Page 19 of The One-Night Heist

As much as I hated to admit it, my role with the Art Crime Team had allowed me to remain close to the world I once knew—the only world I’d ever felt a part of. Most cases I was assigned weren’t overly exciting, but this one sounded promising. More importantly, I could use tomorrow’s outing as an opportunity to see Giancarlo Luxford again sooner than later.

This is very bad.

I sent Markel a passive aggressive thumbs up emoji before switching back to my personal phone, opening Signal, and messaging Giano.

I’ve been summoned to The Andervelt at 4 tomorrow for official “team” business. Wanna meet up for drinks afterwards?

Since The Skyline is right around the corner and all…

I hadn’t expected a reply to my text tonight—since surely the air-pastries and twigs were still going strong—so I was surprised when three dots immediately appeared.

Surprised and turned on all over again.

Moneybags

I’m looking forward to it.

I could have left it at that—should have—but I was still high off the promised proximity to crime, and the lingering scent of Eau de Moneybags I could smell on my dress shirt.

From when I frisked him and he liked it.

Emboldened, I texted back, physically unable not to flirt with this man.

Wear something pretty for me.

I resisted adding he shouldn’t skip the cologne, but I had a feeling it was as much a part of his armor as that placid mask he wore.

The one I’ve managed to crack…

Three dots appeared and disappeared a couple of times before he went silent. While he’d most likely been pulled into a conversation about his “odd” childhood with Mrs. Winchester, I chose to believe he’d needed to find a private room to rub one out.

Just like I’m about to do.

No longer able to deny that I wanted Giano in a very not hetero way, I kicked off my shoes and hastily shed the rest of my clothes down the narrow hallway before flinging open the bathroom door so forcefully, I cracked the tile.

The icy blast that hit my skin when I stepped past the shower curtain did nothing to cool me down. If anything it only made me angrier—about this shitty, closet-sized apartment, about my indentured servitude with the enemy, and about the unattainable man I couldn’t get out of my head.

Who’s technically also “the enemy.”

Because that was the real reason I couldn’t resist getting into bed, in a business sense, with Giancarlo Luxford. This was my chance to witness just how corrupt I’d always known those with money and power could be—to allow not only his wealth but his wickedness to wash over me like the baptism I’d once received as an orphan at St. Anthony’s Home for Lost Children.

To know he’s just as rotten inside as I am.

Even though jerking off was the entire point of getting in the shower, I groaned to find my hand desperately shuttling over my achingly hard dick of its own accord. I hadn’t grabbed any soap, so the glide was rough, but it felt appropriate. I wanted it to hurt. I wanted it to hurt in the same way I knew this entire situation would once Giano got what he wanted and paid me off to disappear like another one of his dirty secrets.

Pain was inevitable when you flew too close to the sun, but I already knew I lacked the self-preservation to change my course.

I could never resist a challenge.

Especially from a hot man in a nice suit.

“Fuck… what a fucking mess,” I panted, resting my forearm against the tile, gaze dropping, knowing I was about to come much faster than my pride normally allowed.

But why not take Moneybags’ pride down with me?

My balls drew up tight at that thought, of not only fucking Giano into his 10,000 thread count sheets but making sure he knew who his ass belonged to, if only for the length of our professional arrangement.

“So fucking messy,” I growled, practically strangling my throbbing dick as it began to pulse. “I can’t wait to make a mess out of you.”