Sticky Fingers: Hot-Bites Novella Read online

  Sticky Fingers

  Hot-Bites Novella

  Jordan Marie

  Jenika Snow

  Contents

  Sticky Fingers

  Macy

  Braden

  Macy

  Braden

  Macy

  Braden

  Macy

  Braden

  Macy

  Braden

  Macy

  Braden

  Macy

  Braden

  Macy

  Braden

  Braden

  Macy

  Epilogue One

  Epilogue Two

  Where to find Jordan

  Where to find Jenika

  STICKY FINGERS (Hot-Bites Novella)

  By Jordan Marie and Jenika Snow

  www.JordanMarieRomance.com

  [email protected]

  www.JenikaSnow.com

  [email protected]

  Copyright © June 2019 by Jordan Marie and Jenika Snow

  First E-book Publication: June 2019

  Photographer: Wander Aguiar

  Cover model: Forest

  Photo provided by: Wander Book Club

  Cover created by: RBA Designs

  Editors: Kasi Alexander

  Proofreader: Read by Rose

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of any part of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  This literary work is fiction. Any name, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.

  Please respect the author and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials that would violate the author’s rights.

  Braden

  When you have wealth and the respect of everyone around you, it’s easy to forget how to live in the moment. There’s only so much ass kissing a man can handle.

  But life can be very lonely at the top, and it’s caused me to be reclusive and keep to myself. I focus on work, with no time for women. I’ve grown hard and distant with everyone, including my family.

  But when I come across Macy, a sexy little street thief who thinks I’m an easy target to pickpocket, I turn the tables on her.

  Who says blackmail can’t be sexy?

  She’s only supposed to be my company for a dinner party, but the more time I spend with Macy, the more I realize she’s got layers that fascinate me.

  I realize that one night won’t be enough. I need all of her. I need her as mine.

  Now I just have to show her that there are much more enjoyable ways to get sticky fingers.

  Jenika and Jordan have teamed up again to bring you a sexy little story about a broody, alpha businessman who’s met his match, even if a little blackmail is involved. But don’t worry ... she likes it.

  Macy

  It’s far too easy.

  Just “accidentally” bump into them, slip my hand in their pocket, while smiling the whole time, and take what I want. They never know what hit them, never suspect someone like me is stealing from them, right under their noses.

  I lean against a brick wall, my hands shoved in my jacket pockets, the chill in the air letting me know winter is still hanging on. City life is busy, with most of the residents too worried about getting to their next stop, and less concerned about some young woman picking their pocket. But then again, that’s exactly what I do.

  Businessmen and women hustle and bustle up and down the street, and I watch them, calculate who to pick, almost like an equation that I’m about to solve.

  I see a guy, maybe an obvious choice as he seems flustered while he rushes down the sidewalk. He’s young, probably an intern at some ritzy law firm. But his tie is crooked, his shoes scuffed up. He’s probably a college kid without much money, but wants to play the part.

  I pass him up, focus on someone I know I can make some money off of.

  There, an older man, his suit pressed, expensive looking. His shoes are shined, designer. He’s wearing a Rolex, a diamond ring on his pinky.

  He’s who I’ll take from today. No doubt his wallet is filled with cash, and credit cards with high limits.

  I take a step away from the wall, about to make my move, when my gaze zeros in on someone else who piques my interest even more.

  He’s tall, maybe even hitting six and a half feet. His suit screams wealth, dark material hugging his lean but powerful body. His hair is this dirty blond color, a little long on the top, but not too long that it is unprofessional. He has a day’s worth of scruff covering his jaw, and his focus is trained right ahead, his gaze never breaking, the intent on his face clear.

  He screams power.

  No doubt his money clip is overflowing. I look down at the briefcase he holds, the dark leather shining, the gold lock on top ensuring that whatever it contains is important and safe. He has a cell phone up to his ear, the hard expression on his face as he speaks telling me that maybe he doesn’t like what the person on the other end is saying.

  Yeah, he’s going to be my target.

  I run my hands over my jeans, my fingers itching to get to work. I adjust the beanie on my head, a gust of wind blowing the strands underneath it across my cheeks. And then I step out onto the sidewalk and start walking, my focus on him but my head downcast, as if I were paying attention to my feet.

  Got to look inconspicuous.

  We are just a foot from each other now and I sidestep, slamming into him with enough power that we both stumble a little bit. But I am fast, my fingers sticky as I slide my hand on the inside of his suit jacket, find the interior pocket, and pull out his wallet.

  I quickly shove the wallet in my coat pocket then move back, raising my hands and muttering my apologies. Everything happens within a couple of seconds, and as he stares at me, his brows furrowed, he pulls the cell away from his ear and looks me right in the eyes.

