The Thief Who Saved Christmas

Chapter 37

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

RYAN

I’m a man who’s exercised tremendous self-restraint for almost a month, but I need to be inside her now. I need it more than air.

“Does it feel good to be in the shower, sweetheart? Do you like the way the water feels against your skin when I touch you?”

“I do,” she says, her lips parting as I move my fingers inside her. She’s so gorgeous, so generous, and I know I’m going to last all of five seconds once I’m finally inside her. But I’ll have all night to make up for it. I’ll have her here first, and then in the bed, and then against the door and in the five dozen other spots I’ve been dreaming about.

I kiss her, capturing her moans and swallowing them down like they’re the only food I need to survive. It feels like maybe giving this woman pleasure is the most important thing I could do in life, second only to protecting and supporting her.

It’s funny to think that asshole Roark gave me the best thing in my life when he decided to punish me last year. If he hadn’t sent me to The Crooked Quill, I never would have met Anabelle. I wouldn’t be here with her right now. I wouldn’t have learned what it is to love and be loved by Anabelle Whitman.

I wouldn’t be the man I’m becoming, who’s so much better than the man that I was.

I kiss her harder as the water pounds against us, the contrast between the hot water and the cold air in the bathroom making every sensation stronger. Then she wraps her hand around my dick, and I can’t wait any longer, not when she’s already so ready for me.

I tip my forehead to touch hers. “I don’t know how long I can last the first time.”

“I don’t care,” she says, looking up at me through wet eyelashes, her hair in wet heaps around her shoulders. “I want you inside of me. I’ve wanted it for days.”

Hell. When the girl you love says that, it’s not something you say no to.

“I’m going to pick you up and press your back to the wall. If it doesn’t feel good, tell me.”

“It’s going to feel good,” she declares, and I smile at her, reminded of the first time I tasted her. The first of many times, because I can’t get enough. If I could get away with spending all day with my head beneath her dresses, I would.

I pick her up, my hands hugging her ass, and press her to the wall. She wraps her legs around my waist, the pressure adding to the sensations building up inside of me, making my dick feel like it’s going to burst before it even gets to where it wants to go.

“You’re so strong, Ryan,” she says, as if I needed to be any more turned on.

“I could hold you up all day, sweetheart.”

I lean in and kiss her and then hold her up with one arm while I use the other to line myself up. I’m trembling, every bit of me humbled by this woman. By my love for her. I didn’t think I could love anyone like this. I didn’t think I wanted to. But she’s proven me wrong every step of the way, and I’m not sorry for it.

I push in slightly, and the sound she makes floods me with need even more than the insanely good sensation of being inside her. So blissful, I’m nearly done for. I kiss her more desperately, my tongue seeking out hers as I push in further.

It takes a great force of will not to come immediately, especially since she tightens her legs around me, trying to pull me in deeper.

“Oh, Ryan,” she says as soon as I pull my mouth from hers, still buried deep and not ready to move yet, because if I do, it might be over. I’m nearly crazy with need. Her mouth feels otherworldly around my dick, but this is better. This experience of being with her, of taking our pleasure together, is beyond anything else I’ve ever experienced.

“You’re everything to me,” I say as I pull out and drive back into her. Getting even deeper this time. Taking in the way her eyes hood with pleasure when I thrust in and pull out. Her legs pull me in closer each time, and I want to memorize the little throaty sounds she makes and the way her hair looks against the tiles as she leans her head back. I feast on her neck and her perfect nipples and her mouth, taking all of her that I can. I’m driven by a wild need to possess her—and to accept that she forgives me for the man I’ve been and wants to stand by the man I’m becoming.

When I look into her eyes, I can almost see myself the way she sees me. I don’t feel so much like an asshole anymore.

Her hips arc into me, and I feel her tightening around me—and thank God, because I need her to come before I do, and willpower will only bring a man so far.

“You feel so good around me,” I whisper into her lips. “So beautiful. I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want you.”

