Chapter 12

The house was starting to settle down for the night, just like every other evening, but tonight… I wasn’t supposed to lock anything up. On the contrary, I needed to leave it all wide open. I was the silent accomplice in a crime that shouldn’t have any witnesses.

He was supposed to slip in quietly, in the dead of night, grab whatever he wanted, and get out without being seen, without leaving a trace.

I stayed awake, alert, watching every shadow. I was the lookout on duty, making sure everything was clear — or better yet, wide open. The little gate outside, with the latch undone… and my bedroom window, flung wide. No one would see him come in. No one would see him leave.

Then, right on time, my phone buzzed. It was a text from him:
“Can I come in? Everyone asleep?”

A thumbs-up was all it took to let him know the coast was clear. I rushed through the house, flicking off the lights that were still on, shutting down the TV, and heading to my room. Once inside, I locked the door and went to the window to watch him arrive. I was dressed for bed, in a comfy nightgown, ready… and so damn nervous.

A shadow crossed the gate and slid through the front door, moving down the narrow, quiet side hallway. In the darkness, I could barely make out his face, but I didn’t need to — I knew exactly who my thief was.

Like a cat, he approached, quick and stealthy, whispering a soft “hey,” almost conspiratorial, before swinging a leg over the windowsill. I stepped back to let him in, and as soon as his feet hit my bedroom floor, I closed the window.

Now… the crime.

He didn’t wait for me to turn around — he came at me from behind, with the raw urgency of a man who couldn’t hold back anymore.

First, it was the smell that hit me, brutal and thick, filling the room before I even felt the heat of his body: pure man, heavy and loaded, a woody cologne with a hint of sweetness that spread slow and teasing through the air. Any second now, someone could catch it. The whole house could smell my desire and come looking.

Then, the touch — the shock.

His arms wrapped around me from behind, trapping me like a snare — one hand firm on my waist, anchoring me, pulling me against him; the other, wild, found my breast and squeezed hard, no gentleness, ripping a muffled gasp from me, almost a protest that died before it could form.

His body pressed into mine, hot, solid, undeniable. When he yanked me closer, fusing me to his skin, the air caught in my throat. My skin prickled with the sudden rush of vulnerability.

His mouth roamed my neck, starving, switching between raw bites and deep sucks, marking my skin without shame. He hunted for my lips, wandering, desperate, while his hand slid down with the same hunger to my ass, gripping tight, claiming, taking.

He was starving… and in a hurry. Starving for me, in a rush to use me, to own me right there in that dark room, with the whole house sleeping, oblivious to what was about to go down.

My hand, bold as hell, didn’t wait for an invite. It slipped right down, finding the hard bulge in his pants, throbbing, hot, alive. I started pulling it out without a second thought, wrestling with the fabric and my own impatience, while he kept me turned away, glued to him, like he never wanted to let go.

When we finally broke apart, half out of breath, we laughed — like a couple of idiots, partners in crime, surrendering in the dim light of the room, as if laughter was the only way to handle the tension eating us alive.

He stripped off his clothes in a frenzy, like he couldn’t waste another goddamn second, tearing through the night with his rush. And when his cock sprang free, into the air, my eyes lit up with instant, almost girlish joy, my mouth watering on instinct, craving it.

I sat down, all proper-like, with the fake sweetness of a good girl in her own house — legs together, hands resting on my thighs, like I was waiting patiently… but only on the surface.

Of course, I couldn’t resist: I shot him a sly, teasing grin, loaded with that mischief he knew so well — a mix of invitation and challenge, all in one look.

And there I sat, quiet…

When he was buck naked, he came to me — shameless, radiating nothing but raw male lust, his hard cock swinging in the air.

First, my neck. He grabbed me hard, pulling me close until I couldn’t breathe for a second. A flash of fear shot through me, wiping the smirk off my face.

His eyes were wild, unrestrained — a lust that scared me and turned me on all at once.

His mouth crashed into mine, a rough kiss, his tongue taking over, leaving me weak, surrendered, done for.

With his knees, he forced my legs apart, pushing past any resistance until there was none left. I gave in, no choice. Then he shoved me back — a sure move from a guy who knows he’ll get what he wants — and laid me out, spreading me wide. I was getting wetter by the second. I could feel the slickness spreading, my thighs quivering for his weight.

He collapsed on me, his skin burning against mine, the head of his cock nudging insistently, hunting for entry, demanding it. My clothes were still on — useless, flimsy, just delaying what we both couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Already?” I whispered, breathless, not even sure if it was a complaint or a come-on.

He wasn’t playing games, and neither was I. No room for second-guessing.

When I felt the fabric give way, my panties yanked aside, twisted, he broke through the last barrier and slammed into me all at once, hard, stretching my body with raw force and hunger.

His hot skin slid in, thick, forcing its way until he was buried deep. The tip grazed my clit in a quick, electric jolt before vanishing inside me, widening me, filling me, stuffing me full.

The air rushed out of my lungs, my mouth hanging open, silent, while his weight pinned me there, motionless, completely given over to the one truth hitting me: he was inside. Deep. All the way.

Each thrust made my panties bunch up, twist, clamping tighter, ramping up the friction, making everything wetter, hotter. My body yielded, molding to his, taking every move, every pound, as he thrust in and out, steady, soaking me, claiming me, pulling sighs I didn’t even know I was letting out.

