The Thief

  I take the head inside my mouth, giving a light, experimental suck. His hips buck, driving him in further. So I take as much of him as I can.

  “Ace,” he breathes.

  I pull out slowly before going back down. This time I use my hand along with my mouth, sucking and fisting, slow and teasing, up and down. Each time I draw back, my tongue does a small swirl around his head. He growls with frustration and fists my hair.

  “So good,” he groans, writhing on my bed.

  That I’m managing to drive him crazy fills me with need. There’s a deep, heavy throb between my legs. It’s building, begging for relief.

  “Ride me, babe,” he rasps.

  I give one final flick of my tongue before letting him go. Straddling his lap again, I position his cock and slowly lower myself down until I’m full. There’s a brief sense of relief until need hits harder and hotter than before.

  His groan is strangled.

  “Babe.”

  I rise up. Yes. And sink down, my head tipping back.

  Kelly grabs my ass cheeks, his fingers digging in. “Condom,” he spits out with a harsh breath.

  Dammit. I go to draw up and off him, but he holds me in place. “Kelly—”

  “Just …” He hisses. His muscles are rigid, his brow furrowed tight with concentration. “Don’t move.”

  So of course my hips wriggle instinctively.

  “Christ.” Kelly groans, his hips thrusting upward, once, twice, slamming into me. “Get off, get off, get off.” He practically throws me off him and moments later, he grunts and spurts over his own belly. “Dammit, Ace.” He fists the bedsheets, veins thick and body straining.

  My cheeks heat. “I’m sorry.”

  Kelly stretches his arm out, breathing heavy as he reaches for the tissue box on my bedside table. He fumbles and it falls to the floor. I scramble from the bed to help him, grabbing the tissues in tufts as I return the box to the table. I turn. He’s stretched out on the bed, swiping a hand down his face, appearing bothered and sated all at the same time.

  I wipe at the sticky mess on his belly, and he takes the tissues from my hand. “I can do it.” His voice is thick and gruff. He rises and seats himself on the edge of my bed. “I’ve never gone bareback before. It feels fuckin’ incredible.”

  Kelly’s right. It was intense and overwhelming, and so beautifully intimate.

  He stands and walks naked from my room, the used tissues in hand. I watch the glorious sight, my thighs trembling because my body is impatient for more. The toilet flushes and the tap goes on, water gushing loudly for several moments before it switches off. I’m adjusting the sheets, about to climb back in bed, when I’m seized from behind.

  I shriek, Kelly scaring the absolute shit out of me. He lifts me. My feet leave the ground, then I’m flying through the air toward my bed. I land softly on my back, bouncing once, twice. I rise up on my elbows to find him looming over me.

  “See what happens when you put yourself in charge?”

  I press my lips together. Shit on a stick. I really stuffed that up, didn’t I?

  He puts a knee on the bed. The mattress dips. He leans forward and both hands land on the bed on either side of my face. It brings him closer to me.

  “It’s not my fault you have zero control,” I declare rashly.

  “Oh, woman.” Kelly shakes his head, eyes narrowing with heat. “Don’t make me spank you.”

  Lust flares like a lit match.

  He ducks his head and kisses me, his tongue thrusting inside my mouth. It’s hard and messy, and it’s not enough. I moan into his mouth, pulling at his hair, starved of oxygen yet holding him to me so he doesn’t stop. I’m drowning but I don’t care. I don’t need to breathe.

  Kelly draws away and I’m gasping. So is he. But he’s also relentless. His mouth is on my neck, nibbling at my earlobe before trekking downward. His lips traverse my collarbone and down further, until he sucks a nipple in his mouth. He swirls his tongue before sucking deep.

  Sweat dots my brow, and my chest heaves upward, begging for more. My nipple pops free, the tight bud left abandoned and cold.

  “Kelly,” I murmur, a soft plea.

  He shifts to the other, and once more I’m engulfed in flames.

  “How wet are you for me, Ace? Hmm?”

  His fingers trail down, closer and closer. I wriggle, impatient. Yes. Please. Now. They trail through slick heat. “Mmm,” I mumble.

