Peyton’s eyes sparked at his name choice, then the fire fizzled. “I hope to hell they come after me.” Her hand curled into a sphere, and Serena remembered the spitfire who used to kick all the goody-goody kids’ asses on the playground. “What’s your plan?”
“To get her back. But we need your help.” Milo rubbed his thumb over Serena’s thigh, as if he sensed her dismay.
“Anything.”
Serena squeezed Milo’s hand, assuring him she wasn’t going to fall apart. “Do you trust your team?”
Peyton made a clicking sound. “I don’t know them that well. I’ve worked with Vivi a couple of times, but Wes and Adam are new—to me anyway.”
“But Dani trusted them?”
Peyton shrugged. “She vouched for them both. I took her word.”
Interesting. Serena rolled that information over in her brain. Dani was a little more trusting than she was, but she wasn’t careless.
“What do you say, Priss?” Milo asked. “Are you in to rob Titus tonight?”
Peyton nodded. “I don’t usually do pro-bono work, but for Dani, of course.”
“You don’t have to get involved,” Serena said. “No one would hold it against you.” Peyton deserved a way out, even though Serena knew there was no chance she’d take it.
Peyton curled her lip. “There’s no way I’m going to sit around twiddling my thumbs when Dani is in danger. You bet your ass I’ll be there.”
Serena and Milo stood. Peyton followed suit and yanked Serena into a hug. “She’ll be okay,” Peyton choked out.
“We’ll come back tonight with Brock,” Milo promised, as he tugged Serena’s arm. They stepped into the hallway. The dead bolt clicked and the chain slid with a resounding tinkle.
Seeing Peyton rattled shook away the doubt edging her mind. She strode a pace in front of Milo with renewed determination.
Waiting until tonight would be hell.
* * *
“Coffee?” Serena bustled around his kitchen as if she’d been there months and not two days. Before he could answer, she’d set two white mugs on the island.
“Sure.” He dropped onto one of the barstools, taking the opportunity to observe her. She’d tugged the elastic from her hair the second her shoes were off. Wispy strands licked her cheeks and the rest of her locks waved over her shoulders.
Brunette now. So weird.
She scooped sugar into each mug, her eyes downcast and her movements jerky. The ceramic cups were the only matching pair in the cupboard. The last two of the set he’d purchased when he bought the house. One was somewhere in the garage where he’d last been working; the other had broken. Four other miscellaneous mugs took up the shelf, and yet she’d taken down two matching ones—a couple.
Jesus, was he seriously comparing her choice of mugs to their relationship? As if what they drank out of meant anything.
Fuck it. Fuck all of this. He was losing his mind and it was because of her. Because he couldn’t get her out of his head. Couldn’t chase away the guilt of abandoning her, couldn’t sweep away his attraction or their history any more easily than he could stop staring at her.
He was done fighting.
He got to his feet and rounded the island.
“I’m glad to have Priss with us on this.”
He smirked at the use of her friend’s nickname. It was funny she never called Peyton Priss in front of her, knowing it would annoy her. He rested his hand on the counter and continued studying her while she fixed their coffees. If she was aware of his proximity, she didn’t react.
“Do you want to pour your cream?” She held out the carton, her gaze lifting to his for the first time since they’d gotten back to his house.
“Nah. You make it better.”
Her mouth twitched and her gaze dropped to his scar. She poured a splash into one cup and three times that amount into the other.
She lifted the one with the most cream and sugar and handed it to him. “What happened to your jaw?”
He sipped, and the warm brew rolled over his tongue, ringing his senses to life. He frowned and rubbed his stubble. Was she hinting at the excess hair he was sporting due to lack of shaving over the last day and a half? “What about it?”
She rested her palm where his jaw met his ear, and her thumb brushed over the spot she was referring to.
“Ah, that.” He took another drink and set the cup on the counter. Taking advantage of the fact that she’d turned to face him, he cradled her hips in his hands. “I got that at Alban’s. After you left, I got into it with another guard. He hit the butt of a steel flashlight against my face. Hurt like a bitch and left a scar.”
