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But the way her eyes travel from my face down to my abdomen, then hold for a slick second at my dick before she looks away. Her slippery tongue pokes out between her lush lips, then darts back in, luring my attention to the plumpness—to the kissability. That’s intrigue.
That’s dangerous for me.
“Are you the one who helped me?”My Little Thief.
She nods.
I slither forward, careful not to spook her. “Are you the one who called the police?”
She swallows and steps back toward the register, her back hitting the standing pedestal. Her eyes veer toward the router as if searching for something.
“Are you the one who kept me from bleeding out on the asphalt?”
Her gaze roams over the items, probably searching for the phone, not that I’d ever allow her to call the police. With her body behind the podium, I position mine, not so distant, near the glass shelf with the intricate toys. The ones that require a bit more guts in the bedroom.
I say nothing as I slide the door open for my perusal. I pluck a couple of clamps off the shelf, magnetic and non, a nipple press and spreader—they all fit into my pocket. The clover nipple stretcher I hold in the air. “Do you need help with the answering? Or you not all there?”
Speaking, or rather my insult, throws her off her trance and she shakes her head before flittering her gaze away from me and toward the door.
Before the Little Thief gets any ideas, I keep her eyes on me. “This can be useful on the tongue too, and maybe the clamps would help your stutter.” I trade the stretcher for a clit pump, pressure valve and all. “Suction all that stupid out of you.”
I’ve spooked her.
She spurs back, nearly stumbling. Her voice still caught in her breath.
“Are you the one who didn’t open the door?” I rap on the glass lightly. Then harshly like the day I did that night. “I knocked. And I know you heard me. I heard you in here, breaking things. Why didn’t you?”
Her downturned eyes are so expressive, so sad, so fucking blue. Turquoise, almost, on the stars of her irises and outlined in the darkest hue, like liner for the eyeballs. My attention makes her uncomfortable, but not enough to stop me from advancing.
It’s me, the sole proprietor of her attention, and it’s one hell of a rush. There’s something about this girl — those eyes, that body, that thin angelic voice — that curbs the predator inside me, pacifies the edge.
An edge, she likes.
An edge, she’s terrified to like.
Good.Scared people lie less.
“D-didn’t I?” she stammers over her breath, one hand reaching out to the register to steady herself.
With another step forward, I pass the second vitrine with the black leather cuffs, the tail end of the whip feathered out beside them. “Let me in?”
“Oh...” Her bright eyes dart toward the items, dash back to me, and land on the exit. Shoes like those don’t make the greatest escape artists. One faulty step and she’d be in my arms—at my will.
She glides her hand over the curvature of her neck and scrapes along the shoulder line. “I didn’t know it was you. I’m s-s-orry.”
“Hmm.” I contemplate as I free my hands. “Sorry for what exactly?” I lift the latch of the last vitrine and slowly slide the door to the side, my eyes focused on the Little Thief. “Sorry for letting me get shot?”
“I didn’t know. I mean...” Her lashes flutter shut. “I was home alone and I was scared to open the door.”
“Home?” I echo back. It’s not unlike my mother to hand the keys over to an employee while she went off on holiday.That would make sense.“Do you live here?”
“Yes.”
So my mother likes her.That makes things more complicated.
My fingers roam along the edges of the sex toys: placing close attention to the ones I’d need if things go south. I could torture the truth out of this girl and have a little fun or take the fun out of it all together. If she stole from me, she’d owe me. I guess I owed her too. “Didn’t you save my life?”
She bobs her head and angles her chin toward the door. “I did.”