  “Oh you want me bad, don’t you, baby?”

  A thick finger thrusts inside, twisting, curling.

  I cry out.

  “More?”

  “More,” I plead.

  Another thick finger joins the first, and he kisses his way down my belly. It quivers with every press of his lips, with every thrust of his fingers. He slides his way down, continuing his torment. I feel the tickle of his chest hair on my thighs and then his warm breath puffing against the slick heat of me.

  “I’m not just your taxi driver, Ace,” he says.

  My mind scrambles to make sense of what he’s saying. “What?”

  His tongue flicks my clit. I gasp. “You heard me. I won’t be the guy who sits back and waits for you.” He flicks me again, his fingers wriggling inside me. “We’re in this together.”

  “Kelly—”

  He licks me in one long stroke. I moan, my hips rubbing against him.

  “Say it.”

  I lift my head. “Kelly—”

  “If you wanna ride my face, then say it,” he commands. “We’re in this together.”

  My head falls back. He’s asking me to compromise. To include him properly. To risk his life. I swallow thickly, sadly. “We’re in this together.”

  And with those four words, I seal his fate.

  Kelly grunts his satisfaction. He licks me again, and again, nuzzling and rubbing with his tongue, his beard chafing my inner thighs. The sheets rustle as my hands fist them, my back arching. He uses a third finger to rub against the entrance to my ass. My inner walls clench, and I writhe on the bed.

  It’s sensory overload. He’s sucking my clit, fucking me with his fingers, and massaging that tight ring until it’s almost too much.

  Pressure rises. My hands find his shoulders, my fingers raking the skin, digging in as whimper after whimper leaves me.

  He sucks hard and I come with a strangled cry.

  Pleasure pulses through me, seemingly endless. I can’t move. My heart is a jackhammer, and my hair sticks to the back of my neck.

  Kelly draws away slowly, giving one last lick, a final taste, before I’m swept up, boneless, and placed carefully on the bed.

  17

  Kelly

  I wait for Ace to drop the gear and punch the accelerator. That’s how a boost works. You get in and you drive that car like death is on your tail. Except she doesn’t. She drives the stolen black Porsche 911 GT3 out of the restaurant parking lot like she learned all her skills from the movie Driving Miss Daisy. Her feet perform a balance between the clutch and the accelerator, slow and delicate.

  It’s been a week since our argument over my involvement in this. Arriving at the decision to simply steal the cars together was no walk in the park, but it’s all part of the plan. Now we’re about to find out just how good we work together.

  Not well, apparently. My chest tightens with impatience as Ace inches her way through the rows of parked cars. I wind the window down a fraction. Tiny cars get hot very fast and this thing is a matchbox. Cool air rushes in, offering minor relief.

  “Is this a boost or what?”

  “Patience, grasshopper,” she mutters as we move forward another inch. The parking lot is situated behind the building, with valet parking. Enormous shrubbery lines the entire location, making it the perfect opportunity to swipe the Porsche.

  During the week, Echo placed a small tracker beneath each car left on the list. It’s a risk, but it can help us track the car’s schedule and activities. And with Echo’s intel on tonight’s dinner reservation at
The Lily, we decided the simplest option would be to create a diversion, swipe the valet key, and just drive on out. Simple in theory. Except if we don’t speed it up, one of the valet’s will come around the corner any moment and bust us wide open.

  My arm rests on the base of the passenger window, fingers tapping impatiently. “I’m pretty sure I can get out and walk faster.”

  She snorts, her hands on the wheel and her eyes focused like a cat. “You males and your blazing testosterone. When you think about boosting cars, you picture The Fast and the Furious, with rubber burning and cars drifting through corners. Ninety-nine percent of the time, this is how it’s done. Quietly. Below the speed limit. I’m the best because I fly under the radar, Kelly.” She takes a hand from the wheel to jab a thumb in her own chest. It’s a very exposed chest. She’s wearing a long-sleeved black dress with a V that opens to her navel, her eyes smoky and hair in wild waves down her back. The black heels were changed out to her lucky black Converse before we got in the car. “Trust the expert.”

