The Kiss Thief by L.J. Shen

IT TOOK ME AN ENTIRE hour to unwind behind the wheel.

Not only did I worry about ruining Wolfe’s precious Jaguar—the flashbacks from Bandini’s guys slamming into the Cadillac from behind as they chased me—but I also didn’t feel overly comfortable around my husband. After spending the night with me, he hadn’t come to my room last night. We were going to his lake house. Was he planning on sleeping in different rooms there, too? Frankly, I wouldn’t put it past him. I had no one to advise me about our situation. Cosmo and Marie Claire, my only sources of relationship advice, didn’t exactly cover the subject of an arranged marriage with cruel, severely emotionally stunted senators in the twenty-first century.

Ms. Sterling was biased. She’d tell me anything I wanted to hear to ensure that I was happy with my husband. My mother was too busy trying to save her own marriage, and Clara was the closest thing to a grandmother I’d ever had, so, yeah, gross.

I could call Andrea, but I feared becoming a charity case at this point.

Always disoriented. Forever clueless.

That left me to stew in my thoughts all the way to the cabin on Lake Michigan. When Wolfe called it a cabin, I thought he meant somewhere quaint and modest. In practice, it was a luxurious estate, crafted from rock and glass, boasting an outdoor hot tub, a direct view of the lake, elevated, wooden balconies, and an architecturally mesmerizing rustic charm. It was tucked among cherry trees and lush, green hills, far enough from civilization without having that eerie air. My heart swelled at the prospects of spending time with my husband so far away from everyone. But mixed with the excitement was a dash of fear.

“I feel another string of Nemesis questions coming my way.” Wolfe was sitting cross-legged on the passenger seat, flipping my Zippo between his strong fingers. I munched on my lower lip, tapping my thumbs against the wheel.

“Have you ever been in love?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“One I’d like an answer to.”

He paused. “No. I’ve never been in love. Have you?”

I thought about Angelo. Then I thought about all the things I’d gone through because of my love for Angelo. I didn’t know how I felt about him anymore, but I knew that lying to my husband out of fear was going to put me squarely in the same place my mother was struggling with right now.

“Yes.”

“Hurts like hell, doesn’t it?” He smiled to the view outside his window.

“Yes,” I agreed.

“That’s why I refrain from the feeling,” he said.

“But it also felt good when it was requited.”

He turned around to face me. “No love is fully requited. No love is equal. No love is fair. There is always one side that loves more. And you better not be that side—because it suffers.”

Silence stretched until we parked the car outside of the so-called cabin.

“But you”—he turned to me, smirking—“you’re smarter than to yield to your love.”

I don’t love Angelo anymore, you fool, I wanted to scream. I love you.

“Which is why I respect you,” he added.

“You respect me?”

He got out, rounded the car, and opened my door for me. “If you’re into milking things, I’d love for it to be my cock and not simply for compliments. You know I respect you, Nem.”

The fridge in the cabin had been stocked with everything good and tasty. Freshly baked French buns sat on the counter. I wolfed down two, with local strawberry jam and chunky peanut butter. Wolfe hopped into the shower, and I did the same after him. Then he stuffed a six-pack of beer and a handful of individually wrapped brownies into my backpack and ordered me to join him for a walk. My forehead was still sore, my lip kept on opening every time I smiled, and I found out that my ribs must’ve bruised when I was put on the gurney, but I complied nonetheless.

I began to second-guess our mutual decision not to take a honeymoon together when he threw my girly bag over his shoulder and led me to a paved, concrete path surrounded by wild grass that whooshed in the cool breeze of the evening. The wind and the lake provided a sound more pleasurable than any symphony, and the view was a spectacular shade of purple and pink sunset diving into rolling hills. We walked for twenty minutes before I noticed another wooden cabin up the hill from where we were.

“What’s there?” I pointed at the cabin.

He moved a hand over his thick, dark hair. “Do I look like a tour guide?”

“You look like a sour man, Senator,” I taunted. He laughed.

“We could check.”

“Could we? I don’t want to trespass.”

“Such a law-abiding citizen. If only your father would share the virtue.”

“Hey.” I frowned. He flicked me under the chin lightly. The gesture was growing on me. Especially paired with the fact that I no longer believed that Wolfe didn’t have feelings for me. Not after the way he held me the day of the car chase.

“Sterling keeps telling me to stop doing that. Bunching you and your father together, I mean. It’s hard.”

“Do you do it often?” I winced as he took my hand and tugged me up the hill.

“Not lately.”

“And why is that?” I asked.

“Because you’re polar opposites.”

As we went uphill, my breathing became more ragged. I was determined to make conversation to avert my thoughts from the fact I was definitely not in shape. I neglected my horse-riding sessions in favor of school. Plus, I did have a question burning on the tip of my tongue.

“Are you willing to tell me why you hate my father so much now?”

“No. You can feel free to stop asking right now because the day I’ll be ready to share this with you is never.”

“You’re so unfair.” I allowed myself a sulk.

“I never claimed to be. At any rate, the answer isn’t something you’d like to know.”

“But maybe I do. Maybe it’d give me peace with the fact that he disowned me.”

He stopped in front of what wasn’t a cabin but a red and white barn. “The fact that he gave up his precious gem just because I touched it is enough reason as to why he doesn’t deserve you.”

“And you do?” I asked.

“But, my darling, that’s the difference between me and your father. I never pretended to deserve you. I simply took you.”

I threw an arm over the barn’s wooden gate, shaking my head. “That’s definitely trespassing, Wolfe. I’m not going in.”

He jumped over the fence, making his way inside the barn without looking back. There was fresh hay scattered by the doors, and by the scent of moist soil and what my riding instructor liked to call road apples (horse poop) floating in the air, I knew livestock were inside.

I heard Wolfe whistling from the depth of the open barn, clucking his tongue.

“She’s a beauty.”

“It’s been two seconds since you left my side, and you’re already flirting,” I called out. The smile on my face hurt my cheeks. The sound of his throaty, gruff laughter filled the air. I pressed my thighs together, something empty inside me aching to finally let him in. I could have sex with him tonight. God, I wanted to have sex with him tonight. For the first time since our engagement party, I felt fully prepared for my husband physically. More than prepared. Needy. And even though Wolfe was next to impossible to read, I did know this about him—he wanted me, too.

“C’mere,” he called, sounding surprisingly—perhaps even shockingly—like a young Italian boy from the variety I grew up with. It was the way the word rolled off his tongue that gave me pause, but I shook my head, laughing to myself. Wolfe Keaton was as well-bred as they came. His late father was a hotelier and his late mother was a Supreme Court judge.

“What if we get caught?” My grin threatened to slice my face in half. I heard more whistling of admiration from the inside. He whistled like a street kid but waltzed like an aristocrat. I could never pin him down.

“We’re good for bail,” he drawled. “Get your cute butt over here, Nem.”

I looked left and right, ducked my head under the fence and tiptoed my way inside the barn. When I got in, he grabbed my hand and pulled me close. Wolfe enveloped me from behind in a hug, jerking his chin to one of the four stalls, the only one that was occupied. A gorgeous Arabian horse, completely black, save for her stark white mane and tail, stared back at me. Wolfe wasn’t exaggerating. She was breathtaking. And she blinked at me with her beautiful, tiny, and dense eyelashes. I pressed my palm to my heart, feeling it pitter-pattering in my chest. I’d never seen a horse so beautiful. Her eyes were calm and kind, and she bowed her head down, accepting the sheer admiration that must’ve shone in my eyes.

“Hey, girl.” I made my way to her, watching my pace, allowing her time to get used to me or change her mind. I put my hand to her muzzle.

“What are you doing here all alone?” I whispered.

“She looks in good health to me,” Wolfe said behind me, leaning against the opposite wall of the barn. I could feel him staring at me even with my back to him.

I nodded.