Her eyes crinkled in sympathy and her thumb stroked it again.
“I’m fine.”
“I know.” Her tongue slid over her teeth then disappeared into her mouth, taunting his to follow.
He clenched his hands tighter around her hips and rocked them back and forth. Christ, she was driving him insane. Everything she did made his cock stretch. If he didn’t get inside her he’d burst.
She squirmed against him. “What are you doing?” Despite the question, her voice came out throaty.
“I lied, Serena.”
“About?”
“I can’t just sleep with you once. There’s too much between us. Too much left to act like just one roll in the sheets is going to cut it.”
Her hand fell from his jaw to his shoulder and coasted over his bicep. He expected her to push away, to shrug off his comment, but she locked her eyes on his.
“I know.”
He dragged a breath into his lungs and stared into the searing embers of her baby blues. He lifted her up, dropping her ass onto the counter. She turned to the steaming mugs and moved them out of harm’s way. Then he caught her hands and held them between her spread legs.
“Do you know what you’re signing up for?” His voice rumbled from deep within his gut. A primitive animal waited to be unleashed with her go-ahead.
She didn’t flinch in his hold, but her chest lifted and fell rapidly. Her head bobbed in understanding.
“What?” He didn’t know why he was wasting time talking, or what he wanted to hear. But something was making him leash the beast in his jeans.
“We’re going to fuck, and it’s not going to mean anything.”
His abdominal wall jerked under the impact of her words. He ran a shaky hand over his face. Lord almighty, she was even making him tremble. The rage of his blood rushed against his veins.
It pissed him off. Not that she’d said it, but that she believed it. He should walk away. Drop whatever the hell hung between them, finish this heist to get back her sister, and return to his life.
Only he couldn’t.
He threaded his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck and tipped her head back. “Is that what you want? To fuck?”
She swallowed, and her throat moved against his forearm. Her lips, wet and moist, parted.
“I want you, Milo. On whatever terms you’re capable of.” Ice coated her words. Hurt? Or a challenge? Was that what she wanted? For him to bare his feelings? To rehash years of guilt and pain?
He couldn’t do that. Not when he could barely wrap his head around his emotions himself. An animalistic part of him wanted to strip her and give her exactly what she claimed to want. But part of him couldn’t do that. At least not under these conditions.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Serena.” He danced his thumb from the top of her cheek to the corner of her lips, then over her chin. “Nothing between us will ever be meaningless. It can’t be.” He closed his eyes and dipped his head. “Please don’t ask me what the hell that means right now. All I know is it’s true.”
He kept his gaze on the rise and fall of her belly. If he had to walk away from her right now, he’d probably blow his load in his pants and embarrass the hell out of himself. He shifted his hips, but the taut denim only scraped against the sensitive head of his cock even more.
Serena’s hand
s slid under the front of his shirt. How she lived with such cold extremities never ceased to amaze him. Her fingers toyed with his abs until he lifted his head. Her eyes were hooded with desire, the flesh at her breasts flushed to a delicious pink. She rolled the back of her head into his palm and he straightened, leaned closer, and dipped his mouth to hers.
Her lips moved against his, and her tongue flicked into his mouth. Her hips bucked on the counter, and he brought his free hand to the crease of her groin. Tracing his thumb along the V between her legs, he rubbed when he hit the small, warm spot. A whimper sounded from her throat and he groaned into her mouth.
Her ankles hooked around his lower back, dragging him closer. With every movement of his thumb she grew more frantic. Her hands, now hot, pulled at his waist, and her teeth dragged over his bottom lip until the tinny taste of blood touched his tongue.
Holy fucking shit.
He cradled her neck, stealing some of her mobility so he could control the kiss, which earned him a huff of impatience. He broke away from her mouth, caught the hem of her shirt, and freed her of it. She let go of his sides to unhook her bra, which she tossed across the island. In perfect synchrony, she lifted her hips and he pulled her pants off.
