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“What are the odds, little thief?”
there are certain luxuries I can go without, like sheets with a decent thread count and red meat, but a proper orgasm isn’t one of them.
I can feel everyone in the room eye fucking her. I’m doing it too, yes, but I’m allowed. Finders keepers and all that jazz. Jealousy burns bright in my gut, soiling every other emotion with its green tint.
“So if I slid my hand up, I wouldn’t find you soaked? Just for me?” “I don’t know if you noticed, but I am soaked. From the rain, Your Honor.”
“Don’t worry about my soul,” she manages. “It was ruined long before you.” My eyebrows draw in. What does that mean?
“Do you dance, Ms. Astor?” Snorting, I cross my arms. “Do I look like someone who dances?” “You look like a woman who sacrificed her soul to the devil. I learned long ago not to judge based on appearances.” Rude. “Yeah, well, what’s it say about you if I look like that and you still want to fuck me?” “Perhaps I’m the devil.”
“Trying to get yourself killed, little thief?” Alistair whispers roughly in my ear, and my body trembles. “Even death won’t save you from me.”
needs. I began leaving the safe open and counting the stash each night, so the next day, I’d know if she’d taken any. Not because I wanted to catch her in the act necessarily but because it felt good that she was using me for help even if she thought she was hurting me. She could hurt me all she wants. I would still want to take care of her.