“That may be, but we need to figure out who this barn belongs to.”

“Do you like her?” he asked.

“Like her? I love her. She’s sweet and tender. Not to mention gorgeous.” I moved my hand to her forehead, dragging it to her ears and poll. She let me as if she’d known me her whole lifetime.

“Reminds me of someone.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re comparing me to livestock now.” I laughed, surprised to find out that I had mist in my eyes. I imagined she belonged to a young girl. She looked young herself. Maybe they’d grow up together.

“What should I compare you to, then?” He pushed off the wall, striding to me, my back still to him. I heard the hay crunching under his feet. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes and savoring his touch as his arms wrapped around my midriff from behind.

“People,” I whispered.

“I can’t compare you to people. There aren’t any people like you,” he said simply, his mouth on my neck now. Heat gathered in my belly, and I felt myself shuddering with pleasure that broke on my skull and rushed all the way down to my toes.

“It’s yours,” he snarled in my ear, his teeth grazing my lobe.

“What?”

“The horse. It’s yours. This barn is mine. All this land, three miles each way from the cabin, belongs to us. The previous owner had a barn. Took his horses with him when he sold it to my parents.” His dead parents. There was so much I didn’t know about him yet. So much he kept from me. “Before I married you, I didn’t want to give you a wedding gift. But after I married you, I realized you deserve much more than diamonds.”

I turned around, blinking at him. I knew I should thank him. Hug him. Kiss him. Love him even harder for his effort, which, I knew by now, did not come naturally to him. The idea of loving him so openly was startling. He held all the knowledge about every piece of my life, yet I knew nothing about him. Perhaps you don’t need to know a person in order to love them. You only need to know their heart, and Wolfe’s heart was far bigger than I’d previously imagined.

He stared at me, waiting for a response. When I opened my mouth, the most unexpected words came out.

“We can’t keep her here. She’ll be lonely.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, before closing his eyes and plastering his forehead to mine, his lips locking on my own. He sighed, warm breath skating between my lips.

“How are you so compassionate?” He mumbled into my mouth.

I clutched the collar of his jacket and drew him to me, kissing the corner of his lips.

“We’ll take her somewhere on the outskirts of Chicago where you can visit her weekly. Somewhere with lots of horses. And hay. And ranchers who’ll take care of her. And stay firmly away from you. Ugly ranchers,” he added. “With no teeth.”

I laughed. “Thank you.”

“What do you want to call her?” he asked.

“Artemis,” I answered, somehow knowing what her name was before I even really thought about it.

“The goddess of wildlife. Quite fitting.” He kissed my nose extra carefully, then my forehead, then my lips.

We drank our beers, and I ate brownies next to Artemis, sitting on the hay. I’d eaten in the last few days more than I had in the month before. My appetite was returning, and that was a good sign.

“I’ve wanted to become a lawyer since I was thirteen years old,” he said, and I stopped breathing altogether. He was confiding in me. Opening up. This was huge. This was everything. “The world is an unfair place. It does not reward you for being good, or decent, or moral. But for being talented, driven, and cunning. Those things are not necessarily positive. And none of them—not even talent—is a virtue. I wanted to protect those who needed protection, but the more I worked on cases, the more I realized that the system was corrupted. Becoming a lawyer in hopes to bring justice is like cleaning a ketchup stain on a bloodied shirt of a man who just got stabbed fifty times. So I went higher.”

“Why are you so obsessed with justice?”

“Because your father robbed me out of mine. I understand that your childhood has been sheltered. I can even respect your father for sending you to boarding school and distancing you from the mess he’s created in Chicago. But this mess? I grew up in it. I had to survive in it. It left me scarred and wronged.”

“What are you going to do with my father?”

“I’m going to ruin him.”

I swallowed. “And with me? What are you going to do with me?”

“Save you.”

After a while, I became drowsy from the beer and sugar. I propped my head against his chest and closed my eyes. He took out his phone and let me nap atop of him, very unlike my husband. Since he had no reception, I didn’t know what he was going to do with his phone, but part of me wanted to test the limit of his patience. To see when he was going to shake me gently and tell me it was time to get going.

