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I’ve never felt sexier than when he looks at me.
“Don’t get a big head about it,” he says with a little snort. “And that chair’s pretty janky. You might want to stop that.”
“Too late,” I tell him, hopping from my completely solid chair and sitting down in his lap uninvited, crowding into his space. He throws his hands wide, making a sound of surprise as he holds his coffee out to keep from spilling it on me. But as soon as his coffee’s secure, he wraps his arms around me and we settle into something comfortable, both of us with our mugs, me in his arms, with my bare ass pressed against his soft cock in his shorts. “What work do you have to do today?”
“Prep work,” he says in a roundabout way. “And you?”
I groan. “Don’t remind me.”
“I thought your book was going well?” Connor asks. “The writer’s block gone?”
“Oh, it is,” I tell him, running my fingers through his hair, “But you have no idea how good yesterday felt. And not just the sex. You know what I really want to do?”
“What?”
“What if we stay in bed all day—naked, of course—and order food in, watch a movie, and take a nap. Just have a day of total chill.”
It is a great idea, and we both know it. I can see the temptation in Connor’s eyes, though he scowls. “Poppy,” he says in a warning tone, “we both have goals to meet.”
“Connor,” I reply, copying his tone. In my own brighter voice, I tease, “Did I mention that ‘watching a movie’ is code for fucking? Out of curiosity, for no specific reason at all, how many times can you go in a day? Like full dicking. Though I’m not gonna argue if your dick gives out and we resort to fingers and tongues.”
Connor groans, and I feel something nice and firm poking me now. “I’ve never tested it, but now I’d really like to find out.”
“Great!” I proclaim. “It’s decided then. We walk Nut and Juice, grab some water from the fridge, and get right down to work! And by work, I mean round one.” I frown. “Wait, is it still round one if we had sex last night after midnight? What are the rules here? Should we count that since it was technically today, and this morning, because it was the same twenty-four-hour period? If so, we’re starting round three and you’re already doing great. Let’s aim for . . . what do you think? Six? Ten?”
He blinks, and I hope he’s imagining three through ten because I know I am.
“Unfortunately, work is going to have to mean actual work for us both,” Connor reminds me. “You have a deadline. And so do I. And I don’t want to have to save you from an angry agent.”
He has a good point, but I feel like we’re encased in one of those soap bubbles that float through the air, all shimmery and iridescent in the sunlight, and I’m afraid if I’m not careful, it’ll pop and leave Connor and me falling back to earth only to splat gracelessly.
The splat is coming though because I want to ask about his work, about what he’s going to steal. But I also . . . don’t. I haven’t forgotten what Connor does or how wrong it is. And he’s said he’s got prep work to do. So he’s getting ready to steal something.
It’s been ingrained in my mind since I was a child that stealing is wrong. Maybe there’s some leeway for a hungry person stealing bread or something like that, but not swiping electronics at the first available opportunity. Even if he did help me get my laptop back. What about the other people who’ve lost phones, laptops, wallets, and more?
Can I be okay with that?
Connor strokes the back of my neck with a thumb, making me shiver with pleasure. “You went quiet.”
I sigh, laying my head on his shoulder as uneasiness gnaws in my gut. “I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” he says, but I can hear something in his voice, and I sit up more.
“Are you? I’m not telling you what to do, but what you do is dangerous. And hurtful. What if you take something from someone violent?”
Connor smirks. “Like you? You attacked me. Working out pretty well so far.”
“I’m serious! I’m not saying everyone is innocent, but I don’t want you getting hurt!”
Connor sighs almost sadly. “I’ve been waiting for this.”
“You have?”
He nods. “I do what I do for good reasons. Ones I can’t explain . . . not to you, not my family, not even to myself sometimes. But I’m fine. I promise.”
“Can you promise that you’ll be careful? That no one will get hurt, especially you?”
“That’s my MO,” he tells me, kissing me on the forehead. “You know I’ve been doing this for almost half my life at this point, and I’ve only been caught stealing twice? Once, the shoplifting as a kid . . . and then you. That’s a pretty good track record.”
