18. Rowan
ROWAN
I do like the conservatory. And the gym.
The pool. The sauna. And don’t get me started on the room full of art.
As if the galleries of portraits down several hallways weren’t enough, there’s a space large enough to constitute an actual museum.
Every time I thought we’d made it to the end of the house, Ansel would turn and lead me down another hallway.
I’m completely lost at this point.
Ansel clicks his tongue sympathetically at the sight of my confused expression. “It’ll take some time, and a few panicked phone calls when you get lost, but you’ll get the hang of the layout.”
“I think you overestimate what Samson and I are to one another. I doubt I’ll be back here again.”
“I think you’re underestimating,” he replies as we suddenly step outside.
I blink in the bright sunlight, rubbing at my sore eyes.
My mug is gone. I set it down somewhere and forgot to grab it.
Fuck. Hopefully someone will find it eventually.
At least I remembered to drink it all before abandoning it.
“Come on,” Ansel says, setting his own empty mug on the ground as he reaches for my hand. We link fingers, and he pulls me forward. I’m giddy at the thought of having made a friend. I can’t quite remember why that’s not meant to be a good idea. Hmm.
Oh, wait. I think the giddiness might be due to the alcohol. Everything’s swaying a bit.
Ansel’s not much better. He seems to be walking in a zig-zag pattern. Can’t blame him. That champagne was fucking potent. No clue where they got it, but damn. Given the amount of tequila lingering in my veins… Yeah, I’m a little tipsy.
He gives a little hiccup, his spare hand swinging wildly in an arc before stopping. “The shed’s over here.”
Ansel tugs me a little too hard, and I stumble forward, a laugh erupting from my lips. “Shit, you’re strong.”
“Not as strong as you. Or Samson. Or Cade.” He sighs when he says that. I can tell he’s in love, can tell they’re enamored with one another. I wonder when that will fade, if it ever will.
I hope not. Ansel seems nice. I don’t like the thought of him upset.
“This is it,” he announces, throwing his arm out again, this time in a flourish. “Samson’s secret spot.”
“That sounds dirty.” I giggle, Ansel collapsing alongside me.
Christ, just what was in that champagne?
The shed isn’t much to write home about. It’s brown with a white door. In the center of it, there’s a piece of paper taped with five words scrawled across it.
Leave me the fuck alone!
An exclamation point and everything. Samson did not come to play.
Ansel sees where my attention is and giggles again. “He was so pissed at Neo for showing the brothers the video of him dancing.”
“So, that’s for Neo?”
“Yeah. Like I said, he’s a menace. Knowing Samson though, it’s probably aimed at all of us. He doesn’t like to let anyone in.”
He gives me a significant look that I pretend not to notice. I don’t know what Ansel has gotten in his head about the two of us, but he’s wrong about whatever it is. Samson’s just…being kind. Distracting me. Trying to glue back together the shattered pieces of me he found last night.
The memory of what I’m running from sobers me. I clear my throat, focusing on the here and now. “Maybe we shouldn’t go in. I don’t want to upset him.”
Ansel studies me thoughtfully. “You really don’t, do you?”
I think of his strong arms, how they held me tight throughout the night. The complete lack of judgment in his voice as he tried to console me. “No. I don’t.”
He nods decisively. “And that’s exactly why I think you should see it.”
Ansel throws open the door before I can protest further. I hesitate a few seconds longer before curiosity wins out. Maybe just a few steps inside won’t hurt.
The space is small. Tiny, really. Little bits of dust filter through the sunbeams before settling on the smooth wooden floor.
There’s a speaker in the corner, a set of axes propped up against the wall.
It doesn’t look like a dance studio, and for a moment my heart aches.
Why doesn’t he have a nicer space? Surely he can afford it.
“Cool, huh?” Ansel says as he presses a few of the buttons on the speaker, but nothing happens. It’s just still—a silent, empty space.
Suddenly the door flings open, and we both jump slightly. Samson and Cade are in the doorway, their gazes settling on us.
“Busted,” Ansel whispers as he moves toward Cade, letting him lift him up and carry him away. But before he disappears entirely, he turns to call back, “See you when you’re done!”
I don’t know what we’re meant to be doing, but that thought flees when Samson closes the door and steps toward me.
“Why are you in here?” he asks, his head cocking slightly, his arms folded across his chest.
I bite my lip. “I’m sorry. Ansel insisted. Did you really not want me to see?”
He hesitates before blowing out a breath. “I just don’t want shit from you about this too.”
“I’m not going to give you shit. If you like dancing here, then who am I to judge? I love to dance anywhere. Everywhere, really.” My gaze skates over his size. His hair almost brushes the ceiling. And if he’s using the axes… “But it is small. Don’t you want something bigger? A proper place?”
“Maybe one day. This works for now.”
I don’t know why he won’t just build something.
My confusion must be written on my face again, because he sighs and rubs his beard.
“Look, I guess it was…beaten out of me, okay? Dancing, anything that was considered feminine wasn’t accepted.
So I had to hide it. I guess I like this because it’s unassuming.
