Getting by as a transgenic was hard. Especially when you needed to steal to survive, which is what landed you and Alec in your position.

You were in his lap in a hooker’s nightclub, pretending to be all over Alec, the guy you were ‘serving’. You two were casing the place for a job, of stealing a diamond necklace that’d get you a crap ton of pay. Both of your eyes were scanning the room as discreetly as you could for cameras and trip wires that could make your job harder. Thank god for being a transgenic, because your brain would hurt otherwise with the amount of security measures in place.

But you were trying to ignore the way Alec’s hand kneaded into your thigh, smoothing down before gripping your knee in a way that could only make heat stir inside you. The way his other palmed at your waist and back, the small grin on his face hot as hell as he put his brilliant acting skills to use and looked at you like he wanted to devour you.

For him, it wasn’t acting. He was taking in the once-in-a-lifetime view of you in a lacy corset bra and thin lace shorts, your body in display and easing his sore eyes immensely. He loved you in your usual clothes, of course, but he wasn’t dumb enough to pass up this glorious opportunity. He was relishing you on his lap. Your hand over his chest, on the side of his neck, squeezing his bicep and other things that had heat stirring in his stomach. He tried to respect your body as your friend and not touch you too inappropriately, which was hard in a nightclub with hookers, which was what you were acting as.

You were both best friends, but you couldn’t help but find this situation uncomfortable. In a good way. “What’ve you spotted so far?” He muttered to you, his hand massaging your calf as his eyes roved over you again, licking his lips before biting the bottom one as his eyes landed on that rack.

He was invested in this view. Wait, no he wasn’t. You were his friend. Not an object.