30. Delaney
DELANEY
No man has ever spanked me before. No man has ever called me a bitch—at least no man I ever let touch me. Before today, I’d have punched anyone who dared to.
But Samson Vexley won’t let me punch him. I know this already. Though I don’t think he would strike me back, he might do something worse.
I want to loathe him. I want to tell him how much I hate him.
But I can’t.
It would be a lie.
He says I couldn’t have stopped him. Maybe he’s right. That should frighten me.
But the truth is? I didn’t want to stop him.
I chose this.
I chose him.
And as I feel every release of his cock pulsing inside me, I know in my heart and soul I would choose him again.
Again and again.
In a flash I’m on my back. He’s kissing me, and I’m tasting his intoxicating blend of spice and mint and something uniquely him.
I kiss him back.
How is this possible? How have I become addicted to this drug that is Samson Vexley?
We kiss and we kiss and we kiss, his body heavy against mine. I slide my fingers over his broad shoulders, his corded arms.
Not only is he the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, he’s also the best in bed. No one has ever made me feel this way. I’m sure my sexual experience isn’t anywhere close to what his is, but I’ve had my share for sure. Nothing… Nothing comes close to this.
I don’t even care that he slapped my ass. That he called me that name that I hate. Because he also called me beauty. He told me I was beautiful.
And though this was a hard fuck, in some ways a violent fuck, something inside me feels like it was also more than that.
He finally breaks the kiss, inhaling deeply. He rolls over so that he’s lying on his back.
I’m tempted to roll close to him, snuggle into his shoulder. Let him hold me.
But now my clear head is prevailing. And I’m aware of the truth of what this was.
It was wonderful and beautiful and domineering and just a hair short of insane.
And if we start again, I won’t fight him.
But it didn’t fix anything. In fact, it may have made things worse.
And now Samson Vexley is in my bed, his eyes closed, his breathing calming down.
If he falls asleep? I won’t wake him.
I want to sleep next to him. Because frankly, this is the safest I’ve felt since I started looking into this whole thing.
But I don’t kid myself.
This was sex to him. Nothing more. Whatever warped emotions are creeping up in me, I need to tamp them down. Not just for myself, and not just for my work. And not just for women in general.
I need to keep my focus. I’m playing the endgame. I’m going to find out what truly happened that night and why.
I can’t do that if my heart is involved.