Thief: A Bad Boy Romance

by Aubrey Irons

  I want him to take me, like he did before. I want him fuck me hard and rough. I want him to claim my body and make me melt into a puddle for him again.

  Here in the dark of the museum, I want him to tear this ridiculous pants suit off my body, bend me over the half-wrapped statue behind me, and fuck me the way he did in that sex club.

  The thought of it brings another whimper to my throat, and this time, he pulls away from my mouth with that grin on his face.

  That arrogant fucking grin.

  “I knew you’d beg for it,” he husks into my ear, making me furious despite the shiver slithering through me at the same time.

  The smug, egotistical look on his face has me fuming, but the finger stroking my pussy has me rolling my hips against him, doing everything I can to hold back the moan on the verge of tumbling from my lips.

  “Dream on,” I manage to gasp out, my eyes fluttering shut as his thumb rubs slow circles around my clit.

  “Oh fight it all you want, doll,” he whispers against my ear, making me moan. “But you’ll beg me to let you come.”

  My eyes flutter shut again as he strokes my clit, whimpering at his hands and the coarse way he’s talking to me.

  “Not a fucking chance,” I mumble out, feeling my body melt against him.

  And deep down, I know he’s right. Deep down, I know that no matter how hard I fight it or how much I lie through my teeth, if he keeps this up I’ll do and say anything for him to make me come. I want to deny it, and I hate my body for being so traitorous, but it’s true; I want him like I did that night.

  And he damn well knows it.

  “You will.” His lips graze my ear again as he reaches up, takes my hand, and starts to bring it down. “And when you do,” I moan as he brings my hand down to the bulge at the front of his suit, letting me feel every thick inch of him. “It’ll be with every inch of my cock inside of you.”

  Oh, fuck.

  “Just tell me you want it, princess.”

  I shake my head, feeling my body start to fall over the edge as his fingers stroke in and out of me and his thumb circles my clit. “Uh-uh, nope, not even a little bi-”

  There’s the sudden burst of static from a radio from somewhere down the hallway, and we both freeze.

  “Roger that, checking the far hallway. B-team prepare for breech.”

  Oh my God.

  And then we’re both scrambling, jolted immediately into the now at the sound of the agent’s voice. I’m gasping as I rush to fix my pants and stuff my blouse back in.

  I jump back from Hunter just as the sound of footsteps round the corner, and suddenly the lights are on and flooding the room, bathing the scene of the crime in light.

  “Agent Ryan!” The man’s face is neutral but he does not sound pleased. He sets his jaw as he narrows his eyes at Hunter. “Agent, where is your-” His eyes land on the earpiece dangling from Hunter’s collar instead of in his ear where it should be, and suddenly he’s marching right over to us. “Jesus Christ, Ryan,” he mutters, his face suddenly livid as gets right in Hunter’s face as if I’m not standing right there.

  Three other agents suddenly come around the corner and hang by the doorway giving muted directions on walkie-talkies as the first man glares at Hunter.

  “Do you have any idea how close I just came to shutting this whole Goddamn city down when you didn’t respond? What the hell were you doing back here? You’re supposed to be watching her-”

  “He was, agent,” I say, quickly jutting in. “I was a little eager to see the Etruscan marble works, and I tripped on this one in the dark. Agent Ryan was just helping me up when you came in, and I must have knocked his earpiece out when I fell.” I smile as sweetly as I can, suddenly wondering if Secret Service agents are trained to know a lie when they see it.

  Probably.

  But I brush that thought away and hold his gaze, even ignoring Hunter when he grins at me over the man’s shoulder and gives an “O.K.” sign.

  “Agent Ryan didn’t even want me to come in here, but I was being stubborn, and I knew that the wing was closed off anyways so I didn’t think it’d be a problem.”

  The older agent’s face is back to neutral as he stiffly holds my gaze. “You shouldn’t go off schedule and off a planned route like this, Ms. Adams.”

  “I know, I’m sorry.”

  The man seems satisfied with my answer, but then he turns to Hunter and gets in his face again.

