Chapter 6 Roz #2
“That’s it, baby,” Roz murmured. “Rub those pretty little panties just the way I want you to. Make that needy little body feel everything I decide you get.”
Sam’s breaths turned to moans, louder, more desperate, and Roz reveled in the sound, her lips curving into a satisfied smile. “You’re such a good little princess,” Roz purred. “My perfect, slutty sex toy.”
Sam’s body writhed under Roz’s control, her movements growing more frantic as the pressure built. “Please,” she whimpered, her voice raw. “Please, Roz…”
Roz leaned in, her lips brushing against Sam’s ear. “Make a mess for me,” she commanded softly. “Show me just how much you need me.”
Sam cried out, her body trembling as she reached her peak, her hips grinding against her hand under Roz’s firm control. Roz cupped her hand over Sam’s panties, holding her steady as the waves of pleasure coursed through her.
When it was over, Roz leaned back, her hand sliding gently along Sam’s thigh. “You look so pretty like this,” she said, her voice softening. She kissed Sam’s temple, brushing her lips over her flushed skin. “My perfect, pretty princess.”
Sam collapsed against Roz, her breath uneven as Roz wrapped an arm around her, holding her close. “It’s okay, baby,” Roz murmured. “I’ve got you.”
The room was quiet except for their breathing, Roz’s fingers tracing lazy circles on Sam’s back as she whispered soft reassurances. For now, control and surrender blurred in a way that left both of them completely undone, and utterly satisfied.
Roz had never felt this way before, completely untethered, raw, and unguarded. Sam kissed her like she was trying to unravel her, and for the first time, Roz let her.
Afterward, they lay tangled together on the couch, the room filled with the sound of their steadying breaths.
Roz rested her head against Sam’s shoulder, her hand splayed across Sam’s chest. Sam’s fingers traced lazy circles on Roz’s arm, her touch gentle in contrast to the intensity of moments before.
“Your place suits you,” Sam said softly, breaking the silence.
Roz glanced up, her eyes meeting Sam’s. “You think?”
“Yeah,” Sam replied, her lips quirking into a small smile. “It’s warm…unexpected.”
Roz huffed a quiet laugh, her fingers absently brushing against Sam’s collarbone. “You’re saying I’m warm and unexpected?”
Sam’s smile widened, but she didn’t reply, her hand continuing its slow, deliberate movements.
The silence returned, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
Roz’s mind raced, her thoughts a jumble of emotions she didn’t know how to process.
She wanted to say something, to let Sam know how much she’d gotten under her skin, but the words caught in her throat.
Vulnerability wasn’t her strength, and the weight of what she felt terrified her.
Instead, she deflected, her lips curving into a smirk. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”
Sam raised an eyebrow, her fingers pausing. “Help myself how?”
Roz propped herself up on one elbow, her hair falling messily over her shoulder as she met Sam’s gaze. “Coming in here, kissing me like you’ve got something to prove.”
Sam chuckled, her hand slipping to Roz’s hip. “Maybe I do.”
Roz’s breath caught, her smirk faltering as the sincerity in Sam’s voice hit her. She opened her mouth to reply, but Sam leaned up, kissing her softly, and whatever she was about to say vanished.
They stayed like that, the banter giving way to a quiet intimacy that left Roz feeling exposed in a way she didn’t entirely hate. As they lay together, she realized that Sam had already done what no one else ever had: She’d broken through her walls.
The next day, Roz parked her car in the long, circular driveway of the Harrington estate, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.
The sprawling mansion loomed before her, its grand facade a symbol of everything her family stood for: perfection, legacy, and control.
It was a sharp contrast to the warmth she’d felt the night before in her apartment, wrapped in Sam’s arms.
Her phone buzzed on the passenger seat, pulling her attention away. A message from Sam.
Sam: “Surviving the lion’s den yet?”
Roz smirked faintly, her fingers hovering over the screen before she typed back.
Roz: “Haven’t gone in yet. Still deciding if I want to.”
Sam: “You’ll be fine. You’ve got that Harrington armor, remember?”
Roz paused, her smirk fading. Sam’s confidence in her was reassuring but also unsettling.
Roz: “I’ll let you know if I need rescuing.”
Sam replied almost instantly.
Sam: “Always on call for you, Doc.”
Roz exhaled, pocketing her phone as she stepped out of the car. The air was crisp and the manicured gardens pristine, but Roz felt the familiar weight settle on her shoulders as she approached the door.
Inside, the Harrington dining room was a study in elegance.
The table was already set with gleaming silverware and fine china, the scent of Evelyn’s favorite roasted lamb wafting through the air.
