CHAPTER 2
Sampson
As the saying goes, if I didn’t have bad luck, I’d have no luck at all. I’m living proof that bad things do indeed happen to good people.
Of course, I’m making the broad assumption that I’m a good person. I try to be, anyway, and except for a notable exception where I embrace my darker side, wanting to be good is half the battle. Right?
On the other hand, Nina Adams is the worst excuse for a human being that I’ve ever encountered, and here I am, rescuing her, when instead, I should be dumping her down a garbage shoot with the rest of the stinky refuse from Mossburg.
I’m not such a good person that I don’t take a moment to envision her wading through garbage, too.
Although, to be honest, she smells kind of nice, just like I remember her smelling in school.
Sort of the opposite of garbage, actually.
She’s a heady combination of soft florals and baby powder, with a hint of come-fuck-me underneath.
And the feel of her curves under my palms…
she’s a full-body kind of girl, even if a little on the short side, and I’m a guy who appreciates soft grips.
“Ready?” I ask, trying to ignore the inconvenient erection that’s rearing its ugly head. No pun intended. At least the thick, fire-retardant suit will prevent Nina from noticing how I strain.
But her blue eyes, under the mane of golden hair she wears pinned back, are so wide, they look about ready to swallow the continent. And her face is flushed.
Not because I’m hard, probably, though part of me can’t help wondering where that blush could lead. No, I’m guessing she’s afraid of heights, judging by the way she’s cleaved to the trunk in front of her. For a little thing like her, nearly nine feet high is close to twice her size.
I step in closer until my nose brushes her thigh and my chin scrapes on rugged bark. “Seriously, even if I were to drop you, which I won’t, the worst you’d suffer would be some bruises.”
“Right. It’s just…”
It’s just my thumbs are making circles on the front of her hips, moving with their own mind ever closer to the central heat of her.
I swear, she’s a witch or something. And as usual, she’s making me feel like a pervert.
I give her a smile, one I hope she can’t tell is forced. “Like I said, Jelly Bean. You can trust me.”
Probably, I shouldn’t give her a pet name, judging by how her face flushes from pink to red, not to mention how her full lips tighten into one aggravated line. And then there’s the feral growl she makes. “You know what, Sampson Dean? No, I can’t trust you. Back the fuck away. I’ll get myself down.”
Every part of me stills. I expected resistance from the feline, not from her. “Whoa. Language. And what did I say to get your knickers in a twist?”
“Fuck. You.”
Now I’m seriously confused. But my hands don’t leave her waist, because my job is to make certain she doesn’t get hurt, even if she’s acting insane. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on…”
“Yeah, like you don’t know, scumbag,” she hisses, eyes narrowing.
“Guess I touched a nerve.” But my hands unlatch as I step back, because one thing I’m not is a creeper.
I don’t touch women who don’t want me to touch them.
Period. Not even if it is to save them from a mess that they’ve gotten themselves into.
“Hey, Pete, you want to take care of this foul-mouthed wench? Seems she has an issue with me.”
Pete Nerodu shakes his head. “Working that charm, Sammy?”
I shrug, causing the cat to dig in his claws. “What can I say? Win some, lose some.”
“Loser,” Nina whispers.
“Hey,” I say, my head whipping back around to face her. “Play nice.”
“Or?”
Is she seriously baiting me? Because in this town, everyone has a reputation, and I know mine well enough to know that she should know not to push me too far.
“Little girls who play with fire get burned, Jelly Bean. If you’re not careful, a guy might think that you’re goading him into taking you on a tour of his Red Room. I bet I could convince you to be civil.”
Ah. There it is. She might lift her chin and look away, sniffing as if she has no idea what I’m talking about, but no one turns that shade of lobster without having heard about my spanking bench.
I’ve got my kinks. I’m not ashamed of them.
“Easy, big guy,” Pete mutters, coming along beside me. He hefts the portable ladder from his shoulder and angles it against the trunk. “Miss Adams, do you want me to come up, or do you think you can step down to the top rung?”
And I swear, if looks could kill, Nina Adams would be on death row for murder. Of me, not Pete. Every time her gaze swings to him, she softens and smiles.
“What? You only like married men?” I ask, the words out of my mouth before I can rethink them.
“I like anyone but you. Don’t you have some children to eat, or something?” One of her arms drops from around the tree, and she flings it out, too fast, too far, in a gesture meant to send me away from her. “Go bother someone—ah!”
I watch the disaster in slow motion. The way she’s been clutching the trunk, her arm has probably gone to sleep.
