Page 7 of Hide, Little Thief

My name rolling from his tongue sends a shiver down my spine and sizzling heat straight to my core. I almost whimper when his fingertips ghost over my front, down between my breasts and over my stomach.

“Let’s try that again.” His fingers graze my clit through my dress. “Who has the files?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He increases the pressure on my clit, creating a delicious friction with the fabric still in between us. “Who’s your client? Who hired you to steal them?”

“I have never . . . stolen anything . . . in my whole . . . life.”

The other man chuckles darkly. “Such a bad liar.”

He’s standing on the opposite side of the desk, toying with a lighter. The flame throws shadows over his mask, making him look even more like a psychopath than before. Like someone who’ll tear me limb from limb if I don’t do what he says. Someone who’ll relish in this kind of torture.

“What about the knife you stole that same night?” Reaper asks. “Remember it? The knife that belongs to me.”

“Oh yeah,” I pant. “I remember it now. It’s pretty. I keep it in my cave of treasures with all the other prizes I’ve stolen. You just have to find it in the middle of nowhere and say, ‘Open sesame.’”

Reaper wraps his hand around my throat and squeezes. “You think that’s funny?”

I can’t help but gasp. Or laugh. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing anymore.

“Kind of.”

Without warning, he pushes my dress out of the way and places the heel of his hand on my clit, while his fingers start playing with my pussy.

Oh God . . .

It’s embarrassing how wet I already am, but I don’t care. I need more.

“Who bought the files?” He plunges one finger inside. “Give me their names, little thief.”

I groan with pleasure and frustration alike. If this is his way of torture, I want it on a regular basis. But only if he keeps his silent promise and lets me come.

“What . . . files?” I ask again, pretending to know nothing about them, even though I know everything.

People don’t just hire me because I’m damn good at my job. They hire me because I’m discreet. And therefore expensive. I can be trusted with sensible information, and my clients can rest assured it’s a lot safer than the French crown jewels.

But if I give up the information? I’m as good as dead, because then I won't be of any use to them.

“Someone’s been a very bad girl,” Reaper murmurs, inserting another finger into my pussy. “Not giving us the answers to the questions I’ve asked you so nicely.”

I wouldn’t call feeling someone up and whispering in their ear to get them to comply “nice,” but who am I to judge? For a Mafia enforcer who spends his nights torturing and killing people, this is probably the nicest Reaper’s been in his whole life.

As for the files, I don’t know who has them now. I work through a middleman. Always have, because it’s safer that way. The only thing I know for sure is they’re in good hands.

Not that I’m telling them that.

Without warning, Reaper withdraws his fingers and takes his hands off me. The sudden loss and disappointment hit me like a freight train. What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Seems like you need to learn your lesson the hard way.”

My shoulders stiffen at the dark edge in his voice, but I don’t dare move. Not even as I feel firm hands on my hips frisking me. First one leg, down and up again, then the other one, until his fingers move between my thighs again, giving me exactly what I crave.

Suddenly, a rough palm connects with my bottom, and I yelp in surprise. The impact pushes me forward on the desk until I’m lying on my forearms, legs spread, ass in the air.

Fingers pull at the fabric, then another hand comes crashing down on my bare ass, hitting the same spot and sending waves of pleasure and pain through my entire system.

Then again, on the other side.