CHAPTER 9
Nina
Fuck, I’m kissing him. I’m kissing Sampson, my enemy who’s not my enemy anymore, and his lips are so hard and soft at the same moment, and my entire body feels as if I’ve just stepped into a tub filled with water and plugged-in electrical appliances. And all of me wants more.
I’m held in his strong arms against gravity, and I wouldn’t have thought there’d be a difference from standing on my feet, but there is.
I feel lighter, like I’m flying, like I never have to touch the ground…
and like I’m finally safe, when I didn’t even realize I was in danger.
I grasp his large head, and force his lips to mine, sucking off his face, as we used to say in high school—and I never comprehended how accurate the expression was.
And he sucks off mine, but in smaller measure, little licks and twirls of his tongue mixing in with vacuuming me right up into the heart of him. And I’m lost. And maybe found.
It’s not a getting-to-know-you kiss. It’s a kiss of coming back home. It’s ravenous hunger and a missing-for-too-long. It’s a remembering and a forgetting.
When I need to breathe, lightheaded from the onslough, I pull back. “Wow.”
His green eyes glitter like fine emeralds. “Wow, indeed.”
My palm brushes his cheek. “We shouldn’t. You’re injured. I don’t want to send you back into the hospital.”
“I’m fine. I don’t feel a thing. No, that’s not true. I feel one very specific thing, and that’s a need to fuck you. Come on. Let’s take this horizontal.” He begins to carry me back in the direction of his bedroom, but stops, his gaze heavy on mine as he searches my face. “You want this?”
Do I? Only like oxygen. “I want this.”
“You’re sure? Because we’ve been enemies a lot longer than we’ve been friends, and if you’re uncertain, that’s okay. I’ll wait. I’m not going anywhere, even if you say no, not unless you want me to leave.”
“What? And leave you to get amnesia from too many triplets, or maybe from that university professor? Or—whoever.” Whoever keeps this place so pristine, I mean to add, but I can’t bring myself to address her directly, the woman who arranges flowers and provides pretty cutlery.
Though I should. I don’t want to be the cause of him cheating on someone he’s serious about, and there are so many signs that he lives with someone: the flowers, the wrought iron flatware, the blanket carefully folded over the back of the couch…
One of his patented smirks creases his face. “You’ve been keeping up with my dating life,” he purrs. “That’s promising.”
“It’s Mossburg. Hard to miss what its leading eligible bachelor is up to. And is ‘dating life’ what we’re calling fucking now?”
“Jealous?”
I snort. “As if.”
But the way he looks at me changes into something gentler, and with a long sigh, he smooths an errant lock back from my face.
“If you’re not ready, Nina, it’s okay. I said I’ll wait for you, and I will.
You don’t have to worry that I’ll run off with someone else.
Maybe I won’t wait forever, but I can hold off dating anyone else for a reasonable time.
Honestly, I feel like I’ve already been waiting for you half my life. ”
His words hit my belly and spread warmth through my limbs and core. All thoughts of other women flee, because a man who will wait for me to be ready? There’s nothing that could make me more prepared. My core clenches on the promise of fulfillment, and a rush of wet flows between my legs.
“I’m ready now. I want you, Sampson. Enemy or friend, I want this, now.” Because what else am I going to do about the electrical arcs spiking through my blood but ground them under him?
Without another word, he leans over and kisses me again, striding back towards his bedroom.
He continues the embrace even as my back hits a firm mattress.
Holding me close, he arches my spine on his palm so I remain pressed to him, once more caught against gravity, just grazing the elegant linen bedding.
He’s so strong, so large, so overwhelming, I can’t think over my ravaging heartbeat.
When he breaks the kiss, he smooths the hair along my brow, allowing my body to sink against the bed. “You know about safe words?”
Oof. There’s a spike that drives from my head right down between my legs. It’s a little part trepidation, but a lot more desire. There are rumors about this man. I’m about to find out if they’re true.
I shake my head before nodding.
He laughs. “That’s clear.”
