Sticky Fingers: An Enemies To Lovers Romantic Comedy Page 3

  No.

  It’s captivating now because it reminds me of that mystery man.

  The hand that isn’t holding the wine glass glides down my stomach, underneath the band of my thong, and comes to rest between my thighs. Holding my breath, I find my clit and gasp at that first initial touch, my heart skipping a beat.

  Circling my clit, I start to replay the scenario from before in my mind, except my brain has replaced the woman he was fucking with…me. I see him pounding into me, his hard cock sliding in and out of my wet pussy, and I can almost hear my moans as he skillfully pushes me to the point of no return.

  I moan. God, just the thought of him taking control of my body makes me so wet and has my hips writhing uncontrollably on the bed.

  I set the wine glass down on the side dresser, just so that I don’t spill the wine all over the bed. These sheets are expensive, you know? And so is the wine.

  Scooting back slightly on the bed, I place my feet on the edge and spread my legs so the painting is still within view. I slide my hand back under my thong, my fingers caressing my pussy lips gently.

  The longer I stare at the painting, the more I see that mystery man fucking my brains out. Swear to God, I can actually feel his hands gripping my hips and his cock deep inside me.

  Exhaling sharply, I feel an impending orgasm building inside me. The pressure builds fast, making my body burn from the inside out.

  With each thrust he gives in my imagination, the more I quiver and moan. He starts to thrust harder, and my hips respond, pushing against my hand.

  Finally, I explode.

  I moan in pleasure as stars dance behind my closed eyes, a sweet burning feeling crawling under my skin.

  I lay on the bed panting; my body is shaking uncontrollably, and my skin feels electric as it vibrates against the sheets.

  Holy shit. I’ve never managed an orgasm that fucking intense on my own. Whoever that guy is, he wasn’t even here, and he was that good.

  If that’s the reaction I get just by picturing him as I come…then I have no doubt he would have set off a nuclear explosion inside me had any of this been real.

  I don’t move for what feels like hours, doing nothing but wishing I could have a go at the delicious man. Likely, he’ll be the focus of my orgasms for the next few days. Or weeks.

  I sigh and get off the bed eventually. I need a bath to clear my mind.

  See, as great as it would be to have that man in my bed for a night, there is no way I’ll ever run into him again.

  And that’s a damn shame.

  Chapter Five

  Malcolm

  I can hear Dominic and Daphne’s voices as I move away from the door.

  “Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, a fucking headache hammering at my skull. I just spent two fucking hours being interrogated by that fucking detective and his minions.

  Not the first time I went toe-to-toe with Detective Jeremiah Strong, but Jesus fuck…this time he seems hell bent on nailing my fucking ass. Which is fucking ironic, being that, this time, I’m completely innocent.

  Yeah, not exactly the way I planned to end my fucking evening.

  I can still hear Dominic and Daphne as I move away from their front door.

  It’s clear that they believe me, although I think that Daphne may have some doubts. I don’t fucking blame her, though. If anything, I’d be fucking disappointed if people didn’t think I might have had something to do with it.

  Pushing the button for the elevator to take me down to my floor, I think about what I should do next. My preferred next step would, of course, be to bury my cock inside my little cat burglar’s pussy.

  All I can think about is her and peeling off that tight, black outfit to expose her naked skin underneath. Fuck, just thinking of that is enough to make my cock twitch.

  I have limited fucking options though. And until I find her, I’m going to be the main suspect.

  These high-end elevators are quick; I feel like I’ve just stepped on when it starts to slow again. The door opens smoothly a couple of floors above mine to show Claire, one of the tenants, holding her small dog under her arm.

  As I look at the dog, the fucking fur ball starts growling, baring his pointy little teeth.

  “Why, hello, Mr. Push,” Claire says with a smile.

  She’s too fucking tall—she can’t be my burglar.

  I don’t know why, but I feel that the thief must be in this building.

