28. Delaney
DELANEY
We reach my apartment in record time. I’m half expecting Samson to throw me over his shoulder again. This red dress is so short that anyone passing by would be able to see my thong underneath.
He parks quickly, and he doesn’t speak. Simply gets out of the car and comes to open the door for me.
So there’s a gentleman somewhere underneath all that armor. I’ve gotten a glimpse of him from time to time, but usually he seems to be in beast mode. Not that I mind. It’s kind of a turn-on, as much as I hate to admit it.
He grabs my hand—yes, my hand, not my wrist this time—and pulls me along into the building. When we reach the door to my apartment, he holds out his hand. “Key.”
I fish the key out of my small clutch—which, oddly, my attacker had no interest in—and hand it to him.
He unlocks the door.
I turn, expecting to say good night, but he barges in behind me.
“Samson—”
“You don’t talk,” he says through clenched teeth. “Do you have any idea how much danger you put yourself in tonight?”
“I didn’t mean to—”
He raises his hand, and for a moment, I think he’s going to slap me.
He doesn’t.
“Did you not understand what I meant when I told you not to talk?” He shoves me against the wall, harder than he did the last time he was here.
I let out a gasp, but I stand my ground. “I’m not afraid of you.”
This time he grabs my shoulders and pins me flat against the wall. “You should be,” he says, “and what the fuck did I tell you about not talking?”
I say nothing.
“I should punish you,” he says. “I’ve punished other women for far less.”
The idea of punishment should scare me. And it does. Sort of. But it also lights a fire inside me. The thought of his hands coming down on me, the thought of him binding me…
Is that what he means by punishment?
I don’t know, but part of me desperately wants to find out.
Another part of me? She wