27. Rowan
ROWAN
We don’t get any alone time for hours. As much as I’m enjoying spending time with Samson’s family, I’m becoming hyperaware of him.
How his hand grazes my back whenever he passes me.
How his gaze lingers on my ass whenever I bend to pull the cookie sheets from the oven or chase Nugget around.
The long, heated looks that have me wishing we were in private.
The pressure builds all through dinner. We’re only half there, barely paying attention to the shenanigans unfolding around us. They don’t matter, not with how Samson licks every morsel of dessert from his spoon in the same way he licked his cum from my body.
I need him. I ache for him.
We don’t bother with goodbyes. The second our cutlery hits our plates, Samson is up. He ignores his brothers’ questions as he rounds the table and hauls my chair back in a sharp movement. He doesn’t bother to wait for me to stand, simply leaning down and lifting me over his shoulder.
Hoots and hollers follow us from the room, but I’m not embarrassed. How can I be when I have Samson’s glorious ass mere inches from my face?
I grope him as his long strides carry us up the stairs, squeezing and kneading the muscle until he groans. “You drive me fucking crazy.”
A squeal leaves me as he drops me on the bed. I bounce once and then grin up at him. “Back atcha.”
His hungry eyes devour me as he strips slowly. He’s so beautiful. I think I could stare at him forever and never get bored.
“Your turn,” he says huskily, his hands coming to my pants. I lift my hips so he can remove them, smirking at him when he finds what I’m wearing underneath. “Fuck. Have you been wearing these all day?”
“Yep.” I lie back so he can see the pink lace thong in all its glory. The same one I wore on our first night together. “Thought you might like to see them again.”
“You were right,” he murmurs, lowering himself down to mouth at the lace. “You’re so sweet. Gonna eat you all up.”
Samson does exactly that, tasting every inch of my skin first through the lace, and then under it. He works me over until I’m a writhing mess on the bed, moaning loudly for everyone in the house to hear. I don’t care. I’m too far gone. “Samson. Fuck me. Please.”
He growls, pushing my leg up, his finger finding my hole, swirling around the rim, making me arch up. My thong has been pushed to one side, but he hasn’t removed it. The scratch of the lace is driving me crazy in the best possible way.
“Lube. We need lube,” I gasp.
He grunts, reaching over and grabbing something from the bedside table. I hear the flick of a cap and then feel the pressure of his slippery fingers working their way into me.
I moan, the sting of it glorious. “Yes. Yes, I want to feel you tomorrow.”
He bites down on my neck, fingers knuckle-deep inside of me, crooking, finding that sweet spot.
I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders as I let sensation wash over me. God, he’s good at this. He’s good at everything he does.
“Yes, I am. Except dancing,” he murmurs.
“You are a great dancer. You just need—ah!” I groan when he presses against my prostate again. “Oh fuck!”
“What do I need?” His voice is low and rough as he fucks his fingers in and out of my hole.
“You need practice. Oh god!”
He kisses me deeply then, tongue swirling around mine as he positions his body over my own. His fingers leave me, his cock slotting against my open, wet hole.
“No one has ever believed in me like you do,” he says softly, his nose brushing against my own. He pushes into me then, his thick cock splitting me open.
So good.
So perfect.
I cup his face, making sure his focus is on me as I say this. “You deserve it. You deserve so much more than you give yourself.”
His eyes flash, his nostrils flaring, and then our mouths meet once more, sloppy and wet, my body impaled on his hard length.
He starts to move, slow at first, taking me for a pleasurable ride before he picks up the pace, our skin slapping against each other’s as he tunnels in and out of me.
I hold on, grasping for purchase, trying to ground myself. But in minutes I’m flying apart, my body erupting, my mouth open in an ecstatic cry. He follows me over, spilling into me, limbs shaking, moans pulled from deep within him.
And when it’s over, he falls onto me, heaving, his breath a frantic pulse against my neck.
“Fuck. So fucking good,” he murmurs into my ear. “You’re so fucking perfect.”
My hand rubs along his spine, and I feel how he shudders above me.
“I don’t know if I’m perfect. I’ve made so many mistakes…”
He leans up, his eyes meeting mine, sincerity in his gaze.
“Adam wasn’t your mistake. That wasn’t your fault.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” I breathe, hating that I’ve brought this up now, in this moment. But he doesn’t seem upset by it, just kisses my cheek softly. In reassurance. In acknowledgment.
“Never be sorry for talking about him.”
I sniffle and pull him against me, loving the feel of him still inside me.
“I just want you to know,” he begins, his voice soft against the shell of my ear, “I’ve made mistakes too. Am still making them. But sometimes I wonder if maybe those mistakes are the only way to find something real. Something true.”
“I don’t know,” I reply, my hand curling in his hair. “I don’t know.”
And I really don’t know what’s true or not anymore. Adam felt true, and he was ripped from me. Dance feels real, but I don’t know if I’ll ever find success past the show I’m featured in, don’t know if I’ll ever be able to manage the studio I’ve come to love.
And Samson, well, he feels the most real, the most true…the most.
Suddenly, I’m more terrified than I’ve ever been in my entire life. I can’t walk away from Samson. Not now.
But that won’t stop the world from taking him from me anyway.
For the first time since staying at the Buckingham mansion, I find myself alone. Samson has been summoned to yet another meeting about whatever it is he does. I’ve asked him a couple of times since, but his answer hasn’t changed. He keeps telling me he’s an assassin.
Absolutely ridiculous, if you ask me, but fine. If he wants to keep his secrets, then that works for me. We’re already getting too close. Dangerously so.
Harley invited me to watch a movie, but I have another task in mind. Something that’s been bugging me ever since seeing the tiny shed Samson dances in.
With my laptop open, I scroll through the websites of all the leading architects in the area.
I’m not even sure what qualifies someone as being good.
I want the best for Samson, and after dancing for who knows how long in that tiny shed, he deserves everything.
He’ll always be welcome at Rhythm…but if all of this ends, he might not want to see me again.
I push the heel of my hand against my chest, willing the ache to stop. I’m not planning on ending whatever this is, but I know it will eventually come to a close. Good things always do.
At least, they do for me.
I’ll never be able to repay him for how he’s stitched me back together, but maybe, just maybe, this idea will go a little way toward that.
I click on yet another website and freeze as a familiar face fills my screen. “No fucking way.”
Another few clicks confirm it. How the fuck did I not know this?
My feet carry me nimbly through the house. I head in the direction of the conference room before remembering they’re in a meeting.
Fuck.
Well, this doesn’t need to be done now, I guess. As much as I don’t want to, I can wait.
Resigned, I turn back in the direction of Samson’s room. But before I can take a step, the door opens behind me.
A large body covers my own as familiar hands tug me backward. “What are you doing here?”
I laugh breathlessly as Samson kisses along the side of my neck. “I’m actually looking for Dalton.”
He freezes, his lips against my collarbone. “What the fuck do you want with Dalton?”
“Maybe he’s realized I’m the most handsome brother,” Dalton drawls as he comes around in front of me. He smirks over my shoulder at Samson. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle with him. I can probably teach him a thing or two about how a man should be treated. I am the expert, after all.”
Samson tenses, his hands gripping my hips to the point of pain. If he leaves bruises there, I might die with joy.
“Fuck off before I slit your throat.”
“Want me to hold him for you?” Jackson asks as he saunters up, shooting Dalton a cocky look. “I’m bigger than him now.”
I blink in surprise. Why was Jackson in the meeting? He’s not immediate family, just the brother of Matthias’s husband. Does he work for the same business as the others? And in that vein, why was Dalton in the meeting if he’s an architect?
Do the Buckinghams build things, too?
I’m so confused.
Dalton’s face darkens as he glares at Jackson, a twitch in his jaw. “You might be bigger than me, but I can pin you in ways you’ve never imagined.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” Jackson smirks as Dalton’s lips part. Jackson touches his chin, forcing his mouth closed with strong fingers. “Close your mouth, babe. You’ll catch flies.”
A vein starts to throb in Dalton’s forehead as he watches Jackson stroll away, hands in his pockets, whistling a merry tune.
Samson chuckles. “How’s that expert life going for you?”
“Fuck off,” Dalton snaps, his hands fisting at his sides. “You know it’s not like that with Jackson.”
I try to cover my laugh with a cough, but from how Dalton switches his glare to me, I don’t think I’m successful.
“I really do need to speak to you,” I say apologetically. “If you have time?”
