Thief: A Bad Boy Romance

by Aubrey Irons

  It occurs to me right then and there that I’m quite simply having the time of my life. It also occurs to me that I have no idea how long we’ve been down here in the wine cellar.

  I sit up with a start, “Wait, what time is it?”

  Oliver freezes for a second, as if also just remembering that we’re actually at work, before he just grins and shrugs in that patent way of his.

  “No idea, luv.” He rummages around under us in the pile of our clothes and comes back out with his cellphone, “Oh, bugger.”

  I laugh, giggling all over again. I’m sorry, but there is just no way to hear the word “bugger” without laughing, even if it is coming out of the perfect mouth of a very perfect looking and very naked man who happens to have just utterly and completely fucked your brains out.

  I force myself to stop giggling, “Wait no seriously, what time is it?”

  “Late.”

  I roll my eyes, “Oliver-”

  “I mean, late enough,” he turns the phone to face me, and my jaw drops at both the time and twenty-odd missed calls and messages from both Ian and Marco.

  Oh, shit.

  Oliver grins, “Hang on, sit tight for a second.” He jumps up and then takes the stairs up to the door.

  “Are you crazy!” I’m scrambling for my clothes when I hear him laugh and then slowly pad back down the stairs, “We’re off the hook.”

  “What? What do you mean?”

  He grins, “I mean the place is dark and locked up; apparently we weren’t missed.”

  I shoot him a look, “Uh, apparently, we were,” I nod at his cellphone.

  “Oh, that?” Oliver make a brushing motion, “Not even a problem.” He picks up the phone, and I’m trying very hard not to blush as I realize what happens to be right at my eye level with him standing there naked like that.

  “Poof, magic. We’re good.”

  I raise a questioning eyebrow.

  “Well, you see, I had to leave early on the very pressing business of getting absolutely roaring drunk with Danny Cole, and you had to go console your mum about some sort of emergency wedding planning stuff.” He sighs and shakes his head, “I mean, I thought it was fairly unprofessional of you to leave work early for something like that, but I guess we are going to be family and all.”

  I wrinkle my nose and poke him in the chest as he laughs and scoots back down to sit against the crates next to me. “You dick! Now they both think I’m sort of ditzy nepotistic charity case.”

  Oliver raises a brow and smirks at me, “You’d rather I tell them what you were actually doing?”

  “Um, no, thank you,” I roll my eyes at him.

  “So, here we are, with the whole restaurant to ourselves,” I gasp as I suddenly feel his hand on my bare thigh. “What ever shall we do?” He leans in and kisses my ear, and I can feel that now familiar buzzing shiver run down my spine as he whispers into my ear, “Chloe,” his breath is teasing and has me wet again in a second.

  “I want...” he husks into my ear, making my eyes flutter close and my breath catch in my throat when his hand slides tantalizingly close to the heat between my legs.

  “I want…” He trails off again, letting his fingers slowly walk their way even higher on my leg.

  “I want…”

  “Yes,” I whimper.

  “I want to cook for you.”

  There’s a beat, and I can feel my entire face go bright red before I slowly shake my head and open my eyes to see him grinning widely at me, “You’re a fucking asshole you know that?”

  Oliver laughs, “I do know that.” He jumps to his feet again and then reaches down for my hand, “Hey, I’m serious though, come.”

  He drags me up the stairs out of the cellar so fast that I barely have time to grab my chef’s coat, let alone anything else. Of course, I’d feel stranger about being totally naked in the middle of my place of work like some sort of bad dream if it wasn’t for the fact that Oliver didn’t grab a single piece of clothing.

  The dream factor turns decidedly more fun when it involves a panty-meltingly hot, tattooed man with an incredible cock who happens to be naked and about to cook for me.

  I shriek as he lifts me up and puts me down on one of the stainless steel prep tables in the kitchen, “Fuck! It’s fucking cold!”

  “Whoops, sorry,” he grins and hoists me back up over his shoulder, making me shriek and giggle as he slaps me on the ass. “That ought to warm you up, luv.”