  “Just because the rest of the force hasn’t been made aware of your impending situation, don’t think for a second that I’d keep you on the force after a stunt like this if you weren’t as connected, shall we say, to the President.” He clears his throat as he turns to the other three by the door. “Let's get moving.” He turns back to Hunter. “Do your damn job, agent.”

  12.

  “Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m talking to someone inside the White House!”

  I grin and roll my eyes. “Oh, yeah, Jess, did I mention my mom was running for President? I thought maybe you’d seen something about it on local news or something.”

  “Cute, very cute,” my friend says with a laugh over the phone. “So, how is it?”

  “Big? White?” I shrug. “Boring, unexciting.” I hope the last part I say is convincing enough as I try to shove the memory of Hunter’s body pressed against mine and the wonderful and illicit thrill that rushed through me the other day in the secret hallway, or in the museum the day before.

  “Oh, and bugged; this call is most likely being recorded, by the way.”

  Yeah, my cell phone? Gone. Now I’ve got a special one that routes directly through some sort of internal server, so they can monitor it for threats or something. Remember how I said this was a place where it was impossible to keep secrets in? Big brother is very much watching.

  Eww, phrasing.

  “Ooo, spooky,” Jessica says dramatically on the other end of the phone. “Hello, C.I.A.!” She says with a laugh.

  “Secret Service.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s the Secret Service listening, well, potentially listening; not the C.I.A.”

  “Oh I see,” Jess snorts. “And are they servicing you, miss White House?”

  I can feel my cheeks get hot as my thoughts instantly go the day before at the museum, even though of course she’s just teasing me and isn’t actually insinuating anything. But of course, thinking of Hunter only gets me flustered.

  No, wrong. Get that out of your head. There’s a moment of gripping panic and fear, as if the phone tap can somehow read my terrible thoughts as well, even though I’m ninety-nine percent positive that’s not a thing.

  It’s not, right?

  I force the thought of Hunter’s wicked grin and smirking, blue eyes out of my head.

  “Jess, you have a one-track mind, you know,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  “So? It’s a good track, Mads, you should try it sometime.” She snorts. “Actually, I believe you did try it out after I finally got you to come with me that night. And if that freaking glow was any indication when I saw you later, I’d say you thought it was a pretty good track t-”

  “Jess!” I hiss, panic shooting through me. “The phone? Other ears? Remember?”

  “Right, right, sorry.” She snickers. “Wouldn’t want to excite those poor, hot, uniformed, Secret Service guys.”

  Stop thinking about Hunter in uniform; just stop it.

  “Hah, yeah, right.”

  I can hear my friend sigh over the phone. “Okay, spill, what is it.”

  “Hmm? What’s what?”

  “Dude, I know you. You’re moping about something, so spill it.”

  Busted.

  “It’s- it’s nothing, really. It’s just this place; being all cooped up here.”

  “Well, get out there and have some fun!”

  “Yeah, I can’t, that’s the problem. First daughter, national security risk, armed guard, watchful eyes; ringing any bells?”

  “Well bite my he
ad off, grumpy.”

  “Sorry,” I mumble. “It’s just between the cabin fever of this place, and Hunter basically being my shadow all day, I’m just-”

  “Um, let’s talk about this Hunter character.”

  Let’s not and say we never did?

  I can hear Jess lingering and hanging on for an answer on the other end. “Well?”

  “Well nothing, he’s my Secret Service guy.”

  “Oh that guy?” I freeze. “The tall dark and sexy standing behind you in those pictures from your mom's front-lawn gala night?”

  “Um, maybe?”

  Jessica sighs exasperatedly. “Dude, the guy dressed like a Secret Service agent with the earpiece thingy and everything with his hand on your back helping your through the crowd.”

  “Oh,” I say quickly. “Yeah, I guess that was Hunter.”

  She whistles. “Daaaamn, girl! That’s the guy you get to have following you around all the time?”

  I frown. “Yes, Jess, that’s Hunter.”

