Page 83 of The One-Night Heist

Was it ever?

It was hard to remember, not when Giano’s tongue was tangling with mine, laced with honey and good intentions, as if I was good enough to receive them.

How can he possibly think I’m a good man?

I’d never given Giano any reason to believe I was. The first time we’d met—on the terrace of The Skyline, when I’d been drawn to him like a raggedy moth to a fancy flame—I’d been nothing but a scoundrel.

Flirting shamelessly.

Stealing his money.

Giving him this art heist idea in the first place.

Fuck…

If something goes wrong, it will be all my fault.

“Whatever you’re thinking about, stop it,” Giano growled like a goddamn animal in my ear, making me arch up off the bed.

When the hell did we get on the bed?

We’d also lost the rest of our clothing, apparently, as he had his hand wrapped around both our dicks, slowly stroking us together with our collective pre-cum.

Who needs 14-karat lube anyway?

“I was thinking about how you moaned like a whore while I ate your ass,” I lied, kind of, since now I was thinking about exactly that. “What a slut you were for my tongue.”

How I want to do it again.

“Mmm… I was a slut for your tongue, wasn’t I?” he murmured, delighting me as always that he played along. “Perhaps we should see if I can make a slut out of you as well.”

Wait.

What?

Before I could reassert dominance, Giano released my dick and flipped me onto my stomach. And before I could pretend to protest, he’d yanked my bottom half up onto my knees, wrenched my cheeks apart, and dove, tongue-first, into my hole.

JESUS FUCKING CHRIIIIST!!!

Of course, I’d been eaten out by past partners, but it was never my favorite bedroom activity—mostly because the vulnerability made me squirrely. When it was Giancarlo Luxford feasting on my ass, however, I miraculously discovered I didn’t mind it so much.

I fucking love it, actually.

He was gracing my hole with the same, sensual attention he’d given my mouth. Alternating long, languorous licks around my rim with measured thrusts inside—one, two, three strokes—just enough to have me writhing and moaning and begging for more as he started the cycle all over again.

It’s official.

I’m a slut for this man.

“Mmph… I wanna come…” I mumbled—drooled, really—into the bedsheets as I was repeatedly denied an orgasm, but Giano only laughed.

“Not yet, baby.” He nipped at my inner thigh, using my cutesy nickname against me as I shamefully melted some more. “Not until you know you’re mine.”

Oh.

All at once, I realized I’d underestimated my little billionaire. He’d submitted so beautifully for me, letting me run the show both in and outside the bedroom, I’d assumed he was happy right where he was.

Surprise, surprise.