  Call it instinct or intuition, but I always listen to that voice. It’s part of what’s fucking made me. I wouldn’t be at the top of my game without it.

  “Hello, Claire.” I move over slightly as she steps into the elevator.

  Our distorted reflections on the elevator doors make us look even taller than we are.

  “I’m disappointed I didn’t make it to the Picasso reveal this evening. I heard it was something else.” Her raised eyebrows and the smirk on her red lips makes me smile back.

  She doesn’t give a fuck about the painting—she’s just trying to flirt with me.

  “Heard about that already?” I’m not surprised. This place is a regular fucking rumor mill.

  Tucking my hands in my pockets, I drop my shoulder onto the side of the elevator as I turn to peer down on her.

  “I sure did.” She smiles up at me and wiggles her eyebrows as the doors open on my floor.

  See? Just one more slut eager to get inside my pants. Sometimes, I feel like women see me just as a piece of meat. Sometimes, life is just so fucking unfair, you know?

  Alright, that was a fucking joke, in case you didn’t notice.

  I fucking love that women see me as a piece of meat…and I’m always more than happy to give them a taste of the special cut between my legs. But not tonight.

  I ignore Claire’s gaze—she’s pretty much fucking me with her eyeballs by now—and give her a curt nod as I leave.

  Another stupid fucking socialite that wants to go for a fucking ride on my cock. Think I’m being too cocky and that she was just being nice?

  Oh, please. C’mon on now, dollface. All it would take would be a little push and she’d be ready to hop on for a ride.

  I might be cocky, but that doesn’t mean I’m lying when I tell you that every single woman in this building wants to fuck me. Maybe not Daphne, but you get it. They’ve all heard about me, and I bet my cock is all they think about when they’re being fucked by their lame boyfriends.

  I wonder if my cat burglar is one of these women.

  Everyone in here might know about me, but I don’t know everyone. There are a lot of these fucking rich assholes, you know?

  But it doesn’t really matter. The people who live here and their acquaintances are going to be the best place to start looking for the thief.

  It’s a long shot, yeah, but I have to start somewhere.

  Based on the way I was questioned by Detective Strong, he doesn’t have any intention of pursuing any other leads.

  The asshole has already made his decision. I’m the thief. It keeps his fucking life simple.

  Easy. Done.

  Fucking stupid people.

  At least Dominic backed me up.

  That’s the thing. Dominic knows I wouldn’t even bother lying to him about it. If I took it, I would have fucking told him.

  We certainly have enough dirt on each other. That’s how you know you have a good friend: the number of secrets they have on you.

  And Dominic knows that I would never shit where I eat. I live here, for fuck’s sake, and the fucking painting belonged to Daphne.

  I might be a fucking criminal, but I’m still a civilized member of the human race—not an animal.

  Besides, if I was going to be the one to lift the Picasso, no one would have seen me. I certainly wouldn’t have been there when the curtain went up with my cock hanging out.

  The whole idea is just fucking laughable.

  I’m much more discrete than that—not only with my fuck buddies but also when it comes to busin
ess.

  Alright, sure…maybe fucking Debra while there was a crowd on other side of the curtains wasn’t a bright idea, but so fucking what?

  Unlocking the door to my place, I walk in and kick off my shoes.

  I head straight for the bar, and I pour myself a healthy shot of scotch before sinking into the sofa.

  Of course, Peter—Mr. Condo Board President—showed up half way through Detective Strong’s interrogation. That’s how he introduced himself, too.

  Fucking asshole.

  He couldn’t help putting his two cents in on the matter. His very slanted and biased two cents.

  Sure, I know, fucking his wife in front of everyone probably didn’t help matters but…really, who gives a fuck? It’s his fault he’s not giving her everything she needs.

  Anyway, by the time the fucking asshole made it to Dominic’s apartment, it was clear he had been arguing with Debra.

  His combover was flipping around like a loose sheet and half the time was standing straight up, like a fucking sail above his head.