I hit him in the chest. “Shut up. Yes, I know what they are, and no, I’ve never needed any.” Which sobers me quickly. “Am I going to need one?”
“Not in the way you’re thinking.” He leans down again, this time to drag his lips along the tendon of my neck—and wow, do I feel that land. My core clenches again on emptiness. He rises again. “I’m a lot bigger. I don’t want to hurt you. A safe word will alert me to stop if I am.”
“What should I choose?”
“Not ‘stop.’ Something you can easily remember that won’t fit the situation. Something short you can bark at me.”
I’m a writer. I should have this down cold, but my mind blanks.
“How about dog?” he offers.
I think about it. I can’t come up with any reason I would randomly shout out that word during sex—or anytime, for that matter. “Okay. Dog it is.”
“Practice. I’m going to kiss your neck. You wait a few seconds and stop me.”
“Wait, what? Why?”
For a moment, he looks unimaginably sad, so sad, my chest aches along with my empty pussy that’s already tired of waiting for him. “Because I’m so much bigger, and I don’t want to hurt you, so… please.”
When I nod, he looks relieved, but even as his lips descend to my neck, I’m so busy trying to puzzle out why he looked so sad that I forget to stop him.
Plus, he feels so good. His mouth caresses my skin, moist, hot, as his teeth graze my bones.
He reaches the part of my collar that rides above the neckline of my boat-cut tee-shirt.
A moan leaves my lips because, while I might be focused on his emotions, my body is focused on what he’s doing to it.
A rumble of warning vibrates against my skin.
“Right! Dog.”
And he pulls up. “Good girl.”
And—wow. Is it possible to come from just two growly words? I wring my hands into his hair, so much finer and silkier than it looks, and tug. “If you don’t fuck me right now, Sampson, I’m going to dog you into next week. See how you like waiting that long.”
“Is that a threat, Jelly Bean?” He looks amused. But at least the sadness is gone. He’s back with me, not that he left, but… I like it better when he smiles.
“Sure is. Why? Gonna’ put me over your spanking bench?”
And why did those words have to leave my lips? Yes, I’m interested in expanding my sexual knowledge with him, but I’m also nowhere near ready for kink. Not yet. I need to get to know him first. To get comfortable with him seeing and touching my body.
He leans down and kisses my lips again, his expertise on display as he takes me back to another level of bliss and away from my concerns.
I drop into that state where time doesn’t matter, focusing on the way his tongue strokes inside me, and the way he sucks at me, and invades at the same time.
We kiss forever. I’m only half-aware that at some point he pulls my shirt up over my body, and then only because he breaks our connection to joggle the material over my head.
“Wow. Who taught you to kiss?” And on the heels of the question, I snap, “No. Don’t tell me.”
He laughs, a low, sultry rumble. “I love that you’re jealous.
I’m jealous, too.” Throwing my shirt to the floor, he grins again, this time with an expression that has the devil at its edges.
“One day we’ll explore your boundaries, including my spanking bench, but today is about coming together, not kink. ”
In the next instant, he’s got my bra unhooked. Thankfully, I changed into my red lace set. I didn’t know I’d end up beneath him, but I guess I hoped.
My jeans go next. If I didn’t already know that he’d had lots of experience with women, I’d know by the way my clothes leave my body without a hitch.
His follow. First, his shirt practically evaporates, leaving a steamy line of muscled terrain.
I swallow—hard—as his hand moves to pop the top button of his jeans.
He’s not naked beneath the denim. When he flips the buttons, one by one down his fly, the bulge pulses out against the insubstantial material of his tight boxer briefs.
He moves off the bed, standing and bending over so that, for a moment, I can’t see his dick, but when he straightens, it’s there.
Splendid. Magnificent. A tower of smooth skin over veins.
And so much bigger than I imagined. His dick is raw and untamed, with a slightly larger head over a shaft that’s full of crags and delights. But there’s no possible way that monster is going to fit inside me.
“It’ll fit, Jelly Bean,” he says, reading my mind or my horrified expression. He slides back onto the bed, his movements strangely balletic, even though he’s so large.