Dalton’s face clears, and he gives me a nod. “Sure. Anything to piss Samson off.”
Technically, this is something that’ll make Samson very happy, but I’m not going to correct him.
I go to pull out of Samson’s grip, but he stubbornly tightens his arms. “Give him back his watch, Dalton.”
Surprised, I glance down at my bare wrist. When the fuck did he take that? I really need to keep a closer eye on him.
He sighs and lets my watch dangle from two fingers.
I eye him suspiciously as I take it from him. “Why on earth would you take this? It’s just a piece of crap. Your shirt is probably worth more.”
“It’s not fun robbing myself.” Dalton shrugs. “Besides, I would’ve given it back eventually.”
“This is why I don’t want you going anywhere alone with him,” Samson growls in my ear. “Who knows what he’ll do.”
“Please.” Dalton folds his arms over his chest. “I have some morals. Your dancer is as safe with me as any of us.”
Samson grunts in what sounds like grudging agreement, but he doesn’t release me from his hold.
Dalton smirks at me. “Best let him say his piece first. I’ll meet you in the library.”
Then the two of us are alone in the hallway.
Sighing, I turn in Samson’s hold until I’m facing him.
His stone-faced expression makes my heart race faster, but not from fear.
I shouldn’t do it, should start to distance myself, but I can’t help but wrap my arms around his neck, rising on my toes to kiss him.
I don’t stop until I feel some of his tension leech away. Only then do I break away.
“What’s wrong?”
“Just don’t know why you need Dalton,” he grumbles. It’s so fucking endearing that I find myself grinning. “I can give you everything you need.”
“You can and do,” I assure him. “But this isn’t something you can help me with. Do you trust me?”
He searches my face before nodding slowly. “I do. I fucking do. Question is, do you trust me?”
I tilt my head, puzzled. “Of course. You’ve not given me a reason not to.”
“Good.” He smiles. A warm, genuine smile that has me wishing this never has to end.
Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe, this time, you can stop happiness from slipping through your fingers.
“Go see Dalton,” he says, running his nose along mine. “And if he steals anything from you, he keeps his dagger in a sheath at the back of his pants. Show him how well you can throw it, and he’ll never steal from you again.”
“Well? Can you do it?”
Dalton sits back in his chair, his hands clasped over his stomach. “Of course. It’s not difficult.”
“Great.” I shift in my own chair, hating that I need to ask the next question.
But if I need to sell a kidney to make this happen for Samson, I might genuinely consider it.
Because I’d never ask the Buckinghams to cover this for me.
I want to be the one to pay. I guess I could go to The Firm, although I think I’d prefer to explore the illegal organ trade route first. At least with them, I know exactly what I’ll be losing. “How much will you charge?”
Dalton laughs. A lot. So much so that I find myself blushing.
“What’s so funny?”
“Fuck, you’re adorable,” Dalton says, wiping tears from under his eyes. He chuckles once more as he picks up a pencil. “We don’t charge family.”
“Yes, but Samson isn’t commissioning this. I am.”
“The rule still stands,” he says lightly, scooting his chair over to a drawing table. “Now, tell me everything. What does Samson need for this studio?”
“I’d really like to pay you for it. I want it to come from me.”
“It will come from you—the ideas, the thought behind it. But I won’t be charging you for any of it, so put that out of your mind. Now tell me. What does he need?”
I bite my lip as I drift over to join him. “It doesn’t need to be too fancy. I don’t know if Samson will even want to build it.”
“Oh, he will,” Dalton murmurs, already sketching lines out onto the paper. “He won’t spare any expense either. Especially if it comes from you.”
I hesitate. It’s one thing to commission these plans, but the last thing I want is for Samson to feel obliged to fork over a shit-ton of money for something he doesn’t really want.
He does want this. He’s just too scared to allow himself to pursue it.
“Can you draft me two versions?” I blurt out. “One with all the bells and whistles, and one that’s more…budget-friendly? Honestly, I can pay for at least one of them.”
Something crosses Dalton’s face, too quick for me to parse. “You really care about my brother, don’t you?”
My throat thickens as I think about the man who held me tight in my closet. Who lay at my side as we watched stars soar overhead. Who distracted me without pushing for the reasons why. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
Dalton smiles, and it’s more authentic than anything else I’ve seen on his face before. “Then two designs it is.”