I woke up an hour later in a tiny pool of my drool on his shirt. He was still messing with his phone. I glanced at his screen, trying not to move. He was reading an article offline. Probably a document he’d downloaded in advance. I stirred lightly to let him know that I was awake.

“We should head back.”

I took one glance at Artemis, who was sleeping peacefully in her stall, and yawned.

“We should,” I agreed. “But I love it too much here.” Then, without thinking, I tilted my head up and pressed a kiss to his lips. He dropped his phone, taking me in his arms and positioning me with careful precision on his lap to straddle him. I felt immediately more powerful and awake than I had been in weeks, linking my arms around his neck and deepening our kiss. I began to grind against his erection, without even thinking about what I was doing. I wasn’t on the pill yet—never got the chance to book that appointment—and I knew, now more than ever, that our first time was an angry fluke. Wolfe didn’t want children, and I certainly didn’t want to have them without his wishes. Especially not at nineteen. I’d just started school.

“I’m…” I said between kisses, “I…we need a condom. I’m not protected.”

“I’ll pull out.” He kissed his way down my cleavage, opening the buttons of my navy blue polka dot dress. I pulled away, cupping his face, still in awe that I could do so.

“Even I know that’s not a valid form of contraception.”

He grinned, his teeth a row of straight pearly whites. He was excruciatingly beautiful. I didn’t know how I was going to survive it if he took another Emily to his bed in this lifetime. We were no longer two strangers sharing a roof. We were entwined and entangled, connected with invisible strings, each of us trying to pull away, only to create more knots that made us closer. And he was so sophisticated and quick-witted, I didn’t know how I could keep him, even if I wanted to. Dearly.

“Francesca, you’re not going to get pregnant from one time.”

“That’s a myth, and one we can’t believe right now,” I persisted.

It’s not that I didn’t want to become a mother. It’s that I didn’t want to become a mother to an unwanted baby. I still held on to some foolish hope he’d change his mind with time when he realized that we could be happy together. Plus, there was something so horribly degrading about taking that Plan B pill that he had left for me. I felt like he had rejected me and what my body had to offer.

“When’s your period?” he asked. I blinked.

“On the first week of the month.”

“Then you’re fine. You shouldn’t even be ovulating right now.”

“How do you know this?” I laughed, raking my fingers over his chest, frantic for some reason.

“My brother’s wife…” He stopped, a mask of icy difference sliding over his face. He was not supposed to say that. I was not supposed to know that he had a brother, and that the brother had a wife. I blinked at him, desperate for him to continue. He swallowed, put my down carefully, then stood up, offering me his hand.

“You’re right. Let’s go, Nem.”

I took it, knowing we had quite the problem.

He didn’t want to let me in.

And I could no longer purge him out.

In the cabin, Wolfe threw logs into the fireplace while I speared marshmallows onto sticks. I showed him how to make a s’mores train, which is basically a huge, ongoing sandwich of s’mores still on the stick. I taught all my friends in Switzerland how to do it, and some of the parents were livid, sending angry letters to the school’s administrator. They said their daughters gained a lot of weight since I showed them the trick, and that they had to have their fireplaces cleaned on a weekly basis.

“A rebel, then.” He grinned at me. “Could’ve fooled me with your hint of British boarding school accent and impeccable manners.”

“Oh, I was never a rebel,” I said seriously, pushing back the nagging worry that he chose me because I made a well-bred potential first lady. “I mostly stayed out of trouble, though. It was just this incident, and when I accidentally set a teacher’s toupee on fire.” I laughed in Wolfe’s arms, feeling more relaxed and happy than I ever had before. He drew me close to him and kissed me again, a serious kiss, from the variety that told me that the conversational portion of the night was officially over.

