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“You go in first or I’m not going in at all.”
“You think I’m going to lock you in there?”
I don’t answer her. I shouldn’t really have to.
She shoves the vent into my chest, then ducks inside, bending down onto her hands and knees.
I take a moment to admire the view before following her in, sitting right at the opening with my legs half scrunched up the curved wall while I get the panel back in place.
Lex reaches over me to help, her sweet, frozen Jasmine scent closing in on me more than the tight space.
We get it situated just enough that it doesn’t move, then Lex lowers her face to mine. Her covered mouth against my covered ear, she whispers, “Stay close and don’t talk,” making my dick instantly hard.
We crawl through the tunnel agonizingly slow. I prefer to take my time during jobs, so the speed itself isn’t what’s bothering me, it’s Lex’s ass in front of my face the entire time, because as tempting as it is to press my face to her pussy at this angle, I can’t. Each time my masked jaw brushes her pants, I have to stifle a groan. By the time we reach the end, my mouth is watering and that pit in my stomach has become an insatiable hunger. Judging by the distinct smell of Lex’s desire, I’m not the only one suffering.
Lex jimmies another vent out of our way, allowing us to climb out between two industrial-sized washing machines and into a large space that must’ve been a laundry room once upon a time.
Taking my hand, she pulls me through a couple more rooms, neither of us making any unnecessary movements or sounds.
If she knew this place so well, why’d she have me case it?
My gaze touches on everything around us. While some of the interior hasn’t been changed from whenever this building was a functioning factory, most of it’s been renovated—sloppily—into semi-livable accommodations. Meaning someone fucking lives here. I don’t know who the fuck would want to. If it weren’t for the pricey security system, I’d think squatters. It’s dingy, dark, and freezing. Basically it’s the exact opposite of my loft. There is zero comfort here.
Old warehouses are refurbished all the time around Fox Hollow, but usually for apartments—like mine and my mom’s. From all I’m seeing, this warehouse isn’t housing several units, just one, and probably not even legally.
In some kind of office, we come to a stop in front of a tall gun safe, and Lex nods, silently telling me to open it.
One look at it and I pocket my kit. It’s a combination lock, one of the worst fucking locks ever made. With my ear against the cool metal, I turn the dial until I hear the first click. As I’m listening for the second, I notice atick, tick, ticknoise and stop, angling my head away from the safe.What the fuck is that?
Next to me, Lex’s leg is jiggling.
Gripping her ankle, I press a kiss to her inner thigh. All movement halts, so I pull back to look up at her. I give the other thigh a kiss, then return to the safe. Lex remains quiet as I work, but I do feel her hand on my back, her finger tracing my shoulder blade. I don’t know if it’s absentmindedly or if she’s doing it to keep herself calm, but I like it and hope she never stops.
A motherfucking shoulder blade. Jesus Christ, I’m fucked.
Once I get all the numbers in, I crank the handle, making the safe pop open. Lex and I both stand back to survey its contents. It’s cash. Stacks and stacks of cash. More cash than I’ve ever seen at once.
But…whose cash is it?
I look at Lex, her finger already up to her mouth.
Stepping forward, she runs a gloved hand over the fronts of the stacks, hesitating by a folder tucked against the side of the safe before sliding it out. Her body sways to one side, blocking my view, and I think she’s going to sway right back, but she doesn’t. When I try to look over her shoulder, the folder’s closed.
Somewhere in the warehouse a motor kicks on. It’s hard to tell if the steady whirring is a heater or something else, but Lex springs into action, quickly returning the folder and shutting the safe door.
We’re not taking anything?
Lifting the handle, she spins the dial until the arrow is pointing at the same number it was before I touched it.
We retrace our steps, moving much faster through the shaft, but at the end of it, Lex grabs me, making me freeze. Through the slats, I see a Brabus 900 XLP pickup truck waiting at one of the dock’s opening doors.
This time when my eyes fly to Lex, she ignores me completely. Is she fucking for real right now?
As soon as the half-mill supercar disappears inside the warehouse, we get out, replace the vent, then break into full-on sprints back to the Mustang.
The second we’re seated, my mask’s ripped off, and I’m snarling, “What the fuck was that?”
Lex, removing her face covering at a normal, unhurried pace, doesn’t answer.
