11. Rowan #2
Samson hasn’t left me at night either. He’s there when my body searches for him in the midnight hours. If he has a job he’s meant to be at, he hasn’t said anything about it.
And I haven’t asked.
His hand around my cock brings me back to the present, and I feel myself start to crest, my orgasm close.
He’s close too, our bodies in sync, our orgasms pulsing through us at the same time. My cock jerks in his hand, and he grunts, hips slamming up into me.
I feel it then, his release filling me. So much cum.
I’ve had to bring a change of underwear and tights when dancing the last two days, just in case. I should have him use a condom, but I don’t want to.
Feeling the sting, the drip of him on my thighs makes me forget how bad it’s all going to be. Very soon. So fucking soon.
I fall forward, my head resting on his shoulder, my lips brushing against his pulse point. I feel it thundering there. I sigh happily, feeling his cock soften and slip from me. His hand strokes up and down my back, massaging my neck before dragging down my spine and cupping my ass.
I have zero desire to move from my place here, but my stomach gives a loud growl, and Samson chuckles. “You’re hungry.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve burned a lot of calories today.”
I still don’t move, so he just cradles me closer and stands up, his muscles straining as he does. I’ll never get over how strong he is. I mean, I might be smaller, but I’m mostly muscle from years of dancing. The fact that he can just carry me around is… Well, it easily makes me hard.
“Let’s get you something to eat, then. I made dinner.”
He’s a fabulous cook, which is great because I’ve been known to burn water. I can bake, but cooking is another territory entirely. But Samson knows his way around the kitchen as well as he does my body. It’s something I’ve come to learn about him the past two days.
This knowledge is another blow to my sanity. There is no way I’m coming out the other side of this unbroken.
But I know this can’t continue. I don’t deserve it. Not after what I did.
I’m settled onto a chair with a cushion, and a blanket is wrapped around my shoulders.
Samson doesn’t even bother to clean up or put on clothes, just walks naked to the kitchen, pulling down two plates.
Nugget dances around his legs, yapping with joy that we’ve reappeared.
He doesn’t seem to notice our frequent disappearances until we return, which is good.
I’m not sure I’ll survive any additional guilt at the moment.
“Chicken Alfredo,” he announces, lifting the lid off the crock pot. The aroma of cream and parmesan hits my nose, and my stomach rumbles once more.
“Smells amazing.”
“Just don’t tell Nonna that I used a crock pot for this, but I had to do some work today while you were out.”
I know he’s a Buckingham, but I still don’t know what keeps him busy when I’m at the studio. Just know it’s a family business. I don’t bother asking. I can’t. I don’t want to know more about Samson.
Everything I’ve learned already shows he’s too perfect for me.
Which makes him the most dangerous man I’ve ever met.
A plate is set down in front of me, and a glass of red wine, and I bend forward and shovel the food into my mouth. Nugget is happily munching his own kibble, which Samson filled his dish with before serving ours up.
He seriously needs to stop being so thoughtful.
“Your friend Larry stopped by while you were at work.”
That makes me pause, a noodle hanging from my lips. I slurp it up. “What?”
“Yeah, he was worried about you.”
“Really?” I ask, sitting up with a slight wince. My body is sore from all the sex, but it’s a good feeling. One I’m going to relish as long as I can. Something I’ll hold on to as long as my body will let me remember.
“Yeah, he threatened me.”
I snort. “Did he really?”
“Yeah. With his cane.” He cocks his head. “How long have you known him?”
“Um, since I moved here. So, two years? I usually make him dinners and make sure his fridge is full. I mean, he’s old and can’t really take care of himself.”
Samson snorts. “I don’t believe that.”
“What? Why?”
“He’s not as fragile and helpless as he makes himself out to be.” He runs a hand over his face, and I hear the scrape of his five o’clock shadow abrading his palm. It makes something spark within me.
Fuck, who knew I’d be so insatiable?
But I need to get it under control. This is going to end soon.
I turn my gaze back to the food, pushing more into my mouth. I’m so fucking hungry.
“Did you give Larry some of this?” I ask, and Samson arches an eyebrow. “He’d love it.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you made a shit-ton.” I gesture toward the large crock pot, which is still mostly full.
He narrows his eyes at me. “Again, why the fuck would I do that? I don’t trust him.”
“What? That’s weird. He’s, like, a hundred. He’s harmless.”
Samson leans back, his fork between his fingers as he twirls it around the noodles.
“He’s not that old, and he’s definitely not harmless. I’m going to do some research. He’s far too familiar.”
“Well, you can do whatever you want, but Larry wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
Samson doesn’t seem to believe me, but he lets it go, and the two of us focus on eating. When we’re done, he ushers me onto the couch to rest, moving to clean up the mess in the kitchen. I tell him I’ll do as he says if he boxes up some of the food for Larry.
He grumps and glowers but does it reluctantly, making me bite back a smile as I watch him do as I asked.
My chest swells slightly as I lean back and sip on my wine, taking in the way he moves, the way his eyes move to meet mine as he works.
A terrible and unwelcome feeling moves over me just then.
And it’s not just that Adam died a year ago tomorrow.
I wanted a distraction, and I got one, but I also got something far worse.
I’m falling for a man I can’t have. He’s too good. Too good for me.
And I don’t deserve anything good.
This has to end before someone gets hurt.