She tugged at her panties but he stopped her.
“Keep those on,” he said, his voice as rough as broken glass. The pink flowers splashed against her pale skin, and he wanted nothing more than to admire them as he fit his cock nicely around the edge of the lace.
She caught his zipper and tugged it down. Just having her hands that close to his dick brought him close to coming. He moved his face to the curve of her neck and licked and sucked her delicious skin. Jesus, she tasted like vanilla cupcakes.
Her hand grabbed his shaft and he nibbled her collarbone. All the blood left his head and pulsed in the member snuggled in her hand. She moved her hand one long stroke after the other. A guttural moan rattled in his chest. He cradled her breasts in his hands and nuzzled his face in the crest between them before drawing one nipple into his mouth. He licked his tongue over the little pebble, turning it to a taut nub.
Her head dropped back, exposing the column of her throat even more, and her legs tightened around his hips. She pulled harder on his cock, straining the already tight flesh.
“Now, Milo.”
He pulled his attention from her tantalizing, strawberry tipped breasts and slid her ass closer to the edge of the counter. Then he pushed his pants and briefs to his ankles and kicked them out of the way. She flipped her loose locks over her shoulder and looped one hand around the back of his neck. Her other hand rested on the counter behind her. Between the bright lights above the island and the gray stone beneath her ass, every inch of her stood on display. The glow from the recessed lights caught light brown highlights in her long locks. Her eyes, so damn blue and uncertain, yet round with hunger and need, were trained on him with the heat of a laser. Her breasts glimmered from his wet kisses, and her lips were pink and plump. Ragged breaths hissed between her teeth.
And she was spread out on his kitchen counter like a buffet for only him to enjoy.
He’d never witnessed anything so sexy, so erotic, in his life.
The arch in her eyebrow bounced. He smiled. Damn, he loved that she wanted his cock. Hooking his index finger in the triangle that covered her sex, he pulled the material aside to allow his dick access.
Her wet slit welcomed the head, and he groaned. “Jesus, Serena” was all he could muster. She pumped her hips against him and he urged himself deeper.
She cried out as he filled her with every inch. Her walls tightened around him, and it took all his willpower to keep thrusting amid the ecstasy that blurred his vision. She moaned again and snuggled her face against his throat. Each rock of her hips twisted his cock tighter.
He slid his hands to the small of her back and then caught her luscious ass cheeks in his palms so he could go deeper.
“Oh yes, Milo. Harder!”
He closed his eyes against the building pressure. Her fingernails bit into his shoulders, and she matched his thrusts with hard jerks of her pelvis.
Her muscles tightened against the length of his body, and her scream reverberated through the kitchen. He grabbed a handful of her hair and eased her head back. He invaded her mouth with his tongue as she shook on the last wave of her orgasm. Her body melted against him, but her mouth moved and her tongue caressed his with just as much urgency.
He held tight to her ass with his free hand and plowed into the slick, hot cushion of her pussy. She tightened around him again and a blast of light hit his closed lids as she milked his release. His body spasmed as his orgasm blew inside her. He dropped his face back into the pillowy softness of her neck and inhaled her sweet scent.
Her light tinkle of laughter shook her breasts. He snapped his head up.
“Please tell me you’re not laughing after we just had sex.” He pulled away to frown at her. The spark in her irises and the hitch in her lips made warmth spread through his chest.
It had been a long time since she looked at him like that.
“It’s not the sex, trust me.” She gestured around them. “More the location we chose.”
His laugh fell into sync with hers, and he straightened away from her. “What’s wrong with the kitchen? Not sure about you, but I worked up an appetite.”
She rested her palms on the island behind her, thrusting her naked breasts forward. Her hair clung to the sprinkle of dew that had collected on her shoulders during their frantic lovemaking.
“I could eat.”
“I’ve got a frozen pizza?” he offered, as he pulled his clothes on.
