A fingertip dragging along too slowly and she falls apart – giving in when it is the last thing she wants to do – and her skin is on fire, infernos set loose and there is only way to cool down… but that means walking into the blaze and Spencer isn't sure what lies on the other side of such a path.
Ashley tastes like wine.
Like chocolate.
Like the ocean. Like stars up in the sky. Like forever and ever.
Ashley tastes like love, undiluted and potent.
And Spencer is shaking – with want and with fear and with the knowledge that she'd give over just about anything to keep on kissing this woman underneath her.
///
They steal time and they steal moments and they steal from themselves.
And, in the meantime, they take from the rich and give to no one else but Ashley and Spencer.
There are bullets just waiting to be hit, to explode and burst forth and find flesh.
There are jail cells just begging for a mate, a body to cage and condemn.
But they run and they flee and they dye hair… they don sunglasses… they live a lie and no amount late-night flirting makes that truth go away.
///
A tongue too adapt at weaving tales is telling a story along her thighs and she fades from any other reality – falling when it is the last thing she should do – and her hands are fists, sheets a mess and a tangle against her palms… but she can't let it stop, not when release is so close and not when it feels so good and Spencer isn't sure what is up.
Or down. Or right. Or wrong.
But Ashley feels a lot like all of the above.
Ashley is a hot paradox, a beautiful complication and the worst kind of lover – the kind you just can't stand to lose.
///
"Job pays five hundred. The cut will be twenty-five."
"How many on board?"
"Four."
"Who?"
"Car, lookout and two inside."
"Security will be an issue, right?"
"Nope. The one on the inside is good to go."
"So… why me?"
"Aiden suggested you."
"Yea?"
"Yea."
"Well then, guess we've got a deal, Carlin."
They shake hands and they steal money and they don't talk about what builds up between them like a damn wall – like bricks and bricks of longing.
They steal from everyone… but, most of all, they steal treasures from each other.
///
No honor among thieves and there is no Robin Hood in this bed – just Ashley, twisting against this sweat-stained mattress, setting free the most delicious moans.
And Spencer, nimble in these minute movements against sensitive places, holding for a brief second what is never meant to be.
And she isn't the only one confused.
She isn't the only one doing the very thing that they just can't do.
They steal hearts and they don't give them back and they will pay for it.
In the end, they will pay greatly for it.
///
"From the start, you fucking bitch, from the very start—"
"C'mon, take her away. Now."
"You'll get yours, Davies. You will."
"Get her out here now!"
A scuffle of shoes and the ringing of alarms and the sound of betrayal distinctly beating out against the thick walls.
And Spencer Carlin really hates being right all the time.
///
Somewhere, in the darkness between dusk and dawn, Ashley Davies rests her hand over her chest and searches in vain for what used to live there.
But you can't find what is missing in action, can't keep what you give away, can't have what was never supposed to be yours in the first place…
And Ashley really hates being in love with the one who she had to send so far away.
///
END