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“Yes but what you took now, you can’t give back,” he said tenderly, holding her face in his hands. “I don’t mind that you take those other things. They can be replaced. But I mind that you take my mind. My fucking soul, girl. I mind that you took something of value since last weekend—maybe even, since before—and I don’t think you can give it back to me even if you wanted to.”
“Beckham, I don’t understand,” she said.
“I love you, you silly girl,” he said. “You get to me. I don’t want us to be apart. I want to figure this out. I want to figure you out. And I want you to let me. To trust in this, and in me. This is happening, Sandy. It’s—this—us—whatever you want to call it. It’s happening, you sexy naughty little thief.”
She grabbed his face and flew up on tiptoes to kiss him, wildly and without an ounce of restraint. “So I get to sleep in your shirts,” she whispered with a saucy little smile, and he agreed with a nod.
“Yes, though preferably naked,” he murmured.
Beckham had suffered many days yearning to touch her that now he couldn’t help but bring her closer. He slipped his hand under her shirt so that he could feel her skin and drew her close enough to kiss her, at leisure, romantically and with love. “Anyone home?” he asked, his voice thick with desire.
Sandy shook her head no. Beckham’s lips curled wickedly. “Then would you like to give me a tour of your bedroom?”
She moved her head yes and swallowed, her pupils dilated with desire.
He followed as Sandy guided him into her small, cluttered bedroom, where he proceeded to promptly get rid of her clothes, and then his own, and then he proceeded to fuck his love into oblivion.
Several times in a row.
Then he helped her pack, met her cousins, and whisked her away…back to Houston, and his side.
Where that lovely little thief belonged.
In his bed, in his life…and in his heart.
