Steal You

  Steal You

  KD Robichaux

  CC Monroe

  Copyright © 2018 by KD Robichaux and CC Monroe

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Also by KD Robichaux

  Also by CC Monroe

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  Acknowledgments

  Also by KD Robichaux

  No Trespassing

  THE BLOGGER DIARIES TRILOGY:

  Wished for You

  Wish He Was You

  Wish Come True

  CONFESSION DUET:

  Before the Lie

  Truth Revealed

  CONFESSION DUET SPINOFF STANDALONES:

  (Can be read without the duet)

  Seven: A Club Alias Novel

  Rendezvous

  Karma’s Pawn (Coming Soon)

  Until We Meet Again (Coming Soon)

  Doc: A Club Alias Novel (Coming Soon)

  Knight: A Club Alias Novel (Coming Soon)

  Also by CC Monroe

  Always and Forever Series

  Always the One

  Always Us

  Forever the One

  Forever Us

  Always Ours (Coming Soon)

  The Loving Series

  Loving Ben Cooper

  Loving Kate Beckett (Coming Soon)

  Until Kayla: Happily Ever Alpha Kindle World (Coming Soon)

  Dedication

  KD Robichaux

  To all of us who continue to see one pink line instead of two.

  And to those who saw two, but now have guardian angels.

  Dedication

  CC Monroe

  To the crazy little psychos like KD. But mainly to you, my Kayla. For the past nearly two years, you and I have spawned a beautiful, long-lasting friendship I will cherish with the upmost regard.

  When you came to me with this idea, I never knew it would be as easy and flawless as the process was. We clicked. My brain was yours and yours was mine. We split this puppy right down the middle, and still, it seems like we both gave it 100%, because best friends are like that.

  We rode this crazy ride together, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. You are the Jekyll to my Hyde, the tits to my pits, the Harley Quinn to my Joker—the BEST to my MOTHERFUCKING FRIEND.

  I love you deeply, sisterwife, and I can’t wait to saddle up and make another psycho little family, like the one we created with this one.

  There’s no one else on this planet I would want to go to hell with more than you!

  Prologue

  Lizith

  “Broken under me like a little bird. You would do anything for me, wouldn't you, Lizith?”

  I peer up from under my heavy lashes at the man I have grown to love as he looms over me like the devil himself. His blue eyes pierce me, and the blood in my veins drains. He smirks with the change in my breathing, his cock jutting against his briefs, his chest thick and taut and bare for my eyes to consume.

  “What do you want me to do to prove I’m worthy enough for you?” I cry, because for the past few months, I have felt more love and experienced the greatest sex, even my first time, with my separated—albeit still married—Human Anatomy professor. At nineteen, I have learned more about myself and how deep the darkness inside me goes, all so Xander will love me back in the way I love him. Unconditionally.

  “Just give it time, little bird.”

  My green eyes are still blurred as the unstoppable tears soak into the skin of my cheeks. I try to look around his dark classroom, all the windows too high for anyone to see us. Only the night sky and moon are shining through; the Artscape glass on his locked door never shows a shadow on the other side. But why would it, when no one is left on campus this late at night?

  Licking my swollen lips, still tender from all his rough kisses and not so gentle bites, I blink away some tears. “What if I found someone else to occupy my time until then?”

  I know what I’m doing, and I know just what kind of beast I am provoking when I ask this, but I want him to feel what I do. I want that storm of anger yet desirable jealousy I chase daily to spark a fire in him. I want him to feel even an ounce of what I do right now, on my knees, naked with my hands bound behind me with his tie. A captured victim of lust, love, and taboo I have been for him since I was eighteen.

  “You wouldn't do that, and do you know why?” he asks, but it’s not a question he wants me to answer. He brings his cock from its confines and he traces the wet tip along my lips, marking me with his cum. “Because, little bird, you belong to me, and hurting others to protect my sacred belongings isn't something I’m opposed to. You don't want to see anyone get hurt because of you, do you?”

  His words are dark, and it makes my love for him run deeper when it should make me run farther.

  “Look at me. I would do anything,” I confess, and he growls, grabbing my chin and opening my mouth wide to fit his cock inside.

  Without warning, he goes deep, hitting the back of my throat, and I nearly gag. But it feels so right. “You look heavenly taking my cock with all that mascara running down your cheeks. You're a mess. My mess.”

  My insides flutter, butterflies taking hold of me. Because I’m the one to make him lose his control. I am the one he wants, and he takes everything from me. He captured my innocence, locked it away in his chambers, and filled me with lust, passion, and danger.

  He keeps fucking my mouth and I relax, looking up at him and letting him fuck me like he wants to. I am his little bird tonight, and just like every other night, I fall deeper in love with him. Like sap slowly rolling down a tree, my blood does the same, filling with him and seeping through my entire body, making me his completely.