  “Well then what is your problem? If I were you, I’d be going around looking for trouble just so I could watch him come save me.”

  I roll my eyes. My problem is I’ve SLEPT with him, and now his dad is about to marry my mom.

  But of course, Jess doesn’t know that. I love my my friend, but let's just say when someone like my mother tells you, “Hey, I’m getting married soon but no one knows yet because it could disrupt national politics, so don’t tell anyone”, well, Jessica Baron is probably the last person on Earth you tell, friend or not. Suffice to say, she doesn’t need to know the finer details.

  “Well listen mopey, I’m done shooting in L.A. on Friday, you know. I could be in D.C. and getting you into some trouble by midnight.”

  I grin. “Sounds like we’d make the evening news.”

  “Oh, weekend edition for sure. ‘Wayward first daughter Adams arrested for indecent exposure in a moving vehicle along with fabulous and hot new fashion model best friend Jessica Baron.”

  I snort.

  “You know, in all honesty,” I can hear Jess’s grin through the phone as she clears her throat. “I could probably get us another invite, to another, uh, party like last time.”

  “Jess!” My face goes bright red as I hiss into the phone.

  “Oh, what, I just said ‘party’, nothing scandalous for your tall dark and handsome security detail to get all hot and bothered about. Honestly though-”

  Yeah, ‘honestly though’, that damn party is what got me into this whole mess in the first place, I want to yell into the phone.

  “Jess, I don’t think the First Daughter is getting into one of those now,” I say, rolling my eyes as I stretch out across my bed. “That was risky before, but I think it’d be beyond scandalous now.”

  “Okay fine. But you do need to get out and have some fun, you know.”

  “No shit.”

  “So how is it living in that place?”

  “Like jail, but better decor.” I blush and grin. “Hotter security.”

  Jessica hoots.

  I want to tell her, but I can’t. I can’t even tell her half truths about Hunter, even if I leave out the juicy parts because the whole thing is a big secret. The whole thing is one big dirty little secret.

  He’s my dirty little secret, in every regard.

  “So what’s up with you, grumpy?”

  I jerk my head around at the name to stare at Hunter, there in the back seat of the black Escalade.

  He raises his eyebrows. “What?”

  “Nothing, you’re the second person to say that today is all.”

  He snickers. “There’s a lesson there for you, grumps.”

  I smile sweetly at him. “Yeah, that I fucking hate being called ‘grumps’.”

  He rolls his eyes as he shakes his head. “Relax; don’t get your panties in a twist, doll.”

  “Kindly refrain from thinking of me or my panties.”

  His lips pull back in a wicked grin. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m already thinking of you without them.”

  I feel my face go bright red as I turn away from him and look out the tinted, bomb-proof window of the car. He chuckles behind me, and I scowl, hoping the false annoyance forces the other thoughts of him from my head as the city of D.C. rushes past.

  We have “an agenda” today; today being one of those days where I can’t sulk around the White House and I actually have to play my First Daughter role. We’re on a media tour circuit today, something to do with my mother’s new clean energy initiative, which is why I find myself in the back of the the Escalade with the divider up, alone with Hunter Ryan.

  And everything Jess said, everything she joked, or insinuated about me being pent up and needing to “get on her track” or whatever, is playing over and over again in my head as I sit there trying to be pissy at Hunter.

  I want to ignore him. I want to ignore the thoughts of the other day in the dark of that hallway, with the heat of him so close, bringing back every dirty, wicked memory of that night. I want to pretend I’ve put that night out of my head; that I’ve come to an agreement in my head about that being a one-time mistake. I’m telling myself that it was all a mistake; that it was wrong. And that it’s still wrong for me to keep thinking of his hands, or his mouth, or, God, his cock. But I can’t stop.

  If it’s so wrong, why do I keep thinking about it until I’m squirming in my seat and biting my lip at the way the memories of him tug at something primal inside of me?

  And why is it when I turn and see him looking at me — looking at me like that — that all I want to do is throw every notion and sense I have right out the window? Why is it that him looking at me like that, in that scandalous, dirty, hungry way, makes me want to pull up this formal skirt and let him have me right there, just like that look on his face says he wants to.

