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There’s nothing more depressing than a rich man’s apartment filled with chrome and glass and nothing else–all white walls and sharp edges and zero personality. An airport lounge made chic.
Then my microwave gives a loud ping, and I choke back a panicked laugh. Some fucking burglar.
The operator is calm. Almost bored-sounding as she reels off a list of standard questions, including whether I have a roommate or a girlfriend or neighbors with thin walls. Basically, she’s asking: am I sure I’m not a dumbass?
But it only gets stranger as she lets out a huff, collapsing back on the bed and resting her head on my thigh. I stare at her for what feels like an eternity, then smooth a cautious palm over her hair. It feels like warm silk.
“Is that how it works, Tabitha? Finders keepers?” Strong arms snake around my waist, and I hold on to them for balance. “It is in my world.” Spencer grunts. His arms tighten. “Well, I found you.” Oh, god. I’m not… I’m not shiny or precious. I’m not someone people want to collect, not really. Not once they get to know me. Because I’m a charming kleptomaniac who ate his treasured satay noodles, and he doesn’t even know about that betrayal yet. He will, though. He won’t hug me again after that.
Maybe if I bought more jewels and hid them around my apartment, she’d visit me again. Fuck. I need therapy.
It’s been so long since anyone touched me casually; since I was treated as an organic being and not just an email address. Tabitha’s hand in mine was a lifeline I didn’t realize I needed.
I take a bite of her toast. Her eyes narrow. “If that was the extra buttery bit—” “It was.”
I just want to ply her with take out food for weeks on end and listen to every story she has. How long can I drag this deal out? How long can I keep her?
My favorite thing about Spencer Arnoult, though, is that he can’t keep his freaking hands off me. It’s like a nervous tic, or something. I’m his girl-sized safety blanket.
“Tabby,” Spencer groans, pulling away to suck kisses down my throat. “Tabby the cat burglar. Shit. I just got that.”
She could snap my neck and I’d die happy down here. What a way to go. Like I said. I need therapy.
Tabitha, I know you’ve seen everything I’m buying. It’s all for you. Come and get it—finders keepers.”
“Thank god. I’ve eaten so much chicken satay, Tabitha.”
She can mark me if she likes. Hell, she can tattoo ‘Property of Tabitha’ on my ass. It’s true.
I grip the back of her neck and give her a little shake. “Do it, sweetheart. Show you want me. Sit on my cock.”
I hope his cruel grip on my thigh leaves bruises. I want to collect them with my other pretty things.
“Don’t leave me again, Tabitha. You hear me? Swear it.” A rough hand finds my breast through my black top, kneading and squeezing. “I’ll buy whatever jewels you want. Hide them behind the best security. Just don’t fucking go.”