I felt him all the way inside me, deep, filling every inch. I had to clamp my hand over my mouth, muffling the moans escaping without control. He knew… he knew my body, my tells, my limits — and even better, the shortcuts.

He’d speed up when I needed it fast, but he also knew when to stop, when to just bury himself in me, making me feel it, pulse around him. And that’s what he did now… he paused, sank in deep, holding me with his weight and presence.

In those breaks, I instinctively clenched around him, squeezing hard, like my body wanted to pull him in deeper, suck him dry, keep him there. The heat built, exploding, uncontrollable, burning me up from the inside.

He stayed like that, glued to me, buried to the hilt, his body tense, breath ragged in my ear. Then he started… filthy, cursing under his breath while biting down hard.

“Bitch… slut… cum for me…” he whispered, voice hoarse, sinking his teeth into my skin, marking, stoking the fire higher.

And I came, moaning into my hand, locked around him, shaking all over, fingers digging into my mouth to stifle a scream that had no place there.

When my body finally stopped pulsing, I caught my breath — but not my hunger. If anything, the desire burned hotter.

I shoved him hard, making him roll off me, his cock sliding out hot, slick, heavy as he stood up, confused and turned on.

“Stand up,” I ordered, breathless, turning away and getting on all fours, no fuss, ass up, chest down on the bed, legs spread, giving him the full view.

I felt his gaze burn into me, hot and starving, before his hands clamped down, grabbing my waist, yanking my hips back to him. That firm, possessive grip sent shivers through me and dragged my panties down my thighs.

He leaned in, rubbing his cock at my entrance, sliding over my wet skin, then plunged back in, even harder, rougher. It hit me like a shock, air vanishing from my throat, and all I could do was moan, spread wide, totally exposed as he started pounding.

His hips slapped against my ass, hard and rhythmic, each thrust shoving me forward, ripping gasps, moans, broken words from me. He gripped my hip tight, then fisted my hair, yanking my head back, forcing me to arch, to give even more.

“Like this… yeah, just how I like it…” he growled, between sharp smacks that cracked against my ass, making my skin sting and the lust surge.

The sound of skin slapping, mixed with our moans, the cracks, the wet squelch of his cock sliding in and out, built a dirty, desperate rhythm.

I felt him filling me completely, going deep, deeper than seemed possible, tearing through sensations that made me lose my mind, my control, my senses. My skin burned, my whole body throbbed, muscles clenching without me able to stop it.

When I thought I couldn’t take anymore, that my body couldn’t handle the intensity, he yanked my hair harder, forcing me to arch fully, to open up completely for him. And right then, in that brutal surrender, he thrust so hard, so deep, that the orgasm ripped through me, shattering.

The scream tore out, raw and ragged, as I clamped down on him, contracting wildly, out of control, like I wanted to suck him all the way inside. My legs buckled, arms gave out, but he held me steady, keeping me there as my body shook, convulsed in wild spasms.

And he felt it… felt my cum take over, rocking me. He lost it. Pounded faster, feral, hips slamming violent, until he buried himself to the end, gripping my waist hard.

That’s when I felt it… hot, thick… him cumming inside me, spurting hard, filling every space, marking me in that filthy, delicious way. Each pulse sent another hot jet flooding me, making me moan again, forcing me to stay spread, surrendered, taking it all, feeling every bit.

He trembled, body rigid, holding me so tight it hurt. And when it seemed over, he landed two sharp smacks on my ass, hard cracks that made my skin burn, like he was sealing the deal, claiming: mine.

I could only smile, eyes shut, panting, wrecked, totally fucked — and still, my body pulsing, wanting more… always wanting more of him.

He stayed there, frozen behind me, still inside, still twitching, hands firm on my waist, like he couldn’t — or wouldn’t — let go. I felt his final spasms mixing with mine, that warmth trickling slow, messing up my skin, marking my body, blending our scents, our sweat, our crime.

We hung like that for seconds… or minutes, who knows. Time lost all meaning. All I could feel was his ragged breath on my back, the weight, the heat… and that ruthless sensation of being invaded, used, possessed, but above all… desired.

Finally, he let out a long, satisfied sigh and pulled back a bit, leaving me empty, spread, exposed. I rolled onto my side, tugging at the nightgown still hanging loose somewhere on my body, no rush.

We locked eyes, partners in crime, no words needed. He dressed in silence, with that practiced hurry of a guy who knew the way out, who had to vanish without a trace, like a real thief.

Before leaving, he came to the bed, leaned over, and nipped my lower lip, tugging slow, with a look that set me burning again, like he was saying: “I love you.” I just closed my eyes, let a half-smile slip, and said nothing. The soft creak of the window opening, his quiet footsteps fading into the night… and that was it. He was gone.

The house stayed asleep, like nothing had happened. Like I hadn’t just been fucked in a way that still had me shaking. Like my body wasn’t now marked, wet, throbbing with pleasure and ache.

The crime was done. The thief broke in, took what he wanted, and left. He stole me, and I set it all up to get stolen. And one thing’s for sure: he’ll be back. And me… I’ll leave the window open again.

Always.