  “Why haven’t you arrested him yet?”

  That demand was all he fucking said periodically. Each time Detective Strong would take a breather, he would lean in and stick his wiry frame in between us to ask him that question.

  Swear to God, I just wanted to headbutt the fucker as he popped back and forth in front of Detective Strong’s fat frame, looking like a bird flapping in front of a bull.

  Taking a long sip of the scotch, I savor the immediate bite.

  I know I need to find this burglar—and not just to clear my name. I mean, clearing my name completely is an impossible fucking task, you know?

  To be honest, I really want to find her because…well, fuck it, because she was so damn sexy. There was something about her that was just so fucking enticing.

  Maybe once I find her she’ll go down on her knees, begging me not to turn her in. And I like that idea, you know? Having her on her knees.

  Yeah, I’m a big enough man to admit it’s about more than just proving my innocence. I don’t give a flying fuck about that.

  People could think I stole it for the rest of my life, and I’d still sleep like a baby.

  Closing my eyes, I replay the scene in my mind. Her, coming into the room, the shadows draping her tight little body as she moved.

  Fuck, I want her.

  Her captivating eyes, her sexy-as-fuck movements… It all makes my blood fucking boil.

  It was so easy for me to imagine it was her wet pussy I was sliding into earlier.

  With her small frame and delicious curves, I would need to explore every mountain and valley on her body with my tongue.

  Believe it or not, I haven’t had anyone make my cock go this crazy in years.

  Dropping my empty glass on the side table next to me, I straighten up and head down the hall to my room.

  The bedroom is lit only by the lights of the skyline through the glass wall, not as spectacular as Dominic or Daphne’s apartments, sure, but not fucking bad at all.

  Leaving my clothes on the floor, I pad barefoot to the shower to get it warmed up.

  Running my fingers through my dark hair, I finger-comb it before scrubbing my hands over my face. My five o’clock shadow gives me a bit of a rugged look, and I keep my hair tastefully long.

  I don’t want to look like I’m in the military, but I don’t want to look like a fucking hoodlum either.

  That’s why I choose to look like a fucking god.

  Everything about my physical appearance is carefully maintained, from my eight-pack abs to my muscular upper arms. Crafting every aspect of my life, just like a fucking watchmaker working on his masterpiece, is what gives me fucking purpose.

  I step into the shower, taking a few moments to enjoy the warm spray as it cascades over my chest, and I scrub my hair.

  As my mind inevitably drifts back to that fucking burglar, it doesn’t take much for my cock to lengthen and harden.

  Just thinking about how sexy that little thief was in her skin tight black outfit has me leaning back and breathing deep.

  She was so fucking beautiful as she creeped into the gallery.

  It’s incredible how arousing she was, considering I know absolutely nothing about her. But you can’t fake that fucking body, can you?

  Tight, toned and sexy. Her breasts would be a perfect handful.

  Her ass would be so small in front of me. My hands grabbing it from behind would cover the entire thing.

  I stroke my hard length, pulling it tightly from the base to the tip as I envision sucking those pert breasts into my mouth.

  She would want to be on top. Taking control like she did tonight and getting exactly what she wanted.

  Fucking incredible.

  Right under everyone’s noses. Including mine.

  And her eyes. Big and expressive. Fuck, I want those eyes looking up at me as I slide my cock in, pushing it between her lips.

  I can’t wait to catch her and pin her beneath me. To fuck her brains out.

  I’ll make her scream my name as I fill her up with my hard cock…over and over again.

  My stroking gets firmer and tighter as I envision splitting her right in two with my thick meat.

  She’ll scream my name as I explode inside her, throwing her head back as she bounces on me.

  “Fuck!” I groan as hot, ropey streams of cum shoot across the shower as I explode.

  Leaning back against the tiled wall, my shaking legs feel weak from how hard I came.

  Fucking hell, I want her.

  And I always get what I want.