The thrust accounts for her wobble. The dead-arm accounts for why, when she desperately tries to regain her balance, she fails, and only smacks her hand against the trunk.
Tilting on the branch, she corrects too far in the other direction, then ends up pitching too far forward.
Jeez. The things a guy has to do to save a… well, I can’t call her a maiden, except in the sense that she’s unmarried. Jezabel? Given what I know about her, that sounds about right.
Whatever. I duck under the branch and catch Nina just as she loses her fight and plunges towards hard ground. One of my hands traps her waist. The other just happens to land between her legs in my effort to lift her up into carrying position.
And… oh… Oh, no. Because beneath my palm, soft, silky skin presses.
Pussy. I’m holding pussy. No guy in the world could mistake the feel of it: the soft folds, the silky glide, the unbearable rightness and fullness of being. My hand has managed to slip right inside the wide flapping tear in her jeans, locking into place.
On her naked flesh.
And I can’t. Let. Go.
Blue eyes widen again as full lips part—full, kissable, pink lips. Lips that probably mirror the color of the perfect part of her I’m feeling with every single cell of my straining dick that demands to know why my fingers are having all the fun.
I love women. All women. But Nina… I can’t believe this is happening.
“Er—uh, s-sorry.” I stammer, though I don’t disengage or move my hand. My thumb is right there on her clit, the part that’s swelling against my hold. And my middle finger… well, it’s one sure slide into the molten heat of her, and the knowledge makes my entire body twitch.
Pete slips out of his MFD regulation jacket and throws it over the top of Nina, thereby hiding from everyone else where my hand lies. I don’t know if he understands what’s happening, not exactly, but he’s providing me with a way to extricate my grip without causing a scene.
Except, I can’t. All I can do is stare into the most compelling blue eyes I’ve ever seen.
I should apologize some more. I should move my hand.
She should ask me to move my hand instead of turning a shade to which purple only aspires, while her eyes grow… hot.
“Hey, big guy, why don’t you carry Miss Adams back inside her home? Let’s get her comfortable while we check her for injuries.” Pete’s voice is extra-loud for the benefit of those gathered. He nudges me in the hip to get moving.
I don’t need further reminding. I start off at nearly a full gallop, but when the curvy body I’m groping begins moaning, a sweat breaks out on my forehead. The movement of my jog is stroking my hand against her. My fingers are leading her to an orgasm.
And suddenly, I want it. I want it so badly, I’m nearly coming myself. The whole of me pinpoints on what she’s feeling, even while I burn alive from the inside.
Or maybe it’s just that the jacket’s hot, and it’s spring, and uniforms are uncomfortable. That’s why I’m so… bothered. I’m boiling up into a raging inferno, and not because I’m making her spiral into molten sexiness, no. It’s just the confluence of events and environment.
My dick isn’t about to break through three layers of fire-retardant Nomex. I don’t think.
Fine. I’ve never been a good liar.
Nina’s eyes squinch shut. Her entire body flushes as I center my touch, at least the parts of her that I can see that aren’t covered by her tee-shirt, ripped jeans, and Pete’s jacket.
Face, neck, arms, toes… all red as boiled lobsters.
And she’s panting, lips quivering. And her nipples are hard little pebbles. I can’t see them, but I know.
I feel them in my core. My balls harden into tight stones. Sweat dampens me everywhere.
Instead of spurring me on faster, my feet slow. “Want me to stop, Jelly Bean?” I ask softly.
In response, she grips my jacket and turns it tight between her hands, which isn’t easy to do given all the layers of protection. She bites her lower lip and moans.
“Jelly Bean?”
She hides her face against me. “Don’t. Stop,” she pants.
Good enough. Carefully, I move her up and down, stroking over her as best I can while moving forward towards her front door, using my fingers to further the end she’s seeking. She weighs nothing in my arms. I could carry ten of her.
“Grip Pete’s jacket. Don’t let it fall.” Because then everyone will know what I’m doing to her.
And she does, one hand still twisting into my outerwear, one hand clutching at his.
Her fingers turn white from the force as mewls and little cries escape her.
My middle finger tempts fate and inserts just past the fingernail, just a little…
just enough… and my thumb presses on her clit a tiny bit harder as I tighten the circles.
And she’s fast. Not even a second later, she devolves into shudders. She silences her cry against my chest, screaming open-mouthed without sound into my jacket.
The oddest sort of contentment and victory speed through me.
I just gave Nina the rescue of her life.
Sure, I’m proud of myself. What man wouldn’t be?