And until Neo blasted it to everyone, it was my little secret. ”
My throat tightens, and I can’t help but move toward him, wrapping him in my arms, pulling him in close. “Samson, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“Well, I am, and you can’t make me feel otherwise.”
He laughs softly, running a hand over my hair, fingers curling in it, tugging my chin up. His eyes meet mine, and his hips roll forward slightly.
“How was your meeting?” I manage to ask, my voice breathless.
“Fuck the meeting.”
That’s all he says before his lips slam onto mine. His tongue pushes into my mouth like it belongs there. I can’t help but moan, opening wider, giving him everything he’s demanding.
I must taste like champagne and oranges, because he licks into every corner of me, getting drunk off the taste. When he finally pulls back, I feel his hard length throbbing against my own.
Our hips are grinding against each other slowly, a filthy dance in this small, dark place, one he felt he had to keep hidden. One he’s been mocked for.
I know how that feels.
I don’t like it at all.
“Show me,” I breathe, my hands clutching his biceps. “Show me how you dance in here when you’re all alone.”
His nostrils flare, and he wets his lips.
But he doesn’t refuse. Instead, he kisses me again until we’re both panting.
It’s then that he pulls away and settles me into a rickety chair, my cock hard and straining in my pants, but I adjust it, getting comfortable as he turns on some music, something soft and sensual as he picks up his axes.
His hips sway offbeat to the tune, the long handles in his hands as he starts to move. And even though he struggles to keep the rhythm, I can tell he’s enjoying this. His eyes close, his lips parting as he sways back and forth, his biceps bunching as he swings those axes around.
The sight of it should be ridiculous, but it just turns me on. There’s something about seeing him incorporate the thing I love the most with dangerous weapons…
I run the heel of my hand across my hard cock, my teeth biting into my bottom lip as I try to keep myself still, but it’s difficult.
With him moving like that, a bead of sweat rolling down his cheek, his hips swaying, it reminds me of him fucking into me.
The power of his thrusts. The cadence of his movements.
God, I want him.
The air grows warmer, and then the song on the speaker changes, his eyes opening. His gaze meets mine and then falls to my hand, the hand that’s rubbing my cock through my pants, powerless to stop.
There are two thuds as the axes hit the floor. Samson stalks toward me, falling to his knees before me and spreading my thighs wide. I gasp as my pants are ripped down, my hard length bouncing in front of him.
“Fuck, Row,” he groans as he takes me in. “I think I’m addicted to you. I want more of you. Always.”
My heart leaps into my throat. He doesn’t mean… He can’t…
I’m saved from spiraling by his mouth descending on my cock.
“Shit! Oh, fuck.”
All other thoughts eddy from my mind, leaving nothing behind but Samson sucking me deep into his throat. He gags, but pushes on. Taking me deeper. Sucking harder.
My loud groan echoes off the wooden walls as I twist my hands in his hair. God, he’s so good at this. So fucking good.
His hands shove under my ass, encouraging me to fuck his mouth. A satisfied grunt leaves him as I thrust upward. Fuck, Samson’s not the only one in danger of becoming addicted.
Not to him. Addicted to this. This pleasure.
Not Samson.
How I wish that were true, but I can already feel myself falling. I can’t let myself, though. I’ve only ever loved one person before, and that was in a platonic way. Losing him broke me.
If I let myself fall for Samson… If I lost him too…
I’d never recover from it.
His hands squeeze my ass, just once, and it’s all over for me. I gasp his name as I release down his throat. He swallows every drop, lapping at my cock until I hiss at the oversensitivity.
Finally he lifts his head. The sight of his wet chin and cheeks has my spent cock twitching. He’s so fucking hot.
I can’t wait a second longer. I shove him backward, and he goes willingly, his ass hitting the floor as I fall between his legs this time. My shaking hands fumble with his jeans, tugging the zipper down and taking him out. It’s my turn, I think as I wet my lips and pull the head of him into me.
He groans, his fingers curling into the ground beneath him.
My gaze crawls up his thighs and his heaving chest, meeting his dark eyes. His lips are parted, his cheeks red as I take him. He’s thick and heavy on my tongue, his length tunneling down my throat.
He doesn’t come as fast as me, but when he does, it’s almost violent, a roar leaving his mouth, his entire body shaking. When I pull off, he’s wheezing, his eyes blinking open and closed.
“Shit.”
“Yeah,” I rasp, my throat a little sore. I touch it gingerly, and his gaze darkens as I do.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No. The opposite really. That was so fucking good.”
“Yeah,” he says as he tucks himself away. Then we just sit there, trying to catch our breath, our eyes meeting and flicking around the room before we snag each other once more.
Finally he speaks. “Never shown anyone how I dance before. Not willingly, anyway.”
I reach out and touch his leg, squeezing it gently. “I loved it.”
“I know it’s not any good…”
“No, it’s perfect. It was perfectly you. Don’t ever change.”
His smile is cautious but beautiful. “Yeah, don’t think I will.”
Mine is bright in return. The first real one in…god, a very long time. “Good, because I like you just the way you are.”