Sunday, April 8, 2012

Sunday Snog: Thieve's Honor

Greetings! My Snog this week is from my short story Thieves' Honor, an intense tale about a woman who gets her kicks picking pockets - until she's caught red handed. Avram Aslayan want's Blaine's help in stealing back something he lost. And he's not above blackmailing her to get her to cooperate.

After you've read my snog, hustle on over to Victoria's Snog Central, for lots more lips-smacking fun. And if you want to know what happens in Thieves' Honor, the story is available as a free read from Total-E-Bound!


As I held the envelope open to replace the letters, something shiny rolled out and landed silently on the rug. My pulse quickening, I bent to retrieve it.

In the light of my flashlight gleamed a woman's wedding ring. On a hunch, I shone the light inside. "To Olivia," the inscription read, "with my eternal love". Didn't sound like the sort of thing my urbane and ironic host would write, but then who knows? I dropped the ring back into the envelope, retied the ribbon, and carefully replaced the package where I had found it.

Well, if not the desk, perhaps I could locate a safe. I had to stand on my toes to reach the first painting. With infinite care, I nudged it aside to look behind it. Nothing but blank wall. Disappointed despite myself, I moved on to the next one.

All at once light flooded the room. "You won't find what you're looking for there, my little cat burglar." I blinked, temporarily blinded, and whirled around to face the mocking grin of my host. "I know better than to keep something that valuable in the same house as you."

Aslanyan had crept into the room on feet as bare as mine. His torso was bare, too, above his drawstring pajama pants. I fought with myself to avoid staring at his semi-nakedness, the rich olive hue of his skin, the tangled black forest of hair on his chest.

I licked my lips. My breath was ragged. My heart hammered against my ribs. My nipples ached whenever terry cloth brushed across their swollen tips. Once again, my traitorously wet pussy threatened to spill over and reveal my weakness.

Then he was towering over me, pinning my arms behind me, his warm, damp breath in my ear. "I knew that I shouldn't trust you, Blaine."

"What do you expect?" I struggled against his grip, but I might as well have been back in the handcuffs. "You kidnap me. You threaten me. Don't I have the right to look out for myself?" I glared up at him, trying my damnedest to look formidable. "Anyway, I didn't take anything, though heaven knows there's stuff in here worth a fortune."

He searched my face as though seeking confirmation, his smile leeching away. Abruptly he released me and turned to the desk. He pulled out the bottom drawer. "I left this locked..." He glowered at me, clearly upset.

"I was looking for the photos and videotapes. What do you think? Look, if we're going to be partners, it has to be on an equal basis. Free choice and all. Give me the dirt you have on me, and then we can talk about your scheme, whatever it is." My wrists were still sore from his grasp. My cunt throbbed. I was trying to sound rational, but really I was begging. And not just for the tapes.

"Did you look inside the envelope?" He seemed to be ignoring my plea.

His gaze skewered me. I nodded. "But I didn't read any of the letters." He closed his eyes, as though in pain. "She's lovely," I added softly.

There was desperation in his eyes. He stared down at the carpet. "Lovely, yes. She was indeed lovely."

"Was?" I knew I was treading on risky territory. "Did she die?"

When he returned his gaze to me, his face was a mask of agony. "Die? No, she didn't die. As I told you, she was stolen."


"By a man I called my friend." No wonder he was so detached, so guarded. A flash of pity arced through my body, followed by a bolt of lust. It seemed to illumine the room. Avram looked at me, no, looked through me, his fists clenched.

I took a step in his direction, drawn by his intensity. "So now, you want revenge, right? Do you really think she's worth it?" I deliberately provoked him, wanting that passion of his turned in my direction. "Give her up, Aslanyan. You shouldn't hold on to someone who betrayed you."

Avram seemed to wake from his trance and finally to see me. "Is that so? And who should I hold on to? A deceiving little minx like you?" He took a step toward me, roughly dug his fingers into my shoulder. The robe fell open, and I shrank backwards despite myself, shaking with mingled fear and desire. I couldn't hold his gaze.

I could feel the heat radiating from his bare flesh. I could feel the challenge of his dangerous, provocative smile. For a long moment we hung there, transfixed, silently taking each other's measure. Then he lifted me up, threw me over his shoulder and carried me up the winding staircase.

I didn't struggle. I didn't want to. Absurd visions of Scarlet O'Hara and Rhett Butler ran through my head. I expected him to throw me on the mattress, bind me to the posts, tear off my robe and ravish me. Okay, I admit, I wanted him to do that.

Instead, he positioned me gently at the edge of the bed, parted my thighs, and brought his mouth to my sex.

His nimble tongue and muscular lips vanquished me in a way that his cock never could have. I opened myself to his hot, wet strokes. I writhed and twisted, gripping the bedposts until my fingers cramped (though of course I didn't notice at the time). I screamed loudly enough to wake the neighbors, in a less exclusive area. Again and again, he brought me to the edge, then coaxed me over.

No pride, no shame, no fear: Blaine Ford, née Bridget Flanagan, allowed herself to be pleasured until she was limp and sore and closer to heaven than the nuns would ever have believed.

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