Chapter 1
SAMANTHA
I check into a small-town motel, using some of my last money to pay for it. A long shower helps, and outside the rain starts bucketing down.
I likely won’t be able to leave the remote estate, for a week or two if I really want to impress my boss. I have to get there to cook tomorrow, and the immobile recluse has supposedly not left the house in months.
Deciding to have a quiet beer, I walk down the road in the cute, safe town. It’s classy and it’ll be my last taste of reality before I go off the grid. Well, off the grid and to some supposed chateau.
I take an old book my mother gave me when I was young, and I run through the light rain.
Inside the small-town bar, I mind my own business and read.
The now tattered book is about the struggles of a strong pioneering woman. I don’t know what it is about the heroine in the book, but she is wounded, flawed, and compassionate. She somehow keeps going through whatever life throws at her.
Reading it has always given me strength, and the stoic heroine is unbreakable.
Unlike me.
There are few people in, just old-timers and a grumpy-looking guy. He is down the end, feeding coins into a jukebox.
I get sick of his depressing song selection, so I ask the barman for some coins.
After walking to the jukebox, I notice coins lined up. As another sad song plays, I figure enough is enough.
“Any chance a lady can hear something upbeat?”
The guy looks up from a fancy crystal glass and nods. I turn to thumb in a coin but pause. “Does that mean I can cut in on you?”
“Correct,” he says, with some fancy accent.
As I lean over the jukebox in my denim skirt, black T-shirt, and white Converse, I see him check out my butt in the window reflection.
He is doing it carefully, but the lighting catches his eyes and chin. He is gorgeous, in his early thirties, and his aristocratic jaw and nose are Roman-like.
He is dressed in a navy suit and a tan colored coat for the cool outside. I have no idea what he’s doing here; the guy is way out of place.
His hair is dark, like his features, and he almost looks Italian model-level.
As I choose the track and am about to turn, thunder rumbles. More rain comes down outside the open back door near us.
Three young jocks run in the front door and loudly shake rain from themselves. They order beers, look my way and smile. Turning away from them, I mind my own business.
The downer-hot grump sits in his booth, watching the three jocks saunter down and casually surround me.
“That your selection playing?” the first asks. I don’t answer, I want to reach my seat. “Is it, honey?”
I smile and try to walk out of their ring of big chests. One moves to block me, and I don’t like it. My eyes catch the grump’s, and we exchange a glance. Like me, he’s likely seen kids like this in bars before.
“Want to dance?” one of the jocks asks.
Grumpy stands slowly, and he speaks low. “Give her some space.” The jock trio turn to him, and he knocks his whisky back in one.
“Or?” the biggest jock says, looking ready for a fight.
“Or one day the universe will teach you some manners.”
“Is she with you?” the second jock asks.
The grump walks towards me, and our eyes connect. “What’s it look like?”
The jocks don’t buy it, and they start to swing, at him fast. The protective grump blocks punches, and he moves like a well-trained soldier.
He is doing his best to shelter me, but it is starting to get out of hand.
Finally, he stops blocking, and to survive the onslaught, he starts to punch back. He punches hard, and he punches fast to protect us both.
Before I know it, I’ve staggered back against the jukebox while the jocks bodies are flying. Two more jocks run in the front door, and they yell loud. The grump reaches for my hand, and I pause. His eyes flick to the open back door, only feet away.
“Had enough?”
I reach for my book and take his hand.
Outside, we run through the rain behind stores. We streak past parked cars, sticking to the shadows.
The sound of jocks and feet making chase continues for some time.
The grump, with his perfect jawline, helps me quickly weave between stores. We find more shadows and head towards safety.
Finally, after five minutes on wealthy, conservative small-town back streets, we stop in darkness to catch our breath.
He turns me around so I’m not in the rain and he protects me from the streetlight. We look left and right, and our bodies are close and panting.
“And I thought upstate New York was safe,” I say.
“Not always,” Grump says. “Then again, it may be me.”
“What, like you attract drama?” I ask.
“I don’t know what I attract,” he says, his eyes finding mine. I shiver in the cold, and he removes his coat.
“Thanks,” I say as he slides it on me. It’s an expensive, ultra-soft Burberry, and it starts to warm me fast.
He flicks a whisp of wet hair from my cheek, and we are too close. He is the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever seen. He is athletic, with green eyes, and he must be at least six two.
Something about him feels old money, but it’s probably just the classy coat, suit, and his manner.
The heat, the danger, the rain, and the drama supercharge the moment. He lifts my chin, and I look deep into his mesmerizing eyes. I feel electricity as his hand holds my damp face. I then lean my cheek against his hand.
