4. Rowan
ROWAN
“That might be outside of my skill set,” I say.
Samson’s lips turn down, and guilt unfurls in my gut.
Shit. It wasn’t meant to be rude, but god, teaching him to dance?
I could try, but his rhythm is off, and he moves like he has rocks in his shoes.
But worse than that, I’d have to touch him, and touching him would be…
Well, I don’t know how much I could teach him when I’m on my back getting my cock sucked. Not that I’d let him. I have standards and such. Maybe.
Or maybe not.
“I’m not that fucking bad,” he murmurs, his eyes flashing to mine.
Guilt cuts sharp as a knife, so viscerally I can’t speak.
Samson fills the silence. “Do you always crush people’s dreams? It’s quite cruel if you do.”
That feeds the darkness inside of me, making it churn, ugly and vile. He has no idea the dreams I’ve broken. The lives I’ve ruined.
“Yeah, maybe you do.” He turns as if he’s going to leave, but I stop him with a small shout.
“Don’t go. I can teach you…or I can try. Just for a bit.”
He peers over his shoulder, his mouth moving like he’s muttering something to himself, but then he steps toward me, closer and closer until the other night is no longer a vague memory but vivid flashes of remembrance.
Fuck, he’s good with his hands and mouth and tongue.
“Don’t want to do this if you make fun of me,” he murmurs, and my chest clenches at the vulnerability in his voice. Fuck, how I wish I could take back my earlier words. What kind of dance teacher teases someone for asking for help?
The kind who’s so fucked up he doesn’t know which way is up anymore.
That’s no excuse for making Samson feel bad about himself. I vow here and now to never do so again. “I won’t, I promise. Everyone has rhythm in them. We just need to find it.”
“All right, go on,” he says, only a foot away from me. He folds his arms across his chest, and I reach out and undo them.
“Well, first you need to take off this jacket. You need room to move.”
He huffs but does as I say, tossing it onto the floor. I see the dagger there, right on his hip, but I don’t say anything about it. Just let it be.
Samson isn’t here to hurt me. I don’t know why I’m so sure about that, but I am. He had me at my most vulnerable and walked away.
My hands land on his hips, and I turn him toward the wall-to-wall mirror before us. He looks good standing in front of me, the fabric of his shirt pulled tight across his chest, the muscles in his arms almost edible. I like it.
A lot.
My hands drag up his arms, and I feel him shiver slightly.
“You have a tattoo, too,” I say, tracing the small black raven on his bicep. “Does it mean anything?”
“Just a family thing,” he says, and I let my fingers linger for a long moment before I retract them.
“I see.” Then I clear my throat and square my shoulders, my hands sliding down to his narrow waist.
“Let’s talk about you for a moment. I don’t know you well, but I think you enjoy dancing,” I say, and Samson’s eyes narrow. I wince internally at the memory. I’m spiraling more and more each day. Every moment I’m less myself.
I don’t know if I’ll like who I become at the end of it all. If it ever ends.
“You do, don’t you?” I prompt with a smile.
“Yeah,” he says, almost petulantly. I can’t help but smile wider. How often does Samson open up to anyone? I’m willing to bet it’s almost never.
That suspicion has the guilt over teasing him deepening. Didn’t think it could get much worse, to be honest. What was I thinking?
That touching him again, spending time in close quarters with him, might be your undoing.
I pull myself back to the present and nod firmly. “Well, that’s what’s most important, then. Like the old adage goes, dance like no one is watching. Don’t let anyone, even me, take that away from you.”
He cocks his head slightly and gives a small nod. “Yeah. All right.”
“So, let’s start with your rhythm. You’re a little offbeat.” Or a lot. But I don’t say that aloud. That’s not what we’re about here at Rhythm. It’s not what I’m about. What I used to be about.
You keep letting the ghosts catch up.
Well, yes. That and being unsure whether I want another distraction with Samson. Given I’m still not over the last one, it doesn’t seem like the greatest idea I’ve ever had. But here I am, doing it anyway.
I select a simple song, one that has a strong, easy rhythm to follow. It thuds through the speakers, matching my steps as I return to him. His eyes never leave me, slowly moving up my body from my toes all the way to my hair.
I wish I weren’t wearing such form-fitting clothes, because my hard cock is obvious in these leggings, but then again…he did see my ass and my dick the other night. He swallowed my cum.
I guess I just don’t want it to be distracting. Not this time. I want him to dance. I want him to learn something. But it’s going to be hard since I’m hard.
He knows it. I know it.
Fuck.
“All right, here we go.” I step in behind him and settle my hands on his hips once more. “Clap along with the beat.”
He meets my stare in the mirror and arches an eyebrow, but I ignore it. He thinks he’s too good for this, but I’m saying this is where we start—it’s where anyone does when rhythm doesn’t come naturally to them.
He just needs to deflate that ego a little and try to learn. Or maybe it’s not ego at all. Maybe it’s shame.
I squeeze his hips encouragingly. “Come on. You can do it. I know you can.”
Samson rolls his eyes, but his hands move in time with the beat, or they attempt to.
He’s off by a second at least, making me wince internally.
He’s trying too hard, missing the point entirely.
Perhaps this isn’t the best way to teach him, I think as I move around to stand in front of him.
Perhaps he needs a little more guidance.