  I feel my heart jump to my throat. My mouth dries and my body tightens. The look he gives me is intense. “I’m sorry,” I mutter and take a few steps backward, the people all around us moving on either side as if they were water being parted. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

  He says nothing as he continues to stare at me, and I force myself to move away, to start walking. I pick up my pace but keep looking behind my shoulder, unable to help myself. I don’t know what it is about him that has this pull consuming me.

  And still he stands there, watching me. Everything seems to slow as I watch as he slips his hand into his suit jacket, realization of what I’ve done covering his face. I swear I could hear the growl come from him even from this distance.

  “Fuck,” he mouths and his gaze lands on me once more.

  I pick up my pace just as he starts heading toward me, the anger on his face tangible. I face forward and start running, trying to push people out of my way, but the early morning rush of commuters is thick, like the smog that surrounds the city.

  I take a left, knowing there’s an alley just ahead. Surely, he won’t keep pursuing me, not with the filth between the buildings, not in his Gucci loafers and Armani suit.

  I glance over my shoulder but can’t see him through the thick throng of people. I keep running, my sneakers eating up the pavement, my arms working as I escape. Most of the time they don’t chase me, don’t even know I robbed them until I’m long gone. But this guy is different.

  I take a right and head into the alley, sunlight not penetrating this area very well, s
hadows mixing with the stench of trash coming from the large dumpsters pressed against the brick walls. I slow, feeling like I’ve lost him. I’m fast. You have to be to survive in this line of work. There’s no way he kept up with me.

  As I brace my hands on my knees and breathe out, the feeling of someone right behind me has me straightening and turning. I gasp as I look into his face, one that’s set in anger and looks mighty pissed. I go to turn but he has a vice-lock grip on my arm, preventing me from leaving.

  “I’ll scream.”

  He grins, a flash of straight white teeth, but it isn’t one of pleasure or amusement. “Go ahead.” He holds up his cell. “I’m about to call the cops, so fighting will only make this worse for you.”

  I swallow the thick lump in my throat.

  “I’m sorry,” I say softly and reach in my jacket to give him back his money. I hold up the wallet, handing it to him. He takes it from me and shoves it in his pocket with a frustrated grunt.

  I try to get loose again, but he’s far too strong and determined to let me go.

  “I gave you the money back. Just let me go and you can be on your way.”

  He doesn’t speak, doesn’t even move as he stares at me.

  “What’s your fucking problem?”

  “Take off the hat,” he says harshly.

  “W-what?” I feel my brows furrow. “Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  I lift my hand and remove my beanie, hoping if I comply he’ll cut me some slack and let me go. I don’t bother smoothing my hair away from my face.

  He eyes me and lets go of my arm. “Shit, you’re so damn young.” He rakes his eyes over me and I shiver. His gaze feels like fingers moving over my body.

  “I’m eighteen. Old enough.” I see the way his nostrils flare slightly. “I gave you your money back. I’ll just be on my way and you won’t see me again. We don’t have to get the cops involved.”

  He doesn’t move, doesn’t even speak. I see the lift of a dark eyebrow as he continues to watch me, and then he takes a step back and looks me up and down. “You don’t want the police involved?”

  I find myself shaking my head. Something about the look on his face makes me afraid to speak.

  “You’ll do whatever it takes to make this right?”

  I nod, but my heart is beating out of my chest. The way he’s looking at me tells me he’s got one thing on his mind. It seems impossible and I don’t understand it. A man like him… the very ideas that are running in my head have to be ludicrous.

  He lifts his hand and runs it over his jaw. “Then, I want you.”

  I wait for him to continue. “Want me to what?”

  He grins then and this time it is one of pleasure. “If you don’t want me to call the cops, it’ll cost you.”

  “Mister, if I had money, I wouldn’t be trying to take yours.” I do my best to keep annoyance in my voice and disguise the fact that there’s something about him that I find… appealing. I shouldn’t. I should be running and trying to get away from him again. I’ve lived this life enough to know that jail is a bad thing for a girl like me. I’ve managed to stay out, but only because until recently I’ve been underage. Juvie isn’t a walk in the damn park, but jail? Yeah, I can’t handle that. I already know I can’t. Which means I need to ignore this guy and his broody dark eyes and his smile that looks wicked and makes me feel like a woman for the first time in my life.

  “I don’t want you to pay me. At least not with money,” he says and the heated look on his face makes me feel funny and not entirely in a bad way.

  “Listen, I think—”

  “The price I want is you.”

  Braden

  I should be fucking shot. What I’m about to do is wrong on so many levels. This girl seems like the answer to a prayer, albeit a twisted, sadistic prayer, and here she is falling into my lap.

  She’s perfect. And a beautiful way to stick it to my bitch of a stepmother, Delia, and dear old Dad. Hell, maybe I’ll get lucky and she’ll steal Delia’s silverware off the table at the anniversary dinner.

  It’s petty, I know, but ask me if I give a fuck. The answer would be a resounding not one damn bit. I hate them both. I wouldn’t even go to the dinner at all, except for my little sister Tabby, who begged me to be there.