  I shriek again as he puts me back down onto the metal table, but this time, it’s the softness of a folded up white apron that greets my butt instead of the icy freeze of the tabletop.

  “Are you seriously going to cook right now?” I raise an eyebrow at him as he ties an apron around his naked, chiseled body.

  “Chloe,” he winks at me. “Sit, watch, be still. Let me do this.”

  I do, and damn is he good. A typical shift in the kitchen doesn’t have Oliver cooking much; head chefs don’t actually do much cooking during the service itself, as odd as that sounds. They’re there more as a general, or a coach. So most times when I’m in the kitchen with him, he’s barking orders, or plating dishes, or expediting orders out to servers, or just generally making sure things don’t go sour.

  But here, now, watching him is like watching ballet.

  I’m literally speechless as I watch him move, and dice, and chop and sauté, and whisk. And we’re laughing, and having an absolutely insanely fun time together. And suddenly, this is the boy from before; the boy that stole my heart back when we were young and innocent and he was visiting like some sort of English pauper-prince. We’re drinking wine and laughing, and he’s feeding me morsels of stupidly good food. And then he pulls up two stools and we eat right there in the kitchen.

  “Holy shit! Oliver, this is fucking amazing.”

  “I know.”

  I snort again and roll my eyes, “No human is actually that arrogant, you know,” I say, sticking my tongue out.

  He grins, “Well maybe no human cooks as well as I do, yeah?” He wiggles his eyebrows. “You’ve caught me, Chloe. I’ve been a robot this entire time.”

  “I’m pretty sure robots don’t fuck that well.” I almost can’t believe I said that, but I laugh as I see Oliver’s eyebrows shoot up and redness creep into his cheeks. “My my! Did I just make big bad tough guy Oliver Beckett blush like a little girl?”

  I’m falling into another fit of giggles as his face goes even redder, before he coughs and reaches or the wine, “Need a bit more there, luv?” He says, dumping the last of the crazy expensive wine into the plastic to-go cups we’re drinking out of.

  “Hey, can I ask you something?” I say, pushing my empty plate away and turning to cock my head at him.

  “Shoot.”

  “Why do you stay here?” I can see him bristle and quickly put a hand on his shoulder, “You know what I mean.”

  Oliver shrugs

  “Because of your mom?”

  His eyes quickly dart to mine.

  “I talked with Danny the other day,” I say with a small shrug.

  He glares at me for s second before his look softens and he nods. “Eh, possibly part of it.”

  “And your dad?”

  Oliver barks out a laugh. “That guy,” he rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “You know, he didn’t used to be such a mean old prick.” He laughs, “Okay, never mind, that’s rubbish. He was always bit of a miserable prick, but it got worse after she died.”

  I shrug, “My mom didn’t drink before my dad died.”

  “You don’t get to choose your life I guess,” he says, shrugging again and pulling me close. “But you get to choose who you spend it with while you’ve got it.”

  I raise my brow at him, “Nice line.”

  “Yeah thanks, been practicing that one a bit.”

  I laugh as he grins at me, “So what are you going to do?”

  “Stay here I guess; build the place up a bit more.”

  “With your dad.”<
br />
  He shakes his head, “Looks that way.” He arches his brow at me, a grin teasing his lips as he pulls me off my stool and into him. I giggle as he grabs my ass, pulling me up onto his lap, my legs on either side of him. “For now though…” I moan as his fingers find me, and I’m instantly wet again.

  “Seriously, again?”

  “Luv, I’d have to be fucking dead not to want it again.”

  I grin, my eyes leveled with his as I reach down to find him rock hard and pressed against me. He’s raising me up and then we’re both gasping as he lets me slide down his entire length until he’s buried inside.

  It’s slower this time, and we take our time. I can feel every pulse of his heart, feel every rumble of a growl in his chest as I writhe on his lap and slowly ride him up and down. It’s just him and I, and whatever other bullshit that’s attached to this with work or family or the world just melts away as I find his eyes with mine and never let them go.

