Page 108 of Stealing Blinds

She’s impossible to put in her place because she’s so damn witty. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s her spirit that captivates me most.

Of course it would be against my nature not to attempt to get the last word. I stoop before her and swirl her clit until her lips part with a whimper. So eager to come, she grips my biceps and shamelessly fucks my hand, purring as she climbs to the summit once again.

Retracting my fingers, I lick them clean with an inciting groan and leave her wanton. “You’re late for your meeting with Axel. You need to get washed up. If you want to finish yourself off, you can. But while you’re touching that perfect pussy, remember that from this point forward, the only reason you’ll ever be isolated is because you are choosing it.”

She swallows, and because she is the most authentic mix of honesty, accountability, and fortitude found in vulnerability—which is mind-blowing for someone who is a masterful thief—she doesn’t get angry about my reproach. She owns it. “I’m sorry.”

I cradle her face because the last thing I want is for her to beat herself up about one more thing. “Don’t be sorry, Sylvie. Expect me to be who you deserve. Expect me to be here, to choose you, to always fucking show up.”

“Okay.” She gnaws on her lip, but determination blankets her. “You deserve that too. I’ll have more faith in us. I’ll show up.”

“I know.” I kiss her forehead. “I already believe in you, baby.”

With that, I get cleaned up and set out to make plans for Danny Gordon. Sylvie can handle Flora however she wants. But that asshole is mine.

SYLVIE

My years as a gymnast taught me to bend—in the physical sense, of course, but also in the means of adapting. I learned to curl around obstacles, to sacrifice but give my all, to stand with others while landing on my own two feet.

It was a strength I was proud of, but somewhere along the line—between my guilt for having a body that could accomplish great feats when Flora’s was so often failing her, my longing to be someone my mother could depend on, and my desperation to balance my determination with the grief from the absence of my father—that strength became an armor, waiting to seal itself shut.

I think I’ve probably been adding reinforcements to it every year since my father went to prison. And with each tragedy, hiccup, or betrayal I encountered, I allowed that shield to increase in its rigidity and separate me from others. Until I was all alone, cloaked in an empty shell.

Independence is the word I would have chosen to defend it, and belonging to someone would have felt like a slight toward that.

Until Cash.

I’ve had several romantic relationships—most casual, some committed, one serious. In all of them, there was an understood space, a distance we accepted, though I’m not sure I was conscious of it at the time. But this man refuses to let me retreat, and as bizarre as I would have thought it was months ago, I’ve never felt more grounded than I do when he insists that he owns me. Or that I own him too.

It’s like the armor is still there, but he’s stepped inside it with me. And it isn’t crowded; it’s cushioned.

A text from Flora pops up, and I find myself grateful for the added comfort he provided in his domineering manner earlier.

Flora: Please don’t shut me out again, Sylvie. It was two years ago, right after I fucked everything up with you. I went to visit Colin, hoping maybe he and I could work things out and get back together. He agreed to meet me, but never showed up. I only talked to Cash for a few minutes. He said he was the owner, so I didn’t want to be rude. I know this hits a nerve, but it was nothing. I am so happy for you.

This isn’t something I can hold against either of them. I’m aware. Cash made a valid point when he said he didn’t chase her. And it was me he fucked into submission in his closet and painted with his cum. It’s me he’s been spoiling and confiding in. It’s me he brought home to his family. So, I’m not sure why I’d get hung up on something that happened long ago. The knowledge that Danny is going to be here soon probably isn’t helping my mental state. Flora’s right. It struck a nerve. That’s all.

Still, I don’t respond because Axel and I are breezing through the bootlegger tunnels. The mostly brick corridors, aglow by antique sconces, transport us to other parts of the resort and back to the 1920s. The Prohibition era reigns right here in NOLA, the faint whisper of swing music crooning beyond the walls.

I’m freshly showered—thanks to Cash’s possessiveness—and dressed in a royal-blue halter top and white linen pants. I have everything I need for our first training in my bag. But I was late, so Axel waited to escort me to his La Lune Noire office.

“Yes.” He side-eyes me while he responds to whoever he’s talking to on his phone, probably gauging my anxiety level because I’ll be contacting E in a few minutes. “I’ll see if I can obtain it, but I expect a fleshed-out plan by this evening.”

He ends the call and smiles as we take a turn and enter through a door that requires his iris scan. This place is impressive. They have a variety of biometric security and codes on a maze of corridors that all look the same; it would be challenging for even a highly skilled thief to thwart. I could do it. But it would take a lot of recon.

“You’re memorizing the route and necessary security measures,” he accuses.

“Not exactly.” I laugh. “I noticed, but I don’t have a need to store this information in my brain, do I?”

“For escape purposes? No. We’re in this with you. But habits are hard to break.” His eyes crinkle, and the silver dusting in his brown hair glints with wisdom, his Papa Axe hat more firmly in place than the king of underworld crown he often dons. “Zara did the same when she arrived. Memorizing the paths could be useful if you want to get around on your own. The bracelet Cash insists you wear will provide access through most passageways.”

“Oh.” I glance at the piece of jewelry that’s practically become a part of my body, realizing the only reason Cash hasn’t encouraged me to use it to move around the resort freely is because even that unnerves him. “If he isn’t escorting me around, he makes sure one of you are.”

“With everything going on, that’s wise.” He slants his head, as if to affirm that they’re truly inviting me into their world before he expounds. “Cash is only protective over things he can’t live without. I suppose that’s how we all are. Nothing is more important than family.”

He punches in a code and ushers me into his office. “We’ll track down the rest of the crew after this. Whenever you’re ready.”

Like everything else in the La Lune Noire owners’ world, the space is grand with a different city view. And yet still there’s warmth here, supporting his statement about family.