  Just like I want him to.

  He cocks an eyebrow at me as he grins. “What?”

  I quickly look away, “Nothing.”

  “Yeah, right.” He grins at me.

  Goddamnit, how does he do that? How does he always know?

  “You wear it on your face.”

  I dart my eyes back to his. “Excuse me?”

  Hunter moves towards me across the bench seat of the SUV, and I take a sharp breath as I scoot back against my door, but he’s right there, right in front of me.

  “When you’re thinking something dirty,” he says in a dark tone. “You wear it on your face.”

  “I was not.”

  “Liar. Your cheeks get all pink and you bite your lip in a way that I’ve gotta say, is much more tempting than maybe you want it to be.”

  My pulse skips and I feel a breath catch in my throat at the directness of him; at the way he just cuts through the B.S. and makes me feel.

  “So what were you thinking about.”

  “I told you, nothing.”

  “And I told you, liar. C’mon, tell me.”

  I’m still chewing on my lip as I quickly dart my eyes towards the divider between us and the driver.

  Hunter grins, “Nope, just me listening.”

  I shrug, like it’s nothing. “Doesn’t matter, I’m still not going to tell you.”

  His grin cracks across his tanned jaw. “So you were thinking something naughty.”

  Ugh, damn him.

  “No, I mean — I — ”

  And suddenly he’s moving right against me, his arm sliding around the black leather headrest behind me, his other arm pressing against the window next to me. My breath catches as he leans in close, his lips inches from my own, his eyes searing right into mine.

  And I want him. I want him like I wanted the masked stranger, before we knew who we were. I want to give in to him right here. I want to kiss those lips, feel those big, masculine hands on my body, and feel him take me — dominant and demanding — like he did before.

  “You were thinking something dirty, princess, and I’m willing to bet if I reached up under this skirt right now—” I gas
p as I feel his hand on my knee, and when he slides it higher, his fingers just sliding under the hem of my skirt, I let out a small whimper.

  “I’m betting I’d find you soaking wet for me, wouldn’t I,” he growls into my ear, and it takes everything I have to stifle the moan that threatens to tumble from my lips.

  “Mm-mm, nope,” I whisper out, quickly shaking my head.

  It’s a lie; a damn big one. I am, in fact, dripping wet for him, my body yearning and craving his touch. Hunter’s hand moves higher; he’s pushing my knees apart in the backseat of the Presidential SUV as his hand slides higher, higher towards my molten heat.

  And when his fingers graze the front of my panties, I do moan; I moan at the feel of his fingers stroking my pussy through the soaking wet fabric, but also at the look of triumph on his face as he grins.

  “Liar, liar,” he growls, and I moan again as his deft fingers push my panties to the side and stroke a digit across my naked lips.

  “So, you going to tell me exactly what you were thinking about or am I going to have to coax it out of you?”

  I gasp as he presses a finger against my opening, and when he slides it easily inside, I’m whimpering as my fingers clutch at the sleeve of his suit jacket.

  Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m in the backseat of a Presidential motorcade car, about twenty feet behind the identical one carrying the President of the United States — my mother — and I’m here moaning, willingly opening my legs for my cocky, domineering bodyguard.

  My stepbrother.

  How the fuck did I let things get back to this place? How come I can’t say no to him?

  Hunter curls his finger up against that sweet spot inside, and I moan — much louder than I should — as he draws me back out of myself and into the here and now.

  “We— This— I mean—” I whimper out, knowing I’m not making any sense whatsoever.

  “Cat got your tongue, princess?” He growls, chuckling into my ear, sliding his finger deep into my clenching pussy as mewling sounds drip from my lips and I clutch at his sleeve.

  He pulls back from my ear and I’m gasping as his lips sear across my own, hard enough to bruise, but I just don’t care. And then it’s Hunter that has my tongue, his sliding between my lips to wrestle with my own as I moan into his mouth.