  And when I come, it’s like an avalanche. When I call out his name, I can feel him erupt inside of me, his muscled arms holding me tightly and his cock throbbing deep inside.

  Later, it’s like we’re back in high school, sneaking back into the house with big goofy smiles on our faces and a secret in our hearts. But this time. There’s no separate bedrooms and no drifting off to sleep wondering what might have been.

  This time, I sleep with my cheek on his chest, and drift off with the beating of his heart against my ear.

  “Are you crazy?”

  I gasp and clutch at his arm, my breath coming in white plumes as his fingers curl deep inside the heat between my legs. His lips are hot on my neck, sucking the skin there hard enough to leave a mark as two of his fingers slide wetly in and out of my pussy. His thumb on my clit sends throbbing desire through my whole body, enough that I’m not even aware anymore of how freezing cold it is in here.

  ‘Here’ being, the large commercial walk-in refrigerator at work.

  “Someone could walk in!” I’m protesting, but I’m not really protesting, if that makes any sense. It’s almost a game at this point, my telling him we “shouldn’t be doing this thing”, or “this is wrong”, or some other nonsense like that. And of course, who I’m really talking to is myself when I say those things, but at this point, I think I just like saying them even if they’re totally meaningless.

  Because we should definitely be doing this, and there is nothing wrong about the way he makes me feel.

  “Then I guess you better come quick, luv,” he husks into my ear.

  I cry out, my hands clutching his bicep through his chef coat, feeling the muscles there ripple and roll as he grinds his palm against my clit and moves his fingers faster and faster inside of my panties. I’m biting his shoulder, rocking my hips back and forth against his hand like some sort of sex-starved maniac, because that’s apparently what I’ve become with Oliver.

  And I’m super okay with that.

  His fingers are driving me insane, but I want more. Actually, I want it all right now.

  He looks surprised when I pull his arm out of my panties and push him away, but when I yank my pants down to my knees and turn around to thrust my ass out toward him, I think he gets the idea.

  “Who’s crazy now, sweetheart?” He says, a grin on his face as he reaches for the waist of his pants.

  I glance at the door - the door that has no lock on the inside of it for safety reasons - before I look back over my shoulder at him, “Better come quick then, luv,” I say, badly mimicking his accent.

  His cock is throbbing hard and ready, just like I knew it’d be, as he growls and steps up behind me. I can feel his hand on my ass, stroking the skin there as he presses the thick head to my opening and slides inside, making us both cry out.

  It’s fast, and it’s raw, both of our breaths fuming like white smoke and goosebumps tickling our exposed skin as we create our own heat together. His hands hold my hips tightly, his cock fills me to the brim, and the melding of our voices and gasping moans fills the walk-in as we barrel like a train without brakes towards that edge.

  Oliver roars, and it’s the feel of him swelling up even bigger inside of me, and the feel of his hot cum pumping into me in contrast to the chill in the air around us that sends me screaming over the edge. My hands tighten like vices on the shelves in front of me, clinging on for dear life as the waves of my orgasm threaten to wash me away.

  “You know,” he says, grinning broadly as he pulls me close and kisses me, “I like this crazy new Chloe.”

  I smirk, “Who says it’s new?”

  “Because if you’ve just been hiding this side all these years, then that’s just a damn crying shame, that’s why.”

  It’s been like this for the past few days, us sneaking around like this when no one’s looking. We go about our shifts like nothing’s changed, but the secretive looks and knowing grins we shoot each other over the course of each night is like sharing this dirty little secret together.

  And, God, I can’t even look at poor Julie’s prep-table without blushing.

  It’s later, right after a mid-sized rush, and I’m still trying to wade through some last orders when I suddenly feel something long, firm, and insistent press up against my ass.

  This man is insatiable.

  And I am not complaining.

  I turn towards him, but I frown as I realize he’s not behind me, he’s standing right beside me, leaning against the counter. He’s also got the world’s most innocent look on his face, which, knowing Oliver, of course means he’s up to something.