  All she had to do was drop her handbag by the valet and let the contents scatter everywhere. He would stoop to pick it up while she swiped the key. The idea sounded ridiculously cliché, but the girls had it right. The male brain can barely focus on more than one thing when a) a female has her tits just about hanging out, and b) she’s in distress (no matter how minor that distress may be). After seeing her in action, I fear that one day the male species may very well become extinct.

  We reach the driveway entrance. Ace looks left and right with care. Then we hear a shout. “Hey, that’s my car!”

  Our heads swivel to the left. There’s a silver Mercedes GT-R in the valet drop-off zone. The driver’s door is open. A man was obviously standing just inside it, chatting with the occupant. Now he’s looking at us and his mouth is hanging open.

  “Fuck,” Ace mutters.

  Damn straight. Fuck.

  I don’t need to tell her to fuckin’ drive. With eyes flat and jaw hard, Ace slams back to first gear and punches her foot to the floor. In an instant she becomes fearless, revealing the wild inside of her. And the sin.

  Ace is no fairy tale, but I’d take the real any day. Her real is about being brave in the face of fear, and her sexy isn’t in how she looks but in how she acts.

  Damn this woman. I’m fallin’ like a tonne of bricks.

  I glance behind me. The Porsche owner is flying around the back of the Mercedes. He jumps in the passenger seat, the car squealing from the drop-off zone before he even gets the door shut.

  Ace grips the wheel with one hand and wrenches it to the left. The Porsche flies out into traffic, and my adrenaline spikes. With her other hand, she’s punching through gears and grappling with the back end just before we oversteer. I grab the holy shit bar so I don’t body slam her from the force of the turn.

  “I guess this is that one percent!” I shout over the roar of the engine.

  Her expression is grim. “I don’t have time for jokes right now, Kelly.”

  “Oh, this is no joke.”

  We’re duking it out between a Porsche and a Mercedes, but we have it in the bag. I have no doubt. Not only does the Porsche have better cornering and handling, it has enough power to make you piss your pants. Not only that, this car has Ace, and she’s driving like she’s in the Dakar Rally.

  “You really are good,” I say with some surprise, because there’s a difference between someone telling you they’re the best and witnessing it with your own eyes.

  “Stop talking,” she barks, her eyes on the road. “Dammit, I need my headphones.”

  We rise over a small crest and speed through a green light. The Porsche goes airborne. For a moment we have wings, then the car lands with a screech, more rubber burning as we fishtail down a side street.

  “We’re are you takin’ us?”

  “Back streets.” Her voice is short, her eyes shifting to her rear-view mirror every few seconds. I glance behind me. The Mercedes is on our tail. Ace accelerates and their headlights grow smaller as they fall behind. “Less cars and people and no traffic lights.”

  “Good thinkin’, babe.”

  “Can you get Echo on the phone?”

  I tug my phone free from my pocket and dial. After putting it on speaker, I set in the centre console. It barely dials once before she answers with, “I’m tracking you. What’s happening?”

  “We have a Merc on our ass,” Ace tells her, shifting gears and turning down another side street. This one is wide and straight, giving her room to open up the car a little. “Give me the safest route to Marchetti’s.”

  Echo gives directions and within five minutes we lose the tail. We’re free and clear. Another five minutes and Ace slows right down. “We have to be careful. We might have lost the Mercedes, but they would have called the cops. There’ll be an APB out on the car now.”

  They don’t find us. We coast down the final back street toward Marchetti’s chop shop. A location I didn’t even know until now. The garage door starts rising before we even hit the driveway. We glide right in, smooth and easy, and the door lowers behind us.

  Ace switches off the heated engine. It ticks over for a moment in silence while she pauses, swiping a hand down the side of her face. Then she looks at me. Her cheeks are flushed pink, her eyes overbright, and a sheen of sweat dots her brow. That’s when I realise that boosting cars is her drug.