Roz’s mother, Evelyn, sat at the head of the table, her posture as regal as ever.
Her hair was perfectly coiffed, her sharp blue eyes scanning Roz the moment she walked in.
“Rosalind,” Evelyn said, her voice clipped but pleasant. “You’re late.”
Roz forced a smile, shrugging off her leather jacket and draping it over a nearby chair. “Traffic.”
Evelyn arched a brow. “On a Sunday?”
“People still drive on Sundays, Mother.”
Catherine, Roz’s eldest sister, offered a polite but distant nod from her seat. “You’re lucky Lily’s not here,” she said. “She and Rebecca left early for their engagement retreat. You know how she hates it when you’re late.”
“Good thing she’s not here, then,” Roz quipped, sliding into her seat.
Olivia, the youngest of the middle sisters and perennial peacekeeper, leaned over to pour Roz a glass of wine. “Ignore them,” she said in a low voice. “You look good. How’s work?”
“Busy,” Roz replied, grateful for Olivia’s attempt to steer the conversation away from Catherine and Evelyn’s scrutiny.
As the meal began, the conversation flowed in predictable patterns.
Catherine discussed a recent breakthrough in her cardiothoracic research, Evelyn nodded approvingly, and Olivia chimed in with anecdotes about a particularly challenging patient she’d treated.
Roz remained quiet, pushing food around her plate, her mind wandering to Sam.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she glanced down discreetly.
Sam: “Thinking about you. How’s the lamb?”
Roz stifled a laugh, her fingers brushing the phone under the table.
Roz: “Dry. And I’m thinking about you too.”
Sam: “Careful. You’ll blush, and your mom will ask why.”
Roz’s lips twitched, but the moment was short-lived.
“Rosalind” Evelyn’s voice cut through the chatter, her tone sharp. “You’ve been quiet. I hope you’re not planning another one of your…unconventional career moves.”
Roz’s head snapped up. “I wasn’t aware sticking to neurosurgery was unconventional.”
Evelyn’s gaze didn’t waver. “It’s not your work I’m concerned about. It’s your image. You have a reputation to uphold. That pink hair of yours—”
“Is staying,” Roz interrupted, her voice cold. “Thanks for your input.”
Olivia sighed. “Mother, Roz is one of the best neurosurgeons on the West Coast. I think her patients care more about her skill than her hair color.”
“Thank you, Olivia,” Roz said, raising her glass in a mock toast.
Evelyn’s lips thinned, but she pressed on, “Your personal life, then. You’re not getting any younger, Rosalind. When are you going to settle down? Lily’s already engaged, and Catherine—”
“Catherine’s already perfect, we know,” Roz snapped. “And for the record, I’m perfectly happy with my life as it is.”
Catherine cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable. Olivia shot Roz a pleading look, but Roz ignored it, her hands curling into fists under the table.
Evelyn tilted her head, her expression inscrutable. “Happiness is fleeting, Rosalind. Stability is what lasts. You’d do well to remember that.”
Roz bit back a sharp retort, her mind flashing to Sam, the warmth of her smile, the way she’d made Roz feel the night before. Stable wasn’t the word she’d use for their connection, but it felt more real than anything she’d had before.
The rest of the meal passed in tense silence, punctuated by polite exchanges between Evelyn and Catherine. Olivia did her best to lighten the mood, but even she seemed worn down by the oppressive atmosphere.
As dessert was served, Roz’s phone buzzed again. She glanced at it under the table.
Sam: “How’s the armor holding up?”
Roz hesitated, her thumb hovering over the keyboard before she replied.
Roz: “Cracked. Might need reinforcements.”
Sam: “Reinforcements on standby. Just say the word.”
Roz smiled faintly, slipping the phone back into her pocket. Her family didn’t need to know where her mind was—or her heart, if she were being honest.
As the meal wound down, Roz excused herself, rising from the table. “Thank you for lunch.”
Evelyn’s sharp gaze followed her, but Roz didn’t linger. She grabbed her jacket and headed for the door, her chest tight.
Outside, the cool air was a welcome relief. She pulled her phone out again, typing quickly.
Roz: “Dinner at my place tonight? Your turn to bring reinforcements.”
The reply came almost immediately.
Sam: “Be there at 7. Don’t start without me.”
Roz slid into her car, her fingers tightening on the wheel as she exhaled slowly. The weight of her family’s expectations clung to her like a second skin, but the thought of seeing Sam later felt like a lifeline, a reminder that she could be more than the version of herself her family wanted.
And tonight, she would be.