He flattened me on my back in front of the fireplace as the fire danced in orange and yellow, giving the room a cozy and romantic air even though it was extravagantly luxurious. The rustic furniture, top-notch appliances, and rich leather, deep brown sofas with the huge, wool throws were a perfect setting to what I so badly wanted to happen. We were on the wooden floor, lying over a knitted rug with Wolfe on top of me. He growled into my mouth and slid his hand into the hem of my panties under my dress, his fingers teasing my opening, and any trace of logic flew out the window. I found myself bucking my groin toward his hand, asking for more as he devoured my neck. Bracing himself on his knees, he opened the front buttons of my dress with his free hand while he still played with my arousal. When he got to the last button, he slid the dress off me, his eyes raking over my body, stripping me from my inhibitions.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “Worthy of every single compliment and flattery I’ve heard about you before the masquerade. I said I wanted to see for myself, but I never mentioned—you smashed every single fucking expectation I’ve ever had.”

I blinked away the tears, touching his face everywhere, claiming him somehow by doing so. “Please make love to me.”

Not sex.

Not fuck.

Not screw.

Love, love, love.

Make love to me, my heart silently begged. He kissed my lips, moving his mouth to my nipples and suckling on one of them, applying gradual pressure with his teeth and tongue.

He teased and sucked on my tits, then traced my folds with his fingers, borrowing my wetness and using it to circle my nub in delicious rounds of pleasure.

“Just, please, do it already,” I whimpered, my fingers running through his dark hair as he kissed and leisurely licked the inside of my thighs and the sensitive place between them. “I need you inside me.”

“Why?”

“I can’t explain.”

“Yes, you can. You’re just afraid to.”

Wolfe Keaton was a kiss thief, but it wasn’t only a kiss that he stole. He stole my heart, too. Ripped it from my chest and put it in his pocket. I did what he promised me I would do, and willingly—I spread my legs and begged him, once again, this time meaning every word. “Because you were right. You said I’d come to your bed willingly—and I am. So, take me.”

He kissed me dirty, biting down on my tender lower lip, that was still sore from the accident. “Still not the entire truth, but this’ll do.”

He rose on his forearms, reaching for his wallet and taking out a condom. I swallowed down my disappointment. He pulled back, scanning my face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

He was about to chuck my chin, before thinking the better of it and running his thumb along my jawline. “We’re past the point of lying to each other. Spill.”

My eyes drifted to the condom. “I just…I thought the first time—our real first time—would be more personal.” My face heated as I said that because I realized that I berated him for suggesting the exact same thing mere hours ago.

“Can you…?”

“I’ll finish out.” He shut me up with a kiss. “We won’t make a habit until you’re on the pill. Deal?”

I nodded.

He tossed the condom on the carpet, his eyes staring deep into mine as he eased into me. I involuntarily tensed, before he lowered himself to kiss my mouth.

“Relax for me.”

I took a deep breath, doing as I was told. Halfway through the penetration, it started to hurt, but in a very different way than last time. This time, it was a delicious pain as he stretched me from within, allowing me the time to accommodate his girth by kissing me in between. He showered me with words that gave me courage and strength. Words I believed with every piece of my soul.

“You’re as graceful as rain.”

“Beautiful as the starless Chicago sky on a sad, masquerade night.”

“You feel so good, Nemesis. I would drown in you and die if you don’t stop me.”

It was oceans away from the last time he commented about my tightness, which felt dirty and degrading. I clutched his shoulders, moaning softly and cradling him, my body slowly mirroring his until the discomfort was replaced by lusty, jerky rolls of my hips. I purred into his ear as he drove faster into me, bracing himself on his hands, determined not to touch my ribs and forehead. Not to hurt me. Then his thrusts became so deep and feral, I knew he was close. I sank my nails into the flesh of his back, feeling the climax rising within my belly, too. It was different than all the times he licked me. Deeper, more profound.

“Gonna come now, Nem.”

He was about to pull out when I clung to him for a fierce kiss, and I felt him emptying inside me. The warm, sticky, thick liquid filling me from the inside. We held onto each other for a long moment before he rolled off me. This time, there was no shame and distress. I didn’t look away. He didn’t cradle his face and wish he could crawl into a crack in the floor and die. Our heads were tilted toward one another, both of us on the carpet by the fire.

