Thief: A Bad Boy Romance

by Aubrey Irons

  Bryce raises his head to look at us with a crooked grin on his face; “Reagan Archer just announced her candidacy for New York State Senate.”

  Well, huh.

  P R E S E N T

  “Where the fuck are we going?”

  I grit my teeth and try to stop myself from saying anything; from telling her she’s being a brat, from telling her I’m sick of this bullshit - hell, from telling her all the shit I’m dying to tell her if I could only figure out how.

  “Hudson!” She’s yelling now; “You can’t just fucking kidnap me you know. Aren’t you Mr. ‘Low-Profile’? I’m pretty sure kidnapping Legislative candidates gets you high-profile faster than you can-”

  “Will you shut up?” I finally bark at her, my hands gripping the wheel tight as we screech around a corner, narrowly missing some idiot hipster out riding a fixie bicycle in the fucking snow.

  “We’re going to my place.”

  She frowns; “Why, you’ve never taken me to your place bef-”

  “Because it’s safe there, that’s why.” I turn and stare at her, our eyes meeting with a sort of burning spark that keeps me looking at her for far longer than I should considering I’m driving a damn car. I tear my gaze away and accelerate around a taxi.

  “Is it?” She says quietly, and when I turn back this time, her look is hungrier; more naked.

  I turn back to the road, and without warning I slide my hand up high on her thigh. I can hear her breath catch, and feel the thrum of her pulse hot under her skin.

  “Don’t you dare think you’re going to-”

  Her words end in a gasp as I slide my hand right up under her dress to the heated and damp fabric of her panties and I grin; “Ahh, yeah, you don’t want me at all, right?”

  She bites her lip and shakes her; “Mm-mm, nope; not at all.”

  I gun the engine, letting the horses fucking rip under the hood as I stroke my finger up over her panties; tracing her sex through the wet material and relishing in the quiet moan she valiantly tries but ultimately fails to swallow. We’re speeding through streets now, the engine roaring as I dodge cars and blow through lights. My finger slides beneath the side of her panties and strokes her lips, and she rocks her hips towards me.

  “Still sure you don’t want me?”

  “Definitely,” she gasps, her breathing comes ragged as I stroke my finger through her wetness and roll my thumb over her clit. She drops her head back and willing spreads her legs wider, and I know I’ve got her close as I roar around another corner.

  “Oh, well that’s good then, because we’re here.”

  I screech the car to a purr in front of my building and withdraw my fingers from her panties. She whirls to stare at me, and the look she gives me as her jaw drops is pure, undiluted frustration, and I love it.

  “Better cover up, Senator,” I say with a shit-eating grin as I nod towards the approaching valet. Reagan scrambles to pull her skirt back down, shooting daggers at me as I chuckle and step out of the car. I toss the keys to Richard, the valet, outside my building and usher the fuming Reagan through the front door. The brusqueness is to minimize the exposure to possible photographers who might see where she’s headed, but also because I’ve got this insane need to be alone with her as quickly as fucking possible. I hurry us across the glossy marble floor of my lobby and yank her into one of the ultra-modern glass and metal elevators. Reagan’s skirt is riding high on her thigh, and as the doors close, she starts to smooth the material down.

  “Stop it.”

  She pauses, and looks at me sharply; “Excuse me?”

  “I said leave it. Don’t smooth it down.”

  “You can’t just order me around like some sort of Lord of a castle you know,” She says tightly. But she blushes, and she doesn’t pull on the skirt anymore.

  The doors close, and it’s like the final stroke; the final straw on the back. They’ve barely shut before I’ve turned and pushed her up against the glass wall of the elevator, my lips devouring hers as she moans into mine. The elevator begins to rise out of the bank, and as it does so, the view behind the glass surrounding us changes to the bright lights of the city. I grab her wrists and shove them against the wall, growling into her as I move my lips to nip at her earlobe.

  “Hudson, stop-”

  “Lift up your dress.” I tell her, my voice commanding as I move back up to kiss her hard; crushing her lips with mine.