  And that something is still poking my butt.

  “What are you-” I jerk my head around behind me and gasp before I quickly swat his hand away.

  The hand holding the cucumber that he’s been nonchalantly stroking and prodding my ass with.

  He gives me an alarmingly believably innocent look, “What?”

  “You are permanently in adolescence, I swear.”

  Oliver grins, folding his arms over his chest and waving the cucumber around, “Well, I can’t very well take my cock out right here and use that now can I?”

  “So you decided to use produce this time?” I eye the cucumber in his hands.

  “Who says just this time?” He grins wickedly and I blush.

  “I’ve got work to finish.”

  Oliver slowly starts to stroke the cucumber suggestively with his fingers as he gets up to walk away, and I roll my eyes as the blush creeps over my face, “You are incorrigible.”

  We’re in the office later, the lights of the kitchen dimmed and the rest of the staff long gone as Oliver pulls me gasping towards the small couch to the side of his office.

  It’s been like this for a week now. We can’t very well go home, because I don’t care what Oliver says about the ground floor not being able to hear our floor, I am not having sex with our parents at home. It’s way too weird, and way too much of a reminder of how wrong this is.

  So, naturally we’re screwing around at work. On literally every single surface we can find, I might add.

  We clean afterwards, of course.

  Oliver’s little cucumber thing earlier might have been juvenile, but that doesn’t mean I’m not desperate to feel him as we collapse onto the couch. I’m pushing him back and tugging at his chef’s pants, yanking them down until his impressive cock pops out and up right in front of me. Oliver hisses and groans as I wrap my lip around his shaft, my mouth stretching to fit his girth as I swirl my tongue around the crown and run my hands up his thighs.

  I’m starting to slide up and down before I squeal as he grabs me and start to flip me around, “Oy, not so fast, darling.”

  He’s become a master at stripping my clothes off, and before I know it, I’m pants-less and laying on top of him with his head between my legs and his cock in front of me.

  It’s almost alarming how good he is at having us end up in positions like this.

  I moan quietly as his tongue finds me hot and wet, dragging up th
rough my folds and pushing inside to tease around my opening before he flicks it against my aching clit. I muffle my cries with his cock, slipping my lips back over the head and sucking him as deep as I can as his tongue starts to work magic on me.

  Suddenly, he pulls away and starts to push me off of him, “Oh, wait, hang on a tick.”

  I look up at him quizzically as he jumps up from the couch, “Huh?”

  “Stay put, I’ll be right back,” he says with a devious wink that sends a shiver down my spine.

  He’s back roughly thirty seconds later, holding something behind his back, “Now, where were we?”

  I arch an eyebrow at him, “What are you up to?”

  He slides back onto the couch and starts to pull me back on top of him. “You’ve gotta trust me, luv.”

  I yelp and giggle as he pulls me back to his face, and then gasp as his tongue finds my pussy again. I’m melting all over again, moaning at his tongue as he licks me perfectly.

  I’m just moving my mouth back to his cock when I suddenly freeze, my eyes going wide; “Oliver- what the fuck is that?” I can practically feel him grinning against my thigh, and I hear him chuckle deeply behind me. But then the lick of his tongue across my clit brings a gasp to my lips.

  “Do you trust me?”

  I bite my lip, “Should I?”

  “That all depends if you do or not.”

  Slowly, I find myself nodding, “Yes,” I whisper quietly.

  “Then just relax,” he growls, his tongue darting out to lap at my wetness, “I promise you’ll enjoy this.”

  Something is pressing against me; something big. Maybe not as big as him but- “Jesus, what-” I start to turn to look over my shoulder, but whatever he’s got starts to stretch me so perfectly as it slides easily inside that I moan in spite of myself.

  “Oliver,” I gasp out, feeling his tongue dance across my clit as the very cock-like thing slowly entering me glides over my wetness; “What is that?”

  “What?” He chuckles behind me, “Didn’t you like my little friend from earlier?”

  “What?” I gasp as the thing presses deep, hitting such a good spot inside.