She tapped her chin. “Umm . . . I could go for pizza.” Her gaze fell to the exposed countertop between her legs. “Just don’t cut it here,” she said, with a wrinkle in her nose.
He gripped her waist and pulled her off the island to stand next to him. Her body curled into his as easily as melted butter. He pinched the tight bud of her nipple between his fingers and rolled it. She sucked in a breath and her eyes flew to his. Fresh pink stains crept over her cheekbones, making him hard all over again.
“Agreed. But you have to stay like this.”
CHAPTER 12
“Now this is fair,” Serena said, tugging the cotton T-shirt over her breasts. Milo wore only jeans as he pulled out the pizza and placed it on a cutting board.
“I think our previous arrangement was better,” he said, as he rolled a pizza cutter through the crust. The scent of melted cheese filled the air and her mouth watered.
“Me naked and you fully dressed?”
He handed her a plate and sat next to her. “Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”
She lifted a slice to her plate and blew on it. “Well, for one thing, I like this view a lot better.” She let her gaze slide to his bronze, ripped abdomen.
“And I like this”—he inched up the T-shirt she wore—“a lot better.”
She shooed his hand away, but laughter tickled her throat. She took a bite of pizza, and the sweet taste of basil touched her tongue. A cloud of hesitation crept over her. This was dangerous. Having unattached sex with Milo was turning out to be harder than she’d anticipated. He was right: nothing they did would ever mean “nothing.”
But what did it mean? She couldn’t entertain the fantasy of having a relationship with him. Wounds could be healed, but betrayal? She had to know more. Had to dredge up the past.
“I have to ask . . . where’s your dad now?”
A string of cheese dropped onto Milo’s chin, and he wiped it off before flicking his gaze toward her. His expression remained neutral, but the vein at his temple pulsed.
“In prison.”
Questions burned her throat. She let that information settle as she scarfed down the rest of her slice. Angelo Baxter hadn’t exactly been a shining father, from what she remembered. He’d always been so hard on Milo and Tasha, but more so Milo. On more than one occasion she’d witnessed the older man bac
khanding his son, or cutting him down. Milo might not have been flat-out physically abused, but she suspected emotional abuse had been part of his daily life. Yet, Milo had always strived to earn his father’s pride. Had he ever attained it?
“I don’t even remember the last time I saw your dad.” She reached for another piece of pizza. It was a flimsy thing to say, but she didn’t want the conversation to die. Not yet.
“What about your uncle?”
She snorted. Her stomach bunched into knots. The atmosphere in the kitchen was no longer heavy with passion but with tension. She hated talking about her uncle, but if it opened the lines of communication between Milo and her, she would.
“I haven’t seen him since the Alban heist.”
“You were working that for him?”
Taking a bite more viciously than necessary, she nodded. “Yup. That was our big-ticket parting heist. For years Dani and I tried to get away from him, but every time we’d tell him we were done, he’d come crawling around a few months later saying how sick Aunt Mae was. That she needed this or that, that they didn’t have money for food or had been evicted.”
Milo got up and circled the island. “Water?”
“Please.”
He filled their glasses at the fridge. “I’m not surprised. Sebastian was a con man. I still can’t believe he had you girls stealing so young.”
Memories circulated through her mind. By the time she was fourteen, she’d robbed a liquor store and stolen a car for her uncle. It wasn’t long after her sixteenth birthday that he had Dani and her doing heists with him. Teenage girls weren’t suspicious, especially when it came to drug dealers or other criminals. She and Dani had revolted against him often. Their sweet, beloved Aunt Mae was the only reason they hadn’t run away sooner. By eighteen, Serena had been so deep in that life that she didn’t know any different. Sometimes, she fantasized about what life would have been like with her mom. Catalina wouldn’t have allowed Sebastian to manipulate them—she would have protected them. Serena’s heart throbbed in her throat. Her mom wouldn’t have wanted the criminal life for them.
The Last Heist (Pretty Thieves Book 1) Page 14