  She gasps as she pulls away; “No-” Her eyes dart to the glass walls and the neon city-scape slowly dropping away behind her; “People might see-”

  “No one’s going to see.”

  I see her hesitate, and I whirl around and hit the emergency stop button on the elevator, making her gasp; “Are you fucking kidding m-”

  “I own the building,” I growl, before turning back, grabbing her by the wrists, and pushing her firmly back against the glass. My lips are barely touching hers, and I hear her moan ever so softly; “Now lift up your fucking dress.”

  I drop one of her arms, and she reaches down without hesitation and grabs the hem of her skirt. She’s pulling it up, and I can feel my cock throb as her clearly wet thong panties come into view. I slide my hand between her thighs, drawing it up until my fingers brush against her heat, and I grin wickedly as she shivers and moans again for me.

  “Hudson…” She’s whimpering as I stroke her wetness through her panties, teasing her and relishing the feel of her hips pushing back against my fingers; “Please…” Holy fuck, hearing her beg like that is one the hottest things I’ve ever heard, and it’s taking my all not to pull my cock out and fuck her right here in the elevator.

  “Tell me what you want,” I growl into her ear as I push her panties aside and roll my thumb over her clit.

  She moans wildly and bucks her hips towards me; “Please, Hudson!”

  “Not until you tell me what you want.” I whisper deeply into her ear, feeling her shudder against me.

  “Hudson, please.”

  She’s desperate, I can hear it in her voice as I lean in close and suck her earlobe between my lips; “Tell me, Reagan.”

  “I want you,” she moans out breathily.

  “What do you want, exactly.” I snarl into her ear, feeling her shiver against me.

  “I want your cock!” She gasps, and it sounds so fucking hot coming from her proper little mouth.

  “Where?” I growl, rolling my thumb over and around her clit in lazy, teasing circles.

  “Inside me! I want your cock in my pussy!”

  I groan, feeling my dick throbbing almost painfully against my zipper, but I’m not ready to give in and give her what she wants; not quite yet; “The other day, when I walked in on you in the shower,” Her face reddens and I can feel her get wetter; “You were thinking about me, weren’t you.”

  She whimpers, but she shuts her eyes tight and shakes her head side to side.

  “Reagan-”

  I curl a finger up against her opening and began to tease it inside, and she caves with a shuddering moan; “Yes! Oh God, yes! I was!”

  I reach back and slam the button again, and the elevator immediately begins to rise again; “And what were you doing, Reagan?” I husk into her ear, feeling her hands clutching at my shoulders and my biceps as I push her back against the glass elevator wall with her skirt around her waist and my hand in her panties. One of her legs wraps around my waist, and she pulls me tight against her. She shakes her head and she whimpers into my shoulder as I slowly tease her, my fingers curling through her wetness and making her rock against my hand.

  “Tell me,” I command, and she moans loudly; “Fuck! I was playing with myself! I was playing with my pussy!”

  The elevator door dings behind us as the doors open into my Penthouse, and she shrieks as I whirl her bodily around and throw us both to the floor inside. We’re on the ground, ripping at clothes and moaning into each other’s mouths; needing each other like something primal and animalistic. I literally tear her skirt in two up the sea
m as I rip it off of her, not stopping until I’ve popped every button on the side of it as she yanks my pants down. And then I’m rolling a condom on and I’m inside her, and it’s like pouring gasoline on the fire.

  Holy fuck.

  Cute, innocent little Reagan - smiling, friendly, baby kissing, hand-shaking girl next door Reagan Archer does not want it gentle, and we are not making love there on the floor of my penthouse. We fuck like animals; her legs wrapped tight around my waist as she claws at my back hard enough to draw blood. She gasps as I pull her head back by her hair, and I suck and bite at her neck hard enough to make sure her stylist will have a fucking heart attack the next day. She moves onto her knees, looking at me with pure lust over her shoulder as she reaches back to scratch my chest or grab my thigh, urging me on harder and faster, until I see white light and can’t even hold out any longer. She screams out her release, and as my mind goes numb, I forget anything and everything about the world and life as I come inside of her.