  Chapter Six

  Sonia

  I smirk as I grab a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. Nobody in this room has a clue I was the thief from the other night.

  It’s been two days since that adrenaline-filled night, and I’m back in the Clarendon Tower Art Gallery with no one the wiser.

  “Sonia, darling,” a raspy feminine voice says at my side.

  “Felicity,” I reply with a fake-ass smile on my face.

  I can’t stand most of the rich assholes in this room, but Felicity…now that’s someone I really can’t stand.

  “It’s so generous of you to donate one of your very own watercolor paintings to replace the one that was stolen the other night,” Felicity rasps. “I had no idea that you could even afford such a painting. I know your father has a nice sizable income, but I didn’t think it was that grand to be able to afford such an amazing piece.”

  What a bitch.

  “Oh, my father does have a large salary, but he wasn’t the one who bought the painting,” I throw back at this pompous ass who thinks she’s better than me. “I bought it with my own hard-earn money. Not borrowed from dear ol’ Dad.”

  I see her jaw clench.

  I knew that would piss her off. Little miss fake boobs, fake hair, and five pounds of Botox has never worked a day in her life and leeches off her parents still at the ripe age of forty-five.

  A lot of rich people wouldn’t have a problem with the fact that they don’t have to work for their money, right? But in Felicity’s case…she feels she always has something to prove and end up on top.

  Not going to happen when she comes up against me.

  “Well then,” she forces through her tight lips, “it was very generous of you to donate it.”

  “Thank you,” I reply, offering her one of the smiles I reserve for idiots who think they’re better than me. “Now, excuse me, but I have to go prepare for my speech.”

  “Of course,” she says as I start to walk away from her.

  Yup, that’s right—I’m to give a speech in about ten minutes. Hilarious, right? I steal the most valuable painting this gallery has ever seen, and now I’m being hailed as a hero because I provided a replacement.

  I go over what I plan to say in my head as I stand near the stage—a few things about being grateful for being here, saddened by the art theft that occurred a few days ago (even though I sure as hell am
not) and say how blessed I am to be able to donate my own painting and share in the beauty of art here tonight.

  Yeah, that should do it.

  It doesn’t take long before the emcee for the night is calling for everyone to welcome me to the stage.

  I head towards the podium to the sound of gentle clapping.

  The crowd goes silent, all eyes focused on me.

  “Thank you all,” I start, my soft voice amplified by the speakers mounted overhead.

  I give them the whole spiel I played out in my head earlier, adding a few statements here and there to elicit some sadness and full grin smiles. I think I even see tears in a few of the extreme art lovers when I talk about the stolen Picasso.

  Jesus, people, calm your tits.

  I wrap up my speech with a sweet thank you and walk off the stage to yet again a gentle wave of applause from the crowd.

  For a while, I talk with a bunch of party goers who compliment my speech and thank me for my donation. I put forward my best effort, though I’m bored as hell. I just wish they would all go back to talking to their other rich friends about which yacht to take out on the water tomorrow.

  “Sonia!” someone calls out.

  I turn and see it’s Daphne. Thank God.

  “Daphne,” I say with a genuine smile.

  God, am I glad to see her. She’s one of a very few select people in this world I don’t just tolerate but actually enjoy being in their company.

  “Your speech was wonderful,” she says as she moves in for a hug.

  “Thank you,” I reply.

  “No, thank you, Sonia. The painting you donated is a huge help in filling the spot of the missing painting for this event. And it’s absolutely beautiful. It takes my breath away.”

  “You do love your art. I figured it would be a hit with you, and that’s why I chose it.”

  “Well, thank you,” she says with a laugh. “While I have you, I want you to meet a friend of mine. He’s making his way over here as we speak.”

  “A ‘friend’, huh?” I tease Daphne. “Is this the one you’re fighting with for the apartment?”

  Daphne smiles. “It’s complicated,” is all she says and I give her a knowing smile.