  Xander growls above me, watching his cock own my mouth, and if I could, I would rip my hands free to touch him. I want to hold those hips and help him possess me more. I want to lick up that small drop of sweat beading and rolling down the ridges of his abs.

  Every other night, we meet here and fuck for hours, make love on end without ever stopping. Sometimes, the sun rises before we even get a second to breathe. When we are apart, I can still smell him, feel him, and taste him. He’s imprinted on me like a physical and emotional memory that never fades, only growing more vibrant with time. The kind you obsess over in hopes you never forget a single second or let it dull in your mind.

  My brunette hair is caught up in his tan hands laced with experience. At thirty-two, he’s had over a decade more than me to hone his skills as a lover. They are traced in thick veins that scream power, control, lust. His thick thighs brace as the powerhouse to his calculated and controlled strokes into my tight, warm mouth.

  “I’m going to fuck you hard, Lizith, and you will feel it for days. It will make you crazy to ache from me but not have me.”

  Dropping from my mouth, he steps back, and I get a second to breathe. I gulp for the cold air—thick with sex but still chilly—and I cough when I take in too much.

  “Easy, baby.”
Bending down, he grabs me by the elbows and helps me up. His touches are rough but still have a slight undertone of care and adoration.

  He loves me.

  He has to.

  I feel it in everything he does.

  He has to.

  “Untie me,” I moan while he guides us to his desk.

  “No.” His tone is sharp and sure, unyielding.

  “Please, untie me and make love to me. I need it!” I cry, turning with effort against his steady hands to look him in the eye.

  “I don’t have time for this, Lizith. Don’t do this again tonight.” His eyes dilate and there is a tic in his jaw as he grows frustrated.

  “Why can’t you just show me you love me like I show you? Don’t you love me as much as I love you?”

  “Is that what you want?”

  He unties me as he asks his question. Once my hands are free, I pounce, jumping into his arms and wrapping my legs around him. Xander catches me, gripping my ass while my hands fight to touch anywhere they can.

  “You want me to tell you I love you? Is that it? Tell you I can’t fucking sleep at night, because you are always on my fucking mind?” He moves quickly, lying my back against his cool wooden desk.

  “Yes. Tell me what you feel.” I watch him, nothing but a mess of breath and emotions. Deprived and desperate for his words.

  Before he speaks again, he grabs his cock and lines himself up with my entrance, and I watch with him, mesmerized as he slowly slides inside. An audible gasp of relief leaves us both. He’s thick, an expanse of power, danger, and pleasure inside me.

  “I look at you and I see my demise. I see the end of me,” he confesses. “I see the power I have over you and how far I’m willing to go to fucking ruin you. I want to be the man who breaks your heart and fucking destroys you. Because, little bird…” He pauses, thrusting into me hard. My eyes roll back as I arch off the desk. I lose my surroundings for a moment, but he brings me back before I can catch up.

  With a tight grip on my chin, he immobilizes my jaw and my eyes focus on him. “The man who destroys you, forever owns you.”

  I choke, a sound of welcomed torture leaving me. I don't have anything else to say as I come just from pure obsession. I want him to break me, because I plan to do the same. He sees the end because I am the end of anything that was before me.

  “Fuck!” he growls, as my core tightens like a vise.

  My toes curl and my body feels like lava as my orgasm consumes me. He keeps pounding, chasing his own. The dark hair he wears slicked back is now falling around his forehead. His blue eyes have nearly gone black, and those veins in his neck begin to bulge. I watch silently, my mouth in an O and my words stuck inside.

  The second he comes, he howls into the empty room. “Your blood is now mine as mine is yours. I will love you without boundaries and I will own every part of you. You are my obsession.”

  “Xander, I love you!” I cry out with him, consuming his orgasm as mine peaks again, hitting me for a second time.

  I’ve become Xander’s, and in no time or universe will he ever be rid of me.

  Chapter 1

  Lizith

  Eight years later

  Wishing I could shove it in deep, stabbing her with the metal piece of equipment I could so easily turn into a torture device, I gently pull the speculum out of my patient’s vagina. I set it on the rolling tray before pulling my gloves off and throwing them in the hazardous waste bin as I imagine her screams of pain.

  “You know I’m not allowed to say anything official. But from your internal exam, you seem perfectly healthy to me, Jacqueline. I don’t feel anything out of the ordinary, but the doctor may want to conduct his own exam to be sure.” I see the sliver of excitement flash over the slut’s face, and I keep my own expression schooled, not revealing my disgust in the vile woman. “You’ve been trying to conceive for several years now, and according to your chart, you’ve never attempted any form of fertility treatment. And I know you hate it when I bring it up, but your age—”

  “I know, I know. Forty is entirely too old to be trying to have a baby. But I’m a firm believer in if it's supposed to happen, then it will,” she cuts me off, sitting up and smoothing her perfect waist-length white-blonde ponytail.

  Long enough to strangle her with.

