27. Samantha
Chapter twenty-seven
Samantha
“As you wish,” Sam growls. “My love.”
I didn't expect to hear those words from Stan as he flips me around again. I expected him to joke, to make light of what he said like he always does, but he didn't.
He helps me to my feet, his hard chest against mine as he kisses me like he’s never touched a woman in his life. Like I wouldn't let him touch me ever again.
His fingers move around my body, and I don't even notice he's fully undressing me. I'm lost in his kisses and under his spell as he chants my name in whispers.
Only when he stops kissing me do I realize I’m completely naked.
He takes a step back to take in my naked form like an artist appreciating his art. Like the painting of Venus, I cover my breasts and pussy with my hands, feeling suddenly bashful and vulnerable.
Stan steps back, pulling my hands away and making me sit on his desk while he gets to his knees.
My knees part, and I revel in his sharp intake of breath as he pauses to take me in. The way his rough hands slide up the insides of my thighs before hooking my legs over his shoulders.
And the way his eyes flash up to mine as he drops his head closer to my core .
He looks at my spread pussy for a few beats, his eyes twinkling like I’m the most exciting thing he’s ever seen. I almost combust on the spot when he growls, “Oh, fuck yes,” before lifting his gaze, smirking his stupid, cocky smirk and then kissing my clit.
A deep groan rumbles in his throat as he tastes me for the first time. My eyes roll back in my head.
I’ll be replaying that noise in my head forever.
Truth be told, he's also made a lot of noise that I don't mind replaying again and again.
His teeth graze my pussy lips as his fingers seek out the entrance before sliding in. My eyes roll into my head, and I fight the urge to just black out thanks to how good I feel.
My moans are unladylike and unprofessional, and I know the bastard's enjoying every moment of my torment. But I can’t stop. The sounds keep escaping me, my pleasure growing with every movement of his tongue.
He wrings every ounce of pleasure from my body, his free hand blazing a trail of heat up over my stomach, strumming my nipple as he works me like an instrument.
“Stan…” I plea, and then my orgasm hits me like a violent car crash. Hard, fast, and relentless. My body shakes as I come apart around him, and I hold him just as tight as he holds me.
When the waves subside, he pulls out his fingers and stands over me, hand cupping my cheek. “What I meant to say earlier is that the crush I have on you has turned into an obsession, and I have no idea how to handle it.”
“First, it's not fair that I'm naked and you’re still clothed,” I say.
He takes a step back, and I sit upright as I watch him take off his clothes. My mouth is almost watering, eyes trailing up and down his body. God, I want this man so much more than I’ve ever wanted any other man. I gawk at his toned abs, chest, and nipples. His thighs that make me want to know what it's like to be crushed between them.
He's naked now. As vulnerable as I am.
I motion for him to come closer with a finger, and he obeys. I reach for his length, stroking him gently as I watch his breathing .
“Tell me more,” I whisper.
“I’ve dreamed about this,” he chokes out.
I drop my head to his chest and breathe him in. So have I. The thought filters through my mind, and I recognize its truth.
“I also missed you like crazy this weekend,” he murmurs.
I nod, my forehead resting against the damp base of his throat while I guide his length back into me. “I missed you, too.”
He sucks in a shuddering breath as he fills me. My shaking legs take their place around his waist as he clears off what’s left on top of his desk. It all goes flying as he lays me back and slides in to the hilt.
He begins to move, slow and achingly tender. I feel every inch, every ridge, every vein. He fills me so completely, I almost can’t stand it.
I can feel him throb, too, and my walls pulse with his rhythm. My hips move with him, and my skin breaks out in a light sweat. We don’t talk—we don’t need to. We both know. We understand each other so damn well.
When I sit up to wrap my arms around him, he chants, “Samantha. My Samanth a,” against my neck, and I shiver. He sounds so undone. All for me.
My nails rake down his back. “This is…” I gasp. My legs clamp him more tightly as he fucks me with increasing abandon, and I whisper against his skin, “This is everything you've ever dreamed of?”
“Yes,” he says, his reply coming out as a groan as the man melts into my body.
He slows down to look at me. His jaw flexes as he pumps slowly into me, searching my eyes. He’s always watching my eyes so closely. I usually find it unnerving, but now it does nothing but make me want more from him.
So I lie back on the desk, let my legs fall open, and start to play with myself while Stan takes me in. That expression of reverence—of borderline disbelief—is back on his face in full blinding force. But then I bite my lip and pinch my clit, and his expression turns downright wicked. It’s the cocky grin and slow bob of his Adam’s apple that tips me off .
He pulls out and then slams in hard. Again. And again. Steady, even, powerful strokes that shake my entire body.
Stan fucks me senseless. He looks like some sort of avenging god working me into a frenzy. Flushed cheeks, disheveled hair flopped over his forehead, veins bulging on his forearms while his abs flex with every thrust.
I think I could come just from savoring the view I get as I lie with spread legs beneath his hard, heavy body.
His hands hold me open wide, and his eyes stay locked on mine. And when I fall apart again, he watches me so closely, it’s like he’s committing another moment to memory.
He’s always staring at me like this. Like he worships me. Like I’m the only woman on the planet for him.
Then he drapes himself over me, fusing his lips to mine, and pumps into me until I feel him finish. I feel everything. Every pulse. Every kiss. Every touch.
As he finishes, I hold him close, letting him catch his breath.
“You were right, Stan,” I say softly, panting as hard as he is.
“About?”
“I don't hate you.”
“Really?” He chuckles, then raises himself to look at me. “It was a lucky guess.”
We beam at each other. It was no guess. He always knew.