This was going to become a HEA with follow-up kinky episodes battling naughtier villains and whatnot. But after being rejected some months back for involving a copyrighted character in noncon events, I made some critical adjustments to alter the essence of the story and abide Lit guidelines, so hopefully won't spoil it too much. But the changes do rule out continuations.
Bottomline - Bat and Cat, corrected to Ox and Fox. Best I could do, and I was laughing by the end and I laugh whenever I think of it. Hope you guys (and I refer to that one person who seems to like my work no matter what) find a way to enjoy it since it reads a little unusual and potentially unsexy.
Thanks, Semiosis50 for prompting me to bother with changes. Exes and Ohs, Bello. Haha.
To those waiting for continuations on my other works, they are still priority. I wrote this particular tale quite quickly and more than a year ago.
Hope you are all keeping safe and entertained in these uncertain times x
***
Well into the night, a small shadow flittered across the surface of large, electronic roller door. Seconds later, the fluorescent lighting vanished, plunging the area into black. A quick step, a brief
ziiiiing
and the mechanical barrier whirred in reverse.
In the darkness, mischievous jade eyes glowed at the newly accessible entrance.
Layla haughtily strode forward. She was lithe, slender and wearing a suit of skin-tight leather that stretched around her entire body but for the eyes and lower face of her mask. The leggings extended into durable boots with a tasteful raised heel. Not so high to be impractical; designed for wear and tear, quick sprints and kicking ass, the heels were good purchase and fucking sexy on her long legs.
Humming, she pranced into the dark, located the next security panel and deactivated it in under two minutes. With a smug press of the button she gained access to the next section, wandering through as the garage obediently closed behind her. The outside lights switched on again and the street resumed its quiet, undisturbed state.
Inside, Layla elegantly twirled down aisles of costly items that glittered back from protective cabinets. A vast array of expensive jewellery passed her vision. But she didn't care for big diamonds or old heirlooms. She knew exactly what she wanted.
An item had gone to auction - a solid emerald cat, the size of an apple. The piece dated back hundreds of years and was allegedly crafted for the mistress of a Chinese emperor. Layla bid fair and square for it, only to have that smarmy Truce Cayne swoop on her victory and outbid it on a whim. He trumped her generous offer with one wholly ridiculous; doubled it, just to spite her.
Layla's breath caught when her sight fell on it, a beautiful jewel reflecting the clear green of her own eyes.
"You belong with me, kitty cat," she whispered, carefully extracting the precious piece from the cabinet. Setting it onto the counter, she drew a soft cloth from a secret pocket to wrap it.
"I've been telling you that for years," drawled a familiar, hateful voice.
Layla froze. She never panicked in an emergency; if she kept her head, there was always a way out. But in this case, the challenge was significantly more perilous than a few security guards.
Turning on her heel, she perceived the man intently watching her from the other side of the room. When her eyes locked on him, he sauntered closer and casually leaned across a counter filled with precious sapphires. He moved fluidly for a 6 ft tall mountain of muscle in protective leather. Layla's lip curled at his preposterous ox headpiece; his stupid handsome smirk.
Wherever the fuck he came from, he was blocking her anticipated exit. Layla's eyes darted to the second exit on her right. Oxman followed her gaze and chuckled.
"You'll never reach it. Better to spar facing me, than have me on your tail, kitty."
Layla bared her teeth when his attention moved to her ass on the word 'tail'. The suit tightly showcased each delectable buttock. Sure, the saucy apparel was fun when she taunted overweight security guards or startled young shop attendants. But with
him
, she felt dirty. She hated the way he looked at her; chocolate brown eyes glowing with predatory lust.
"It doesn't have to be like this. We belong together," he said simply, aware his patronising tone would aggravate her. "'Ox' and 'Fox' rhymes,
and we
dress in matching leathers like a regular couple."
Layla angrily shook her head as cold fear prickled up her spine. It was all a setup. How could she have been so naive?
Because that's what you are - reckless and cocky. That's what he loves about you.
Now it made sense with abysmal clarity. He knew she couldn't resist the challenge of stealing something she felt he didn't deserve. And here she was, right where he wanted her.
Layla still didn't speak. She never talked to him if she could help it.
"Tell you what..." he cooed, and Layla knew she'd despise the upcoming offer. "Come home with me, get into my bed, and you can keep the idol. No strings. Well..." he raised a gloved hand and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Not where money is concerned."
"I'd rather pay for it," Layla replied acidly.
Oxman lightly shivered with pleasure at the sound of her voice; he found the soft sultry tones so fucking sexy. Even when she yelled at him during that fateful incident a year ago.
"So why didn't you outbid me?" He innocently questioned, his voice quivered with humour.
Not dignifying the obvious with an answer, Layla looked extremely pissed off.
"Fuck that look gets me so hot," Truce breathed, wistfully trailing a gloved finger down the glossy counter surface.
"Stay the fuck away from me!" she hissed, preparing to run.
"You don't understand, kitty," he smiled, shifting from the counter to stand tall. "I'm going to have you, either way. No more avoiding me."