  I relax each muscle, not realising how tense each one was until we stop. Even my cock is hard, throbbing in my pants from the moment her foot hit the accelerator.

  “We need to fuck,” I growl.

  Her hands clench briefly then release. “Yes.”

  After taking another breath, we open our doors in simultaneous motion and step out. I’m closing it and walking around the front of the car when a girl steps out from a door situated at the back of the garage.

  “Murphy,” Ace says, holding out the keys.

  She grins and takes them, her eyes running along the sleek lines of the Porsche. “Another gorgeous car, Ace.”

  “She’s already hot. We were discovered coming out of the parking lot.”

  “No tail?” she asks.

  “Not anymore.”

  Her eyes shift from the car to me. They’re dark brown, like her hair. She’s dressed in leather—some kind of vest and pants—though it seems all wrong on her. She looks like a babe in the woods. A sweet, timid Bambi being led astray. “Who’s this?”

  “My co-driver.”

  Ace is short with her words and information. But that’s how you have to be when you’re dealing with people like this—even Bambi has her dark side.

  Murphy gives me an “oh well, I tried” shrug. “How many more cars on the list?”

  “If you don’t know, we’re not telling you.” Ace gives me a glance and nods toward the front entrance. “Our ride is waiting. Let’s go.”

  I walk behind Ace, only moving ahead of her to open the door. She steps through and I follow, shutting it behind me. Echo is waiting for us in her Ford, the engine idling.

  “How’d you go? All done?” she asks when we slide inside, Ace taking the front passenger seat and me settling in to the middle of the backseat.

  “All done,” Ace confirms.

  Satisfied with the response, Echo accelerates hard. It’s unexpected and my head whips backward, putting a kink in my neck. I rub the back of it. “Who taught you to drive?” I say in a tone that implies whoever it was, they were clearly unqualified.

  “I taught myself.”

  “Figures,” I mutter.

  “Don’t start with me,” she warns. “I get enough complaining from Ace.”

  “Ace knows how to drive though, so maybe you should think about listening to what she says.”

  Her eyes narrow on me in the rear-view mirror.

  I smirk.

  Then I direct my next question to Ace. “Tony wasn’t there?”

  “It’s not usual for him to be there unless there’s a major problem. He consid
ers taking the deliveries beneath him. He has his little lackey in Murphy apparently, so I guess she does all his dirty work now.”

  “Well they can’t be too tight. She didn’t seem to know much about the list of cars,” I point out. “But she seemed interested in finding out.”

  Ace sighs, her head tipping back against the headrest behind her. “She wants me to teach her all I know.”

  “What?” Echo glances sideways. “You never told me that.”

  “Because I’m not going to. I have enough on my plate without worrying about the fate of a little wannabe car thief.”

  Echo snorts. “How jaded you’ve become.”

  With both girls occupied, I pull my phone out and tap a brief message to Fox.

  Me: The Porsche is delivered.

  He knows what to do from there.

  18

  Arcadia

  It’s Tuesday night, and I’m stuffing my bag with clothes for another boost and an overnight stay at Kelly’s.

  The scuffle involving the Porsche seems to be a one-off. We boosted two more cars the following week without incident. And another two the week after that. But Mason is growing more suspicious with each day that passes. He’s keeping a closer eye on my schedule and asking outrageously probing questions about my daily activities. I’m peppered with them whenever I return from being out. He’s not just asking where I’ve been, he’s following it up with questions about my subjects that day, and what did I learn, or what did you eat for dinner at Echo’s house … I’ve told him that’s where I’ve been staying because I still haven’t brought up the subject of Kelly. I just can’t. Even thinking about it makes my stomach knot.

  I’m stuffing my headphones in my bag when a tap comes at my open bedroom door. I pause and turn my head.

  Mason is there, his chin is jutting out, which means he’s prepping for an argument. “You’re going out?”

  I keep my voice light. “Yep.”

  “Where?”

  After zipping my overnight bag, I sling it over my shoulder and face my brother.

  “Let me guess,” he says before I can answer, sarcasm thick in his voice. “Echo’s.”