off his fingers, nor does he lick them. Instead, he feeds them to me one at a time, his voice even deeper than it was before. “Taste how sweet you are. Sample yourself before the rest of us feast.”
Shimmering arousal surrounds us as he helps me off the bike and into the villa.
Where three more guys wait for me, promising a never-ending night of worship and love. And a whole lot of orgasms. Of course.
Two Years Later
Spring break came way too late. I thought law school would be like undergrad, just with everybody doing the same thing—I was grossly mistaken. The amount of reading alone is enough to bury me, and the practice briefs make me want to cry.
Thank God Walker’s suffering through grad school with me. Art history isn’t his favorite, but if he wants to be an authenticator, well, this is the way to do it.
Trips has taken over running the legal side of our business, with RJ as his partner. Jansen’s in charge of the constructionarm, while I organize the less than legal jobs we take on occasionally.
Once Walker’s fully trained, he’ll be our valuations expert. It’s important to know how much an art collection is worth before we provide recommendations for how to secure it, because nobody knows security as well as a bunch of thieves.
Then we’ll be fully set up, a one-stop shop for all our wealthy clients’ needs. Art, digital assets, real estate, investing advice, and with me, a legal eye to verify that contracts are exactly what we expect. Nothing more, nothing less.
At least, that’s what we want people to think.
Closing my laptop for what I hope will be a solid week of rest, I flop back onto my epically large bed, letting it soothe my frazzled nerves. Prince Fluffington plops on top of me, his purrs rumbling like my motorcycle’s engine. “What are you doing here?” I ask him. “Shouldn’t you be playing with Jansen down on your jungle gym?”
The cat doesn’t answer, but Jansen does. “I was hoping you’d be done,” he says, flying into bed beside me. The mattress bounces, and I giggle.
Pushing the cat off me, I curl around Jansen, kissing him like I’ve missed him. Because I have. With the amount of work I have to do for class, let alone the planning that needs to be done for our next heist, my guys have been taking a very patient back seat.
I don’t much like them there.
Jansen meets me beat for beat, and soon I can hardly think because of the pleasure of his tongue, the smoothness of his chin-length hair and prickle of his barely there beard.
“Trouble,” I mutter as he pulls my shirt off, kissing my collarbone.