  I’m too old for these petty games. At thirty-four and owner of one of the largest software development companies in the United States, I answer to no one and I have more money than I’ll ever need. My worthless father and his gold-digging wife are not even on my radar. But Tabby is everything. She’s the only living person I give two shits about. She’s five and completely innocent, despite living with parents that are the dregs of the universe. Then again, she’s truly raised by her nanny, which I’m thankful for.

  My father had no business having another child when he was almost sixty. Especially since he could care less about Tabby, other than how she looks in a photo op. But because he’s a senator of the great state of New York, it’s always about appearances for him. That also included marrying a woman nearly half his age. Seven years later they are still married, which surprises the hell out of me, to be honest.

  But if my father being a fucking senator isn’t a reason to move out of the state, I don’t know what is. It’s the reason I left. The more distance I can put between my father and me the better. My company is based in Los Angeles, but I’m in New York this weekend for this damn party.

  The last thing I want to do is attend it alone. Delia’s invitation said plus one. Of course, by plus one she meant I am to bring the latest movie star, singer, model, or someone of that caliber. Delia loves to have anyone of notoriety Delia at her gatherings. But I’ll be damned if I’m giving in to her. She’s getting the total opposite.

  Besides, there’s a reason the news rags call me a recluse who lives only for the thrill of business. That’s all I have in life, besides Tabby.

  “What do you mean you want me?” the girl asks. Her nervousness bleeds through her voice.

  She should be apprehensive. I’m going to blackmail her into being my date for the weekend.

  “Exactly what I said. You just need to make a decision.”

  “What kind of decision?” she asks, color rising on her face.

  I take her in all over. The threadbare coat, faded almost-white jeans that curve to her body. She’s petite—the top of her head would be lucky to reach my pecs—but there’s no doubt that she’s got a woman’s body. She says she’s legal and I find myself praying she is because the things I’m thinking about are obscene as fuck.

  “What’s your name?” I ask her instead, wishing she had that coat off so I could get a better look at her breasts.

  I am being such a dirty fucking bastard right now, and shit, it feels good to not keep myself in check.

  “Macy,” she answers defensively, as if she really wants to tell me to fuck off.

  “You need to decide if you’re going to come home with me for the weekend, Macy.”

  Her eyes widen and then promptly narrow. I’ve pissed her off. Good. I want that emotion to come through when she’s at the party with me.

  “I…”

  “Or am I calling the cops and having you arrested?” I lift an eyebrow as if either decision would work for me.

  I’m being a bastard, but I can’t seem to help myself. Surely, taking me up on my offer would be better for her. She’d be off the streets and once this damn party is over, I’ll give her enough money so she can get on her feet and go back to school without worrying about the price of rent for at least a year or so. Hell, I don’t know anything about her but here I am making all these plans for the little sprite.

  I’d like to say what I’m doing is just to help her, but the truth is, I’d be lying. I’m attracted to her. Christ, even now, looking at her face and that soft fall of blond hair that moves down past her shoulders, those deep ocean-blue eyes, and her pouty full lips has my cock standing at attention.

  “Are you … I mean, are yo
u offering to pay me for sex?” she asks, her face pale, her gaze looking at me like I’m insane.

  And hell, I probably am.

  “I’m not offering to pay you at all. I’m merely offering to keep you out of jail.” I stare at her, trying to see if I can answer my own question before I throw it out at her. “Do you do drugs?” I ask her, not getting that vibe from her but needing to know before I go farther. That’s a can of worms I’m not about to open.

  “What?” she all but shouts, as if disgusted I even brought it up. “Of course not!” she yells.

  “Take your jacket off,” I demand, needing to make sure there are no track marks or other tell-tale signs of drug use.

  “What? Are you fucking insane? It’s cold!” she argues, showing a stubborn spirit that I like.

  “Do it,” I growl, and I see her eyes widen a bit from my harsh tone. But she does what I say, and a sliver of pleasure moves through me that she obeyed without much hesitance. When her jacket is off, I run my hands over her arms, searching, her skin smooth like butter, soft. I can smell her even better now, this peachy scent that makes me feel drunk. Peach is my fucking favorite.

  My cock is pressing against the zipper of my slacks, demanding to be out. I’m definitely attracted to her and that’s a complication I don’t need. Jesus, she’s only eighteen.

  She’s completely legal.

  A small voice echoes the thought in my head and the tip of my cock starts to get wet from pre-cum, as if the fucker is in agreement. There are no signs of drug use, although I’ll search her legs and toes later. Junkies can be slick about hiding that kind of thing. Still, I don’t see anything about this girl that says she’s that type. She’s clean for running the streets, smells incredible, and her nails are even painted. Fucking painted this light pink color that has my balls drawing up and images slamming through my head of me sucking those digits into my mouth.