It feels right, and so does he. His lips brush against mine, and it is too much, like him.
“Kiss me,” I say. “Kiss me hard.”
And he does.
He kisses immaculately, his movements confident and precise. He slides his tongue into my mouth, and I suck it in and feast on it.
We kiss like we are desperate and starving, like it is the last food we will ever have.
As he continues to kiss me with expert skill, I realize he kisses better than anyone I’ve ever kissed.
I hold my wet, panting body against his white linen shirt, and his warm, strong chest is protective.
I put the rest down to danger, his eyes, and us both losing it, but somehow, he reaches under my skirt. I gasp as he slides my panties aside.
He kisses me harder, and I whimper. He swipes two fingers up my shaven folds, and I gasp.
I am getting wet, fast, and I push my pebbling nipples against him.
He slides his large fingers inside me, and his thumb circles my clit. Feeling him harden against my stomach, my breathing quickens.
I am losing it fast, and he lifts me up as if I weigh nothing. He walks me further under the darker area, and it starts to feel surreal.
It is almost completely black under cover, and outside, thunder rumbles.
We are surrounded by old wooden wine barrels and what appear to be stone and marble statues.
He pushes a fancy old gate open, and as he walks me further into the storage area, we pass more Italian antiques. Surrounded by the statues is an old European sports car.
We pause, listening for a second. Nothing. The gorgeous stranger places me on the sports car hood and kisses me harder.
No one in the world is supposed to kiss this good. I moan in pleasure.
He holds my face, and it’s as if he makes love to it with his lips and tongue. I wrap my arms around his head. His hand then slides up and plays with a hard nipple.
Below, he slides my panties aside again and starts on my clit. I cannot believe I’m doing this, but he is not rough. He is also not some bad boy. Somehow, it feels classy, and it does not feel trashy.
I start to lose it, and I feel needy and desperate.
“Condom,” I whisper as he kisses my neck.
He looks left and right as he perfectly works my nipple. I really start to lose it, so I reach down to his pants. I feel his hard cock and squeeze it tight. He is hard and he is huge. Really fucking huge.
I moan as he rubs my clit faster. “Condom,” I moan.
As he pauses, our eyes meet. I then nod and pant.
He pulls a condom from a chic leather wallet, and in the light, I notice cufflinks. The gold glints in the light as he slips the condom on with precision and confidence.
He holds my chin delicately, and one of his eyebrows lifts in a question. I nod ever so slightly. I need it. We communicate fast as if in some silent language only we know.
He leans down and slides my panties down my legs. He puts them in his suit jacket, and he places my ankles wide on the hood.
In the dark, he holds my face inches from his and he lines up at my entrance. I reach down to help, and I lean back.
As his crown enters, I gasp at the size. He then starts to stretch my pussy, and slowly, he pushes himself inside me.
I moan, wet, still high from the danger of the chase.
He rocks into me while we look into each other’s eyes. As the rain comes down outside, I lean back, and my back arches.
He pushes in deeper; it’s hot, and it’s just what I need. He thumbs my clit as he rocks in and out, working me to perfection.
I have no idea who taught him or if he is just gifted. As he thumbs my clit on the wet steel, more thunder booms.
Our eyes hold, and we do not kiss. We just work each other closer.
I know my eyes are now pleading; I feel disturbed, wicked, and excited.
Jocks run past in the distance, and I peak and lose it. As I shatter around him, I have the most intense orgasm of my life.
I am close to screaming as I buck, amazed.
As the jocks peer around behind the statues, my core clamps around his cock. Holding me close, he places a hand on my mouth. “That’s it, baby, that’s it, come.”
My pleading eyes cannot believe the release as I gasp and pant.
The cold grump holds me close, so cool under pressure.
He keeps his thick cock buried deep in me and holds me on the huge thing. “Shhhhh, shhhhh.”
As my body bucks and spasms under him, he smiles for the first time.
Our faces are inches apart, and he thumbs my lower lip. “Good girl, good girl.”
Finally, the jocks behind us run on, and I start to breathe again. He smiles wickedly and lifts my chin. “Got a name?”
“Sam,” I say. “You?”
“They call me Harrison,” he says deeply and husky. “How do you do?”
I blush, and we look left and right.
Gently, he slides out and he adjusts me like a gentleman. He helps me up, and he helps me with my denim skirt. Removing the condom, he adjusts his navy suit.
We share a look, and he offers his hand. “Perhaps we should move on.”
I take his strong hand before we both inhale. We then glide past the statues and run into the night.