My knees are bent, and he moves between them, forcing them wide to the sides of his thighs before his hands caress over my waist to my hips. My breath hitches when his thumbs wrap in the lace thong and seesaw the fabric over my clit.
“So wet already,” he murmurs, staring between my legs where the red lace must disappear into my folds. “So absolutely beautiful. You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of this moment.”
Another kind of sound escapes me as my hips latch. “Sampson…”
“I’m getting there, Jelly Bean. No need to rush.”
“Oh, I really think there is.” My hips lift again, seeking more contact.
“Trust me.” And he twists the fabric tighter, sawing it gently, lifting and cupping me so that all I can think about is him putting his lips on me.
Another moan. Another mewl as he continues to use my thong as some sort of erotic device. I throw my arm over my eyes, lost in the sensation.
But the motion stops. “Keep your eyes on me, Jelly Bean.”
So I open them, despite the heat flushing my cheeks. Because I don’t want him to stop.
“Good girl. You’re so unbelievably perfect. So beautiful. So lush.”
Another rush of wetness leaves me. He’s going to dehydrate me before I ever get an orgasm, but whatever his game is, it’s working.
The men I’ve known have rushed to the finish line, mostly leaving me behind.
But Sampson plays. He entices. He rests in the moment, and I’m already so aroused by his restraint that my nipples have become hard pebbles, and my entire body is torqued into a sphere of need.
From the seesaw of fabric, his fingers brush against my nether lips, teasing me with the hope he’ll move that slight degree more and tweak the swollen bud waiting for his caress.
Instead, he explores the shape of me, down to my opening and up again, all the while ignoring the burning slide waiting for him.
My eyelids flutter closed, but I open them immediately. He nods, as if pleased, before leaning over me. Once more, he reaches for my lips for a kiss. His tongue invades my mouth, a paroxysm of what his dick should already be doing: filling me. Seducing me. Taking me.
I reciprocate, running my tongue over his into the interior of his mouth.
I graze over a wide wall of teeth into him.
He tastes of sharp wine and deliciousness.
I moan into the cavern he opens for me, and moan again when he pulls his lips away to trace open-mouthed kisses down my neck, sucking my flesh against his teeth, marking me with little love bites and hickeys that piston my hips like I’m a machine.
“Sampson, I swear, if you don’t—ah!”
Because he thumbs my clit, making circles in the damp he finds there, lighting fire. My entire body seizes. He’s got the perfect pressure down cold, as if he’s had years to know what I need.
Another one of his fingers glides through my soaked pussy to find my entrance. It plays there while he circles my clit before stretching the outer edges, inserting itself to the smallest degree.
Another moan, this one almost a scream. I push into him, desperate to have something of him inside me, but he travels no more than about an inch. Teasing. Tempting. Playing me like some instrument.
“Tell me what you want, Jelly Bean,” he growls.
“I want you. Inside me.”
“Good. Not yet.”
The man’s an obvious sadist.
Instead, I feel the loss of his fingers on me and in me while he pulls off my thong and throws it behind him. In the next instant, his face is buried between my legs, his mouth sucking my clit between his teeth and onto his tongue.
I fly off the edge. I shoot into the heavens. I contort and spiral, and launch so fast, so hard, that I don’t even realize I’m coming until I start shaking from the force of it.
What the hell is happening? I don’t come fast. I’m slow. I need work. I usually need to get myself off.
Except when being rescued from a tree. Except with him.
“Jelly Bean,” he purrs against my sensitive flesh, his eyes raised to mine. Because he’s so large, it’s easy to see them when I look down.
I’m still shaking when he moves his mouth up my body, spreading kisses everywhere, leaving little trails of fire, until he finds my nipples.
One after the other, he uses them to spear delight through my body until I’m moaning, and sobbing, writhing, needing more of him.
But his hands on my body trace flames and keep me grounded to him.
He’s everywhere. There’s nowhere he doesn’t touch or lick, pull or devour. And then he’s back between my legs, his tongue hot and hard.
And I break apart again.