  We’re panting and sweaty on the floor, as she lazily raises her head from my chest and looks at me with a grin; “Now what?”

  “Now what; what?”

  She giggles, and the sound is fucking magical; “Now that you’ve got me here to your lair and torn all my clothes to shreds?”

  I reach down and grab her ass, feeling my cock stirring already; “I guess we’ll just have to stay here then, so I can keep you naked.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Reagan

  P R E S E N T

  After that first night at his penthouse, it’s like we’ve hit the reset button on the whole thing; whatever this thing is that Hudson and I have. But for the first time in probably ever, I don’t give one flying crap about labeling anything, or compartmentalizing it, or making it fit a certain parameter I’ve set for it.

  With him, I just let go.

  And things are just better with him around, and I don’t just mean the sex, though that’s of course mind blowing. It’s everything. Over the next two weeks, I just start to surge ahead in the polls, and I know it’s got everything to do with him and the way he makes me feel. Every speech I give, he’s there to the side, nodding silently; his eyes flashing at me and encouraging me. He’s helping me run speeches, late at night while I’m tucked against him without a stitch of clothing on, and for some reason the scripts I’ve run through once or twice with Hudson’s half-erect cock pressed against my back somehow just come out even better when I deliver them. Really, he’s giving me his undivided support, even if he really can’t give it in public.

  Which brings me back to the sex. Out of the public, it’s something else altogether. We’re sneaking around like fucking teenagers, screwing every chance we get and every wild place I let him drag me; like really every place. It’s like I can’t resist him, or I can’t say no when he looks at me the way he does. He takes me on the hood of his car, up on the top floor of a parking garage looking out over the New York harbor and the twinkling lights of the city, or against the floor to ceiling glass of his living room windows without me giving a care in the world. I arrive red-face and glowing, and barely on time for a stump speech at the city manager’s office because Hudson’s just had me bent over in the utility closet down the hall with his mouth on my pussy.

  Essentially, I’m better with him, and for two full weeks, we pretend that there’s no way anything in the world can touch that.

  “Yes, second row?”

  I’m at podium up in front of the Police Union offices surrounded by Donald, Erika, Hudson, and a few other staffers giving a quick press Q&A. This by now quite mundane and routine thing is made somewhat more interesting by the fact that I can literally still taste Hudson on my tongue from the hot and fast fun we had right before I stepped onto stage in an empty office.

  “Yeah hi, Marc with the Times,” The sweaty looking reporter with the ironic mustache suddenly looks right past me, to Hudson; “It’s Hudson, is it?”

  Hudson smirks and turns to look out the windows to the side of the conference room; “I believe that’s the East River, actually.” He grins as the murmurs and chuckles spread through the gathered reporters - mostly from the female contingent I notice - aided by his winning smile and that roguish charm it exudes. The reporter smiles thinly and nods before Hudson winks at him and nods; “Yes, it’s Hudson, last time I checked.”

  “Sir, if I may-”

  “All questions to Ms. Archer, if you would.” He cuts the man off succinctly as he nods towards me and takes a step back into the gathered staffers behind me.

  “Well, no actually, this one’s for you.”

  I frown as I look over my shoulder to see Hudson’s face darkening and his jaw tightening slightly; “Well then I’m all ears, Mar-”

  “You’re military, right?”

  Hudson’s jaw tightens even more, his lips thin, and I can see his eyes flash with some emotion I can’t quite place. He looks almost grim. “That’s correct, but again, I must ask that all questions be directed towards Ms. Ar-”

  “Right, yeah no, you said that. But the thing is, Mr. Banks, I don’t actually see anything about you anywhere.”

  The Times or not, I have no idea what this guy is going on about. I step up to the mic ready to cut him off; “Excuse me, Marc, but I think we should move on to oth-”

  “I’ve looked you up, Mr. Banks; public record and all that and I don’t see anything.”

