He patted his back pocket, looking so damn handsome in the sun. “Come toward me. I’ll show you how to steal then you can practice.”
He was giving me permission to attack him? To slip my fingers against his butt and loot him?
Once again, part of me recoiled at the idea of being so close while the rest of me woke up from a two-year hibernation and prepared to relearn that elusive, incredible word.
Play.
FUCK, THIS WAS a bad idea.
A really, really bad idea.
As Pimlico stalked toward me, her face dancing with an eager but distrusting smile, my cock thickened in need. The more I was around her, the more I wanted her. Especially now as she relaxed into herself, slinking with more confidence and…is that playfulness?
I didn’t think she’d ever relax enough around me to play.
It hit me right in the goddamn heart to think, despite her disagreement and scorn whenever I used the word trust, she’d already started to do it. She’d allowed herself to soften—if only just a margin. She wasn’t expecting me to hit her the moment she came close. She wasn’t looking for chains or pain when she walked beside me.
Playing my cello for her last night had been a daredevil move. I worried I’d shatter the rest of her soul and end up sweeping up the pieces. But she’d surprised me. Shit, she surprised herself.
She might’ve hated every strum, but when I’d kissed her…Christ, she’d kissed me back with a liveliness she hadn’t shown before. Our second kiss in weeks and instead of granting a reprieve on my desire for her, it only made it ten times fucking worse.
Drinking in her face one last time, I spun around and stood still. She paused, then her footsteps padded softly again behind me. My skin prickled with awareness as she took her time, judging how best to steal. A quiet shuffle of bare toes and the lightest flutter of touch on my back pocket.
I gritted my teeth as everything roared inside for more. I wanted her hands on every inch of my skin. I wanted her mouth on me. I wanted my cock inside her. My entire body hated me for punishing it with celibacy, bashing against my patience like a dog off its leash.
I throbbed with need as I locked my knees and fought the delicious shudder of her hand slipping into my shorts.
The delicate, sensual flicker of her fingers on my ass—goddammit, I almost shot around and grabbed her. Every urge in my blood bellowed to march her backward until her spine hit the deck railing, hook her leg over my hip, and drive my agonising erection against her.
But I didn’t.
Because I couldn’t get past the guilt of what that would make me and the knowledge she’d let me in just a little.
I could be patient until she let me in a lot.
Forcing myself to focus on why we were doing this and not how hard I was, I stopped breathing and let her finish.
The moment the weight of the wallet left my shorts, I grabbed her wrist without turning around. “Gotcha.”
She wriggled as I dragged her forward, plucking the leather from her hand with my free one. “Far too noticeable.”
Her chin cocked, dark hair dappling with pinpricks of sunlight from the shade-sail above. I fucking loved the argument on her face, the tenacity and willingness to show what she’d hid along—that she fought for everything and no longer had to pretend to submit to survive.
Clearing my throat from the sudden rush of pride, I said, “You’ll learn though. I’ll teach you.” Letting her go, I replaced the wallet into my pocket and strolled away to lean against the railing. Blue skies glowed sedately, but ominous black clouds lurked on the horizon. I made a note to talk to Jolfer about sailing around if a storm brewed. I didn’t mind rough seas, but Pimlico couldn’t become afraid of the Phantom. This was her home for the foreseeable future. She had to love it as much as I did.
While I lost myself in the sky, Pim snuck up behind me.
I hid my smile at her attempt to be stealthy.
My ears twitched with her little breaths. My body flinched knowing she came close on her own accord. She moved faster this time; the shadow of her arm snaked over the deck as she reached for the money.
I bit my lip as her fingers crept into my shorts again, sending haywire misfires of what was decent and what was not.
Fighting my shudder, I waited until her touch wedged against the wallet and my ass. Slamming my palm over hers, I kept her hand firm against my flesh and spun around. I corkscrewed into a tangle of bodies—her arm tight and looped over my hip as if she’d half embraced me and summoned me to kiss her.
Everything fell away as our eyes locked.
Fuck, really bad idea.
Her mouth thinned as she tried to snatch her hand back.
I didn’t let her go. My gaze danced over her face, committing every freckle and scar to memory. “I felt you coming.”
The sentence had a double meaning. Would I ever feel her come? Could she come? Could I somehow train a girl who’d traded virginity for slavery and sweep away her horror all in the name of creating pleasure rather than pain when I touched her?