THIEF: Part 1 Read Online Free PDF Page B

one-night-stands to leave before dawn, so I wouldn’t have to look at them in fresh daylight and regret; somehow, they always read my mind, and I’d wake up alone.  The way I liked.
                  But with Silas, I’m already in the light of day.  I can see every part of him clearly, and regret’s nowhere to be found.  Him sneaking away is the last thing I want.
                  “Can I?” he asks, hand poised at my bra, and I nod.  He reaches around me and somehow snaps the clasps apart with a single motion, and before I can marvel at his skill, he's taken one of my nipples into his mouth and the other between his fingers.
                  “God, Silas...” I whisper, arching my back.  I press myself into his leg, ravenous for more.  It's another first for me, saying a guy's name.  With others, it was a lot like my pickpocketing: I didn't want to remind myself they were actual people.  It was so much easier to get what I wanted when I could pretend they were just the means to an end.
                  But with Silas, it's like I can't say his name enough.  He whispers mine back, one hand sliding into my pants.  I'm more than ready, but like his appearance in the stable, somehow he surprises me even when I'm already waiting, looking him right in the eye.  When his fingers enter me, I gasp his name in a sharp, thankful cry.
                  “This,” he says softly, “is what I had in mind for last night.”  He thrusts his fingers deeper and upward, to my G-spot.  It's another first—no one, excluding myself on a few tipsy, lonely nights, has found or even bothered looking for it.
                  Not that I'm able to think about that right now: Silas is merciless, even when I beg him to stop.  “I don't...think...I can stay quiet,” I pant, squirming under the weight of his body.
                  “Good,” he smirks, and picks up the pace.  I brace myself, trying to prepare, but Silas is the master of surprise yet again.  All at once, my orgasm ripples through me from my feet upward, and I cry out again, his name like a pealing bell through the rafters.
                  As my heartbeat slows and my body finds its bearings again, I realize it's not my joyful scream echoing: it's the real bell, signaling the end of the morning session.
                  “Silas,” I whimper, spent, but still hungry for his kiss.  “I've never....”  I swallow hard, trying to catch my breath.  “That...God, that was....”
                  He smirks again.  “I'm flattered.”
                  “No,” I whisper emphatically, “you don't understand—I've never orgasmed like that, without me having to....”  Suddenly shy, though I have no clue why, I shrug.  “Well...you know.  Play with myself.”
                  “Seriously?”
                  I nod bashfully.
                  “Well,” he says, tucking my hair behind my ear, “maybe soon I'll get a chance to repeat my performance.”  He takes my hand and kisses it.  “Like...tonight?”
                  And all of a sudden, there it is: the bristling chill I always get before climbing into bed with someone, the fear that always comes with some cute boy's innuendos.  Time heals, but not overnight.  Not even over five years.
                  “Um...maybe,” I stammer.  I look him in the eye.  His expression is so soft and patient, I know I can tell him the truth, or at least part of it: “I want to go a little slower.”
                  “Oh.”  He looks surprised, but not hurt, thankfully.  “No problem.  I'm sorry if I was too forward, it's just...I was going crazy last night.  I kind of couldn't help myself today, you know?”
                  I smile.  “Yeah, I know.  And thank you.”
                  We