I gently put my hands over his to stop the clapping. His brows draw together. “What?”
I bite back a smile. He’s oddly endearing, even when he’s snarling. “It’s not working.”
“Why the fuck not? I’m clapping.”
I shake my head, pulling his hips into mine. This is dangerous, but a wonderful distraction.
I shouldn’t want this. But I do.
Oh, how I do.
The ire falls away from Samson’s face as I draw closer. His hands slide to my waist, and he holds me there, the two of us just breathing.
“Close your eyes,” I say as the music switches to a new song. It’s slower, more sensual. I feel the thump of it slide through my torso and linger between my legs.
“Why?”
“Stop asking questions and do it.”
His eyes narrow and then snap shut, his fingers curling against me as I roll my hips forward.
I feel him then, the hardness, the strength. It makes something inside of me unfurl, slow and wanting.
I do it again and again, matching the beat surrounding us, and he catches on. Not immediately, but eventually his hips move in time with my own.
“Yes, yes, perfect,” I whisper, my voice slightly raspy.
He must hear me because he peeks an eye open and wets his lips. My eyes fall to them, the air between us growing thick with want.
“You’re doing real good.”
Samson’s other eye pops open, and he gives me a small, proud grin as we just continue to vibe with it, the beat heavy beneath our feet.
His cock is growing hard against me—mine is already too far gone. It’s almost too much. The night with him in that motel room comes back to me. How good it felt, how he managed me, how he took all control from my hands and just…forced me to experience it.
I want that again.
I want him to spin me around, push me up against the mirror, and drag my pants down.
Then I want him to fuck me, deep and hard.
The way he seems to own this dance, even though he’s not the expert, says all I need to know about how he’ll behave in the bedroom.
Though I got a taste of that already, didn’t I?
And I liked it.
A moan slips from my lips as his hard cock drags against mine and he stares down between us, at the place where our bodies meet.
“It feels good, doesn’t it?” I manage to ask. “Being in time with the music?”
Samson laughs quietly, something I suspect he doesn’t do often. “Guess it does.”
He pushes against me harder, our rhythm faltering, but I don’t care. I just want this to keep going. I want to get off.
I had no idea this would happen when I started the day, but I like that this guy keeps showing up.
Well, he’s shown up twice, but still. I don’t mind it.
It takes my mind off all the things. In this moment, I’m just present with him, thinking only of what he could do to me in private.
The fear I had about going there again is nowhere to be found now that I’m pressed against him.
I’m spun around, our bodies facing the mirror now. His hands tighten on my waist, pulling my ass back against his cock. We writhe like that for a moment, his cheeks pink, his hair slightly mussed.
I see it again. That raven on his bicep. Something about it is ominous, something telling. I just can’t put my finger on it.
“You’re dangerous,” he says in my ear, his warm breath hitting the shell of it.
I shudder, my head falling back against his shoulder. “Am I?”
“Yes,” he murmurs, biting at it, making me moan as he continues to roll his hips in a movement that’s driving me crazy.
One of his hands leaves my waist, and I feel it run down the front of my leggings, cupping my hard cock, squeezing it. I gasp, my hand winding up and around me to clutch at his hair.
Samson’s face is tucked into my neck as he teases me. The two of us paint an obscene picture in the mirror, one I can’t tear my eyes away from.
He takes me quickly to the edge, but before I can fall over it, before I can spill into my pants, he drags his hand away and slides it up to my neck. He squeezes it gently—a promise of some sort.
I just moan at the sensation.
Two fingers push between my lips, and I lave my tongue around them, our bodies continuing to rock into each other. I watch us in the mirror as he sucks marks onto my neck. He can’t look away either.
Samson likes what he sees. I can feel the evidence of it behind me.
His hand falls to my cock again.
Rubbing, sliding, making me wild with need.
I’m close, so fucking close. But each time he strokes up my chest and squeezes my neck, it breaks the cresting orgasm and sends me hurtling back to earth. It’s awful, it’s addictive.
I want more.
I want it all.
And when he falls to his knees behind me, spinning me around so I’m facing him, his face rubbing up and down the bulge in my pants, I thank the gods above that he’s going to suck my cock. That I’m finally going to find release.
My hands tug at his hair, holding on to him tightly. But then he reaches back and pulls out his phone, cursing beneath his breath as he places it to his ear.
He doesn’t stop stroking me though, just continues to rub his cheek against me.
Then I hear him speak.
“Yeah, I’m dancing. So what? And fuck off… No…” He glances up at me. “I’m not. I’m doing my job.”
I’m not sure what job that is, but I don’t think it involves being on his knees in a dance studio, torturing me with his hands and lips.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll fucking be there.”
His thumb presses on the screen, and he pushes it back into his pocket, letting out a long sigh.
A sense of foreboding rattles through me. I can almost see him shutting down before my very eyes, returning to the stranger who watched me from the shadows.
He’s not going to leave me, right? Not like this?
But my worst fears are confirmed when Samson gets to his feet with casual grace that was nowhere to be found when we danced. “I have to go.”
“But…but we were…” I reach out to grab his wrist, but he neatly evades my touch.
“Gotta go.” He stares at me and runs a hand through his hair, another sigh leaving him. “This was a mistake.”
Then, just like before, he shakes his head, and without another word, he leaves once more.