Griffin
There’s no way she actually planted the panties she was wearing in my pocket…is there?
Does this mean she’s not wearing any now?
I flash her a suspicious grin.
I offer her my hand, which she takes as I stand, and I lead her out of the restaurant.
“You know, you’ve got me thinking.”
“Oh, do I?” She coos.
She purses her lips together in a sultry little smirk that sets my blood on fire. Her brows rise as she eyes me up and down.
“And, what exactly are you thinking about, Mister Gryphon?”
“I’m wondering if you’re wearing anything under that dress, given what you planted in my pocket,” I reply, my grip on her hand tightening as I lean in to whisper in her ear.
She chuckles and picks up the pace at the sight of the car coming around the lane.
I open the door for her as the car comes to a stop before us. I make an exaggerated gesture for her to climb into the back seat.
“Your chariot awaits, love.”
She giggles and steps in. Once she’s sitting down, I close her door and walk around the car to my side.
Before I’ve even closed my door, I tell the driver to take us to my flat—and to make it quick.
“Now, is that a proper question to ask a lady?” She laughs softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
Her tone is deliciously flirtatious as she mockingly scolds me.
“Maybe not a lady,” I lean in closer and place my hand on her thigh. “But not so far off a question for a man to ask his wife, no?”
“Uh, wife?” she asks, her eyes wide and a brow cocked in confusion. “Listen, buddy. You may be able to pull a fast one on me and pick my pocket without me noticing, but I’m pretty sure that you and I haven’t gotten married.”
She raises her left hand and points exaggeratedly at her empty ring finger, waving it around and scoffing.
“Besides, no ring. Any decent husband would get his wife an engagement ring and a wedding band. My husband wouldn’t be decent, he’d be fucking fantastic, and so would my rings. Plural. Clearly, you are not that man.”
Her face is smug as she smirks at me, and she looks down at my hand on her thigh.
I laugh at her, teasing and give her a squeeze, chuckling as I do.
“No, you’re right, Miss von Knopf. I’m not, but we could play the part. What do you say?”
“I’m not sure I follow what—oh!”
Realization washes over her face and she beams at me, eyes sparkling. She gasps in excitement.
“You want to be a married couple tomorrow night, for our heist?” She looks at me with a surprised grin. “I have to say, I’m impressed. That’s a fantastic idea!”
She nods approvingly as she slides her hand over mine on her thigh—giving it a playful squeeze that stirs my cock—as her grin changes from surprised to mischievous.
“Isn’t it, though? I’m not just a pretty face.”
“So it would seem.”
She turns her head to the side. Her piercing blue eyes look me up and down once more. “I have to say, I’ve done my share of role playing. But I can’t say ‘wife’ is a role I’ve ever played.”
“Oh? You like role playing, don’t you? Do go on.”
She laughs and playfully bumps my shoulder, resting her body against mine.
For the rest of the ride back to my flat, she remains against me.
It feels right having her lean against me like this. Any man in his right mind would be absolutely mad to say otherwise—a beautiful woman like her doesn’t come along every day.
I’m usually pretty good at keeping my emotions separate from my jobs and marks, but this time, I can sense that something is different.
I started off this job annoyed with how it was going. Irritated that I had some heiress to look after further complicating things, but as time passed, I find myself growing quite fond of her.
It’s hard not to sneak glances at her.
And that smile!
God, her smile could light up an entire room.
I shake myself from my thoughts as we pull up to my flat.
I steal a glancing look over at her and smile.
“Home sweet home, wife.”
She rolls her eyes at me, but there’s a playfulness in them all the same.
Kalista really is a saucy little thing.
We get out of the car and hurry inside. I take her coat for her as she sits down on the couch.
“I’ll be right back.”
I walk through the hallway until I reach the kitchen. I open the cabinet and scan the bottles. I’m on the hunt for something special. My fingers glide from bottle to bottle until I find the one I’m looking for—a vintage red.
I uncork it and pour two glasses. The floral aroma fills the immediate area.
With the glasses in hand, I return to the sitting room.
She smiles at me when I saunter back in, and she pats the empty cushion next to her.
I join her on the couch and set our glasses down. I seat myself close to her so that I can slide my hand onto her thigh.
She looks at me, and I give it a firm squeeze. Her eyes light up like fireworks when I do. She bites her lip and smirks before looking away and reaching for her glass.
“So,” I growl playfully. “Tell me more about this role playing you apparently have so much experience with.”
“Well,” she purrs, taking a sip from her glass. “Since you’re my husband and all, I suppose a story or two wouldn’t hurt. What would you like to know?”
Placing her glass back on the table, she bats her eyelashes at me, and bites her lip again. It sends a chill up my spine. I take a deep breath and smile at her.
Slowly, I begin slipping my hand further up her leg until I’m teasing the hem of her dress with my fingers.
“Tell me your favorite.”
She sighs, and her eyes dart down to my hand briefly before they come back to my heated stare, and she smiles.
I feel her hand slip over mine as she slowly slides my hand further up the curve of her thigh, smirking at me as she does so.
“Well, there was this one time I pretended to be the damsel-in-distress type, got kidnapped, and a big, strong, handsome man came to my rescue,” her voice is a suggestive, husky whisper.
I inhale sharply and grit my teeth in a knowing grin.
She pouts at me and bats her eyelashes—squeezing my hand as she does.
“Oh, do you like that idea?”
She licks her lips with a wicked grin on her face.
“Go on,” I say.
She leans forward and places her hand on my knee. Teasingly, she slides it up my leg as she brings her face just inches from mine.
Just a couple of inches further up, Kalista, and you’ll understand just how much I like that idea.
“Well, my favorite part is what happens after he saves me, and takes me back to his place.”
Her eyes dart to my lips before gazing back into my eyes.
My breath quickens, and all I can focus on is the fact that those perfect plump lips are right there for the taking.
I smile when she leans closer. Her eyes again darting to my lips.
I tilt my head and start leaning in, but I’m halted by a playful swat at my chest as she giggles and falls back against the couch.
“Actually, Griff.” She sighs, raising her arms above her head and yawning in an exaggerated fashion. “I think I’ll save that story for another time. I’m pretty tired.”
Without giving me a chance to object, she grabs her glass of wine and stands. She flies off to her room, waving at me over her shoulder as she rounds the corner.
“Fuck,” I hiss under my breath as I find myself staring down at the bulge in my pants.
I stand and start pacing back and forth in the living room, trying to calm down, but it’s not helping.
My attention falls to my own glass of wine, and I retrieve it from the table. I swirl my glass around and watch as the red liquid swishes and sways back and forth like silk hugging the curves of the wine glass with ease.
It’s doing nothing, but reminding me of the way Kalista’s dress hugged her curves just right.
It’s painfully obvious that my problem isn’t going away on its own.
I take a large swill of wine and set the glass back down. I’d hoped the wine would take the edge off—at least some—but, instead, it’s left me wondering if Kalista tastes just as sweet.
“Fuck it,” I grumble. “I’m going to take a cold shower.”
I walk through the apartment to my bathroom, kicking off my shoes as I go.
I pull off my shirt as I reach and turn the shower nozzle on. The shirt gets tossed into the hamper next to the sink, and my pants follow.
My thumbs slide beneath the waistband of my underwear just as I feel something tickle the top of my foot. I look down—finding myself unable to stop the grin on my face—as I register what’s there.
Bending over, I reach down to pick up the tiny scrap of paper; shaking my head in disbelief as I recognize Kalista’s scrawl on it.
How on earth did she manage that? The little minx.