  The thought puts me in a happy place, so I easily make my voice pleasant. “As your PA, I’m giving you my professional opinion. If you truly want to have a baby, and you’ve been trying for this long, tracking your cycles like you say you have, then there is probably something keeping that from happening. Your ultrasound last time was clear. No cysts on your ovaries, no uterine fibroids.” I let out a breath. “The problem could lie in your husband’s sperm. Do you think he would be willing to come in for a semen analysis?”

  She chuckles, crossing her legs beneath the examination sheet, placing her perfectly manicured hand beside her knees, and leaning to the side prissily as she touts, “That man would do anything I ask him to. I’ll set up an appointment for him on my way out.”

  Her cockiness makes me want to slap her. If only her husband knew she wasn’t really a hypochondriac who came in to the gynecologist once a month for checkups, but to fuck her doctor. In the two years I’ve worked here at Dr. Curtis’s office, I’ve seen Jacqueline Stine no less than twenty times. After the sixth time in as many months, when I first acquired my dream job I’d worked so hard for, I asked Dr. Curtis why she required so many appointments. Especially when her charts indicated she was perfectly healthy and not receiving any type of monthly treatment. He briskly explained she had an uncontrollable fear of STDs, borderline obsessive, so she came in regularly to be tested for peace of mind.

  A married woman with an obsessive fear of sexually transmitted diseases? Was she worried her husband was cheating on her? Her ever-present attitude and surety in his giving in to her every request would indicate no. Plus, why would she be trying to have a baby with a man who she suspected was unfaithful? But considering the fact she was the only patient who had a signed consent form in her file stating a nurse or physician’s assistant is not required to be present in the examination room with her doctor indicated something else entirely. So did the locked door I discovered soon after my suspicions were birthed.

  As always, I pick up my iPad off the counter and let her know the doctor will be in to see her as soon as he’s finished with his current patient, closing the door gently behind me. As calmly as I can manage with the rage still boiling through my veins, knowing what would be happening in Exam Room 3 in the next few minutes, I make my way to the checkout desk and let Aria know that Mrs. Stine needs to schedule a semen analysis for her husband before she leaves.

  Shuffling to my desk, feeling discouraged, I think about all the reasons why I’d wanted so badly to work at this office, one of the most highly acclaimed OBGYN/Fertility Treatment Facilities in the state of Texas. I’d grown up an only child, my parents trying for countless years to have a second child. I witnessed all the struggles, the pain—both emotional and physical—while my mom tried everything, including in vitro fertilization, as she and Dad did their best to give me a sibling. But nothing ever worked. My parents made a few close friends throughout their treatments, in support groups for people going through the same thing. As I got older, I realized it was one thing for a couple who had never had a baby to struggle with infertility. Their dream of creating a life together through their love of each other something they wanted to experience. It was something entirely different for people like my parents. My mom already knew how wonderful it was to feel a new life growing inside her belly. They already knew what it was like to look into a baby’s eyes and feel love like they never thought possible. I remember her telling me about the sensations of my kicks. The way she felt this sense of completion when she knew a part of her heart beat inside me. I’m weak in my heart for women who can’t have kids, but I feel most connected to the ones who lost something they already greatly knew. It wasn’t more unfair t
han the couple who were denied the gift of a child, but an entirely different form of torture. It was when my mom and dad finally gave up trying, on her fortieth birthday, that I decided I wanted to become a fertility specialist.

  Several minutes later, I keep my back turned toward the door as my boss and his patient leave the exam room, and I ignore their goodbyes, waiting to hear Mrs. Stine make her way to the checkout desk. My skin always crawls when she’s near, knowing what she does behind her husband’s back. So when she sets the appointment for her husband, and then her next visit, I breathe a sigh of relief when she finally leaves.

  I log in to the office network with my employee number and passcode, typing in my last patient’s name. When Jacqueline’s file pops up, I scroll to see when the appointments were set.

  “Wow, you wasted no time, did you?” I murmur under my breath. “The perfect cover up.”

  Mr. Stine is now set to come in tomorrow morning for his semen analysis. So now the cheating skank can go home and tell him she got him the earliest available appointment so they can get the baby train rolling.

  I shake my head, logging out of the program before grabbing my lunch kit and purse and heading home for the day.

  I remove my shoes as soon as I walk in my apartment’s front door, putting them neatly in their designated place with calculated effort. Setting my bag on my couch as I pass behind it and into the kitchen, I place my lunch kit on the counter. I strip as I make my way toward my bedroom, tossing my scrubs into the washer as I go. My bra and panties follow suit, leaving me naked as a jaybird as I enter my room. I smile at the old saying as I promptly sit in my computer chair, wiggling the mouse to wake up the monitor. In the top right corner of the split screen, I watch Aria and Dr. Curtis leaving through the front door of the office, him turning to lock up for the evening as her short, round figure waddles toward her Ford Focus. The other eight squares on my monitor are still, no one else inside the building.