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He might have tasted even better.
And his voice. Like velvet sandpaper on my senses.
It did things to my insides, just like Miller’s caramel butter voice did.
Jac Miller was a sensuous bastard who didn’t give a fuck about anyone or anything apart from himself. Women, to a man like that, are toys, things to be used for his pleasure and nothing more. I’m not saying a man that confident doesn’t know how to please, I’m sure he does, but I don’t think he cares about more than what he can get.
He’s hot and lives for his own pleasure.
Hendrick Agnossio is…
A different beast.
There’s a coldness to him. Stone-cold killer comes to mind. A man so focused that I’m actually shocked he didn’t know I lifted his wallet. I could have gone for the gorgeous custom Piguet watch, too, but there are times where pushing leads nowhere good, and getting caught showing off by taking a crime boss’s watch from his wrist is one of them.
What I didn’t expect was the heat.
The fires that melted me from the inside out.
He wasn’t wrong about the state of my pussy. However, my wetness had nothing to do with the watch or lifting his wallet and everything to do with him.
“That fucking hot, huh?” Harry asks, startling me from my thoughts.
“Hotter.”
The word spills out as Harry pulls into the garage that sits next to her store. She owns the building and the private garage. I rent an apartment downtown. I’m not a fan of my name on a deed. The rent’s cash in hand, no lease.
I got the place like that with some tacky, expensive jewelry.
When I buy, it’ll be when I make my billion.
“Did you learn anything?” Harry asks, opening the inner door to the building. “Or just get your flirt on? And don’t tell me you didn’t because your cheeks are all fucking flushed my girl.”
She heads upstairs, to the apartment above the store where she lives. Once we’re in, I kick off the shoes and head off to the bathroom, brushing out my blonde hair in the mirror’s reflection and washing off the makeup. Then I change into my jeans and top and head back out.
She hands me a drink. “Preferred the hot vixen look, but you do you, Lena.”
“Whiskey and Coke?” I wrinkle my nose.
Harry flops on her sofa and looks anything but sorry. “Sorry. I ran out of all the ingredients for a Cat Woman.”
“What the fuck is that?”
“A cocktail I just made up?” Harry gives my glass a look. “I don’t know. I’m not a high maintenance drinker.”
I take a swallow of the horrorfest in my glass then set it down. After sipping that expensive whiskey tonight, Hendrick’s favorite Japanese brand—I did my research—this paint stripper and warm Coke doesn’t float my boat.
Then I pull the wallet I took this evening out from my small round, structured clutch.
She gasps. “You did not.”
I look at Harry. Her baby blues are wide and she’s pointing with her glass at the contraband.
“Would you believe me if I said I didn’t?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she demands.
I shake my head. “Says the woman who convinced me to steal billions from the man.”