  Hudson’s face is white and drawn tight, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly with his breath; “I’m not sure what you’re implying-”

  “Sir, I’m implying that there’s simply no record of you being in the U.S. Military.”

  Hudson’s face goes dark, his lips thin, and the hushed murmur has barely begun to spread through the crowd before he turns and abruptly leaves the stage. Donald is smiling his showman smile as he steps to the mic and says something about no further questions, but I’m already rushing off after Hudson. He’s gone by the time I get backstage, and my heart sinks as his phone goes right to voicemail when I try calling his cell. Whatever happened back there hit him somewhere deep, and somewhere where his armor doesn’t protect him, and all I want to do is tell him I don’t care and that whatever it is I’m here for him.

  Of course, I have to find him first, in order to tell him that though, wherever it is he’s gone to hide that he thinks is safe.

  I freeze, and just like that, I know exactly where he is as I run out the backdoor and hail a cab.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Hudson

  P A S T

  “Shit, man.” Logan shakes his head and looks at the floor; “I’m sorry, brother; I’m real sorry to hear that.”

  I’m not, though even I get that it would be weird to say that out loud.

  “How-” He coughs uncomfortably; “Shit, sorry man, that that’s none of my-”

  “Booze.” I shrug and look up at him with a wry grin; “Apparently what they say about apples and distances from trees is pretty spot on, huh?”

  “You’re not your father, Hudson.” Bryce says quietly.

  My father was mean, fall-down drunk who I stopped talking to the day after my high school graduation when I enlisted. The only reason I even know about the neighbors finding him is because of a Google alert I set up for my old hometown newspaper’s online obituary report. I know Bryce is right; I’m not my father, but it’s still this grim fucking reminder about mortality. Besides, the man I actually think of as any sort of actual Dad-figure in my life was the Old Man, and I’ve already grieved for that father.

  For a weird, brief moment, I think about calling Reagan, even though I know that door is shut. I want to call her and tell her, and just talk to her about her Dad and Dads in general. I want to hear her voice, even just once more, but I know calling would be a useless venture.

  “Do you wanna call someone? A sponsor maybe?”

  I know Logan is being serious, but I laugh out loud anyways; “No, man. I’m good.”

  P R E S E N T<
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  I’m sitting in my living room, in the dark, staring at a bottle when the front desk buzzes up that she’s in the lobby, and I’m ashamed to say I almost pretend I’m not home before I finally grumble a confirmation into the phone.

  I don’t turn when I hear her come in, not even when I hear her footsteps pause as she walks into the room. I just stare at the bottle of scotch sitting like some sort of monolith in front of me on the carved wood table.

  “Are you ok?”

  Her voice finally breaks the spell the amber liquid holds over me, and I turn to her, seeing the worry etched across her face; “That was nothing, back there, it was just-” I trail off and force a smile at her instead. I’m not comfortable feeling this exposed to her, knowing that the emotions and the baggage I usually cram down somewhere deep inside are threatening to rip me apart while she’s right in front of me, and the thought of that is almost more than I can stomach.

  “Look, this is nothing,” I nod at the bottle; “I’m not going to actually open it or anything, I just- I don’t know, I just like to look at it sometimes. I guess it helps in some weird way when I can stare it in the face and know I’m not going to let it get to me.” I shrug as I look at her standing there in the doorway of the dark room, silhouetted by the low light from the kitchen behind her.

  “I know you aren’t.” She steps hesitantly into the room; “Hudson, I don’t care what that asshole was talking about, and you don’t have tell me anything. I just want to know that you’re OK.”

  Jesus, how did I find this girl?

  “I’m- I’m fine.” But then I look into her eyes and it breaks me, breaks the bullshit; “Well, no, I’m not actually.” I close my eyes as she moves into the room, and when I feel her weight on the couch next to me and feel her wrap her arms around me, I just sink into her. “Reagan, there’s a lot about me-” I pull back to look her in the eyes, and she’s looking at me so innocently, and with such an intensity that I can’t even tell her. How can I ruin that smile and the light in those eyes with the literal hell I’ve seen; with what I’ve done.