You've Got Fail(52)

She began to move her hips in a jerky rhythm, her breath catching in her throat. “They’ll hear.”

“Then we’ll have to be quiet.” I licked and sucked her neck. “Just enjoy this feeling.”

A low moan rose in her throat as she moved against my fingers, her wet pussy making me crazy with the need for her.

“I’m almost there,” she whispered.

My fingers froze.

Her eyes widened. “Wha—”

“Promise me you won’t shut me out again.” I stared down at her.

“Keep going.” She tried to ride my fingers, but I pulled them away from her needy flesh.

“Promise me.”

Her forehead wrinkled as she glared at me.

“Promise, and I’ll let you come.” I flicked her clit for emphasis.

She jerked, but I eased kisses down her throat. “Just promise me.”

She dug her nails into my forearm, but hissed out her answer, “I promise.”

“That’s it.” I pressed my fingers against her clit and stroked her faster, keeping the pressure on as she tensed beneath me.

I kissed her again, stealing her cry as she came, her body tightening and then relaxing as she clutched at my shoulders. When she was spent, she lay limp in the bed. Laughter filtered through the door at intervals, Elias and Hannah keeping themselves occupied.

“You’re an ass.” She dropped her hands over her head as she gulped in air.

I stood. “I’d best be going, blogging to do and all. But I’ll call you tonight. If you don’t answer, I’ll be back.” I slid my fingers into my mouth and licked her taste.

Her mouth dropped open. I took her hand and kissed the back, then headed into the living area.

Elias and Hannah sat at the kitchen counter—she was blushing; he was demonstrating the “shocker” motion with his hand.

“—this amazing mushroom head on it, you know? But my boss shot down the prototype. I’m looking into maybe getting some private funding, going out on my own for it. With the realistic veins and the intense pink and stink action, there’s no way a private investor wouldn’t jump on it.”

“Come on, Elias. We’re out.”

“What’s got you so hot to twat?” He frowned, but rose. “I guess we’re going.”

She laughed. “Thanks for the shocker talk.”

“Anytime.”

I pulled him out the front door and down the rickety stairs to the exterior door.

“What happened?” He turned to stare up at their apartment as I hailed a cab.

“We talked it out. She’s going to be more communicative now.”

“Just talked?”

“Yeah.” My raging boner would beg to differ, but my t-shirt and jeans hid it well enough.

“Uh huh.” He turned his eyes on me, a smirk twisting one side of his mouth. “One question.”

“What?”

“Can I smell your fingers?”

I smacked him on the back of the head.





19





Scarlet





“They’re nice. I like them.” Hannah sat at the kitchen counter and picked at the sandwich I bought for her.

“They’re marks, nothing more.” I sat next to her and pulled my sandwich over to me.

“Just because I’m good at numbers doesn’t mean I’m bad at people.” She gave me a hard look. “I could feel the energy between you and Willis. It definitely isn’t the sort of tension that exists between a con and a mark.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think I do.” She pinched off a tiny piece of bread from her hoagie and ate it. “I’ve seen Mom run enough cons, and now you, to get a sense of how it’s supposed to go. Getting finger-banged by the mark isn’t part of it.”

I choked on my sandwich to the point Hannah had to smack me on the back. Sputtering, I took a sip of water and calmed down. “You heard us?”

She shrugged. “You know these walls are thin as toilet paper.”

“That’s embarrassing.” I imagined Elias listening to us. Eek.

“Don’t change the subject. You’re into him.” She took another bird bite from her sandwich. “I think you’re falling for him.”

“That’s preposterous. You know this is just about doing a job.” I took a big swig of water to quell the tickle in my throat.

“For someone who can read people, you sure can’t read your own emotions.”

I pulled the pickle from my ham and cheese hoagie and tossed it onto Hannah’s paper plate. “You’re a shrink all of a sudden?”

She picked up the pickle and nibbled at it. “No. I just can tell that you’re crushing on him. More than crushing.”

“Please.” I rolled my eyes and bit into my sandwich. “He’s a paycheck.”

“Maybe we could change the plan.”

I swallowed, the food thick in my throat, and stared at the sliver of afternoon light shooting through the shutters. It lit up bits of dust swirling around the old apartment, a golden trail of dilapidation. I felt like the dust—unmoored, floating, worn out. “It’s too late to change it.”