AllFreeNovel
Share Us
As the kettle starts humming away, I sprinkle in a pinch of green tea leaves. I’m one of those people who likes their tea old school and without a filter, bag, or a strainer. Most of the leaves sink to the bottom of the cup after they’re soaked enough, and the rest I just sip around. There’s often some twig-like matter that floats to the top, and after swallowing a few of those, I’ve learned to pluck them out with a spoon before drinking.
None of the cats are around, which isn’t that strange since they tend to go into stasis ninety-eight percent of the time. Plus, tea isn’t that interesting. If I cracked a can of early morning tuna for some reason, that would produce results.
Results.
I lean against the counter and try not to think about my results from earlier tonight—the result of hacking into a security system, opening the unlocked back door, sneaking up to the top floor to find the master bedroom, and then the bottom drawer of my target dresser.
I knew he’d be home and asleep because the granny was paying me good money, which meant there was going to be some kind of challenge. She wouldn’t have paid me nearly as much if the guy wasn’t going to be at home. So yes, I figured he would be. But what I didn’t count on was waking the slumbering giant by being clumsy enough to bang my shin against the half-open drawer after pocketing the necklace.
The guy had been muttering something about cotton candy in his sleep, but when I cracked my shin like that, he exploded upright, albeit with a sleepy explosion, and that was that. He started rubbing his eyes, and I scrambled to assemble a game plan on how to get the heck out of there.
Let’s just say it wasn’t my first rodeo. I grew up in foster care along with my older sister. We were fostered together by Joan and Phil. My sister was twelve, and I was ten. It was the first real home we’d ever had, with nice things and enough food to eat. Two years later, they officially adopted us, but before that happened, I became good at sneaking out of all sorts of windows, picking locks, opening doors that weren’t meant to be opened—the usual. There wasn’t anything anyone could do to keep me inside, short of putting bars on everything, and usually, no one cared enough to do that.
Long before I was hacking with a computer, I was hacking houses, though not to break in. It was mostly just to break out, although okay, I was sometimes breaking in. Anyway, it was good practice, and when I figured that the big giant bastard who I had aroused from a deep giant slumber would be able to catch up to me in the house, I knew he couldn’t and wouldn’t jump out the window or off the roof. Most people won’t do those things. It was a pretty safe bet. He didn’t look like he was into parkour.
But he did stand there in the dark before either of us moved, and that’s the part I can’t stop thinking about. My eyes were adjusted well enough to the darkness that I could see his outline. And more. I could see every inch of his chiseled abs, bountiful muscles, and muscles with mustaches and rapier swords shouting, “On guard, burglar motherfucker. I’ll ravage you.” You know, the usual things muscles might say.
My kettle whistles for a long time before I snap out of my drool session, but when I finally do, I unplug it and pour the water into my mug. While the tea steeps, I find myself drawn back into my thoughts about the god-man who stood there in his tight black boxers. His dark hair was mussed from sleep while his eyes blinked at me in horror and surprise. After all, that’s the usual response when seeing someone all dressed in black with a toque tucked low over their brow in your bedroom in the middle of the night.
This guy…my god. This guy was made for more than lights off, under the covers, vanilla, missionary sex, which may or may not be the only type of sex I’ve had in the past. This guy is probably daring and capable. He’s made of solid muscle, and he looked good enough to lick, just like the cotton candy he was talking about in his sleep.
I haven’t been daring in my sex life, thanks to Phil. Anything beyond vanilla was too kinky, and it always gave me trigger warnings about the guy who adopted me. This was the guy who, after I turned fifteen, wanted me to call him daddy for more than one reason. Nothing ever happened, but I still have weird issues with the way people look at me because Phil always looked at me that way. He controlled himself, thank god, but I know if he thought he could have gotten away with it, I wouldn’t have been safe.