He chucked me under the chin.

“You finished inside.” I licked my lips.

He yawned and stretched at the same time, not looking particularly worried, and that worried me.

“I’m not taking another pill,” I said, shaking my head as I held my dress to my chest. “It’s not healthy.”

“Sweetheart.” His eyes crinkled as he looked at me. “As I said before, the dates don’t add up.”

“Screw the dates.”

“Can I screw you instead?”

I laughed. “Fine. I’m taking your word for it.”

“As you should.” He chucked my chin again.

“Stop doing that, Wolfe. I told you. It makes me feel like a kid.”

He stood up, completely naked, and hoisted me over his shoulder, careful not to touch my ribs, then carried me to the master bedroom, planting a teasing slap on my butt cheek, before biting on it softly.

“What are you doing?” I laughed breathlessly.

“Some very grown-up things to you.”

We spent the night in the same bed, going through three condoms. The morning after, we checked on Artemis again. She was happy to see us, and I took her for a quick ride, surprised with the minimal discomfort having sex four times last night had caused me. We gave her food and water and sat by her side in the barn. That morning, in the barn with Artemis as our audience, Wolfe taught me how to perform oral sex on a man. He lowered me to my knees, stood up, unzipped his dark Diesels, and took himself out. At first, he taught me how to stroke it, then how to squeeze it. When I felt comfortable enough, he asked if I wanted to put it in my mouth.

“Yes.” I looked down at the hay, swallowing down my shame.

“Look at me, Francesca.”

I looked up, blinking at his gray eyes.

“There’s nothing wrong with what you’re about to do. You know that, right?”

I nodded, but I didn’t actually believe it. I was pretty certain every single person I went to church with, including my own parents, would have a heart attack if they knew what we were doing.

“What if people find out?”

He laughed. The bastard full-blown laughed.

“Everyone you know older than eighteen has had oral sex, Francesca.”

“I didn’t.”

“And thank fuck for that.”

Surely, he was just telling me what I wanted to hear. Wolfe probably read the doubt on my face because he stroked the side of my cheek and sighed.

“Do you think I’m a pervert?” he asked.

“What?” I felt my face heating. “No, of course not.”

“Good. Because I eat your pussy every day. Have been for weeks, now. And plan to do so for the rest of my life. You giving your husband pleasure is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“But you said oral sex is degrading.” I licked my lips, tossing his words from when we were engaged to the air between us.

“It’s degrading to kneel, in general. It is not degrading to kneel for someone who is worth your pride.”

I knew Wolfe was not one to talk lightly about pride. He was, after all, the Narcissus to my Nemesis. Whatever made him clutch to his pride like this had scarred him thoroughly. I wrapped my lips around his engorged head, feeling his hand guiding mine around the base of his shaft, before he put his hand over the back of my head and slowly dragged my mouth along his girth, until his crown touched the back of my throat. I wanted to gag but held back.

“Now suck on it.” He sank his fingers into my hair and clutched my roots, hard.

I was surprised by how much I enjoyed sucking his cock. I not only enjoyed the act and the velvety, warm skin, but also his unique, manly scent and the way he responded to it, jerking in my mouth and letting out desperate groans. My jaw and lips hurt by the time he held my hair and pulled out of me, tilting my head up and making me look deep into his eyes.

“You know I respect you,” he said gruffly.

“I know,” I murmured, my lips swollen and sensitive.

“Good. Because for the next five seconds, it’s going to look like I don’t.” He squeezed his length and shot his cum all over my face and breasts.

The warm liquid slithered down my cheek. It was thick and slimy but oddly enough, not degrading. All I could feel was more lust, and my womb clenching against nothing, begging for something that my husband had.

I licked the cum from the corner of my lips and looked back up to him, smiling.

He smiled back.

“I think we’re going to get along fine, my dear wife.”