She captures my mouth in a deep kiss as I drive in again, and again, and then I feel her falling apart around me, her mouth still pressed to mine. And even though so much is still wrong, the world feels right.

I wake up to Anabelle’s gasp. I’m disoriented and tired after staying up half the night, but the light flooding in from the window tells me it’s late morning. Meaning that we only got a few hours of sleep. Groaning, I pull a pillow over my face.

Anabelle removes it, smiling down at me, and even though I liked the light-blocking abilities of the pillow, it’s impossible not to smile back. “Are you thinking about my dick?”

She bats me with the pillow and then waves her phone at me. “Something more important.”

“Doubtful,” I mutter but take the phone.

She launches into a story about Stanley, the dick, and the couple who gave up their room for him as I scan the message.

Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry. Yes, a man contacted us about giving up the room. He paid us double what it would have cost, and we didn’t think we were doing anything wrong because he said he was going to surprise his girlfriend. He told us his name was Ryan.

I glance up at her. “Nothing gives me greater pleasure than seeing you excited, Anabelle, but I don’t see how this clears my name.”

“Weston was trying to set you up,” she says. “But you obviously didn’t email them. It’ll have come from a junk account, and someone who knows what they’re doing might be able to track down the source.”

“It’s not a smoking gun. I don’t know what I’m doing, and I still know how to use a VPN,” I say with a sigh, pulling her on top of me.

Then it hits me. I don’t know what I’m doing when it comes to computers, but I do have certain skills, and I haven’t been using them. “We have to find out where he put the Santas and ornaments.”

“No,” she says, her voice sadder than she probably realizes. “I think he probably destroyed them.”

I can tell she’s already given them up for lost, but I refuse to accept that for her.

“He wouldn’t do that. He’d keep them as leverage. Or tokens. But I’m guessing he would keep them close. He wouldn’t want anyone knowing what he’s done.”

Hope sparks in her eyes, followed by a what the heck, Ryan? look of horror. “You are not breaking into his house. He has an alarm system.”

I hesitate, not wanting to remind her of the way I used to live my life, before I admit, “That won’t be a problem.”

“But it will be a problem if he catches you.”

I grit my teeth, not liking this next part of my plan but recognizing it’s the best way to keep Weston busy. “Tell him you want to discuss selling the inn. Cynthia can go with you, and you can text me before he leaves.”

She considers this for only half a second before shaking her head, her hair brushing my chest. “I’m not going to risk you. If you get found in there, you’ll be in much bigger trouble. Besides, what would you do if you found them?”

“Steal them back,” I say with a harsh laugh. “How’s he going to report us for taking something he supposedly doesn’t have?”

“So he can try something like this again?” she challenges.

She has a point. Ole Westie would be as pissed off as a wet hornet. But…

“Let me find out if he has them and where. Then we can figure out what to do next. Maybe we can call in an anonymous tip. Convince the police to do a search.”

“Ryan,” she says with a sigh. “Don’t you think there’s a very good chance they’ll do a routine search anyway? Weston would never keep them somewhere they could so easily be found. I don’t think they’re at his place.”

Shit, she’s right.

“Then where would he keep them?”

A little crease cuts between her eyebrows. I run my finger over it. Her lips part but not in pleasure. “I’m afraid I might know the answer to that,” she says after a moment, “and I don’t like it one bit.”

“I probably won’t either, then.”

She tells me, and I was right—I don’t like it one bit. I’m also not terribly surprised.

“So how do we handle this?” I ask.

She sits straight up, her legs on either side of my waist. I can tell from the unconscious way she does it that she has no idea straddling me with her tempting bare chest on display could make me forget Weston even exists.

“I have an idea.”

“So do I,” I say, thrusting my hips up, and her smile is the best reward a man could claim. Okay, the second best. “Can your idea wait five minutes?”

“Oh, I think this will take longer than that.”

God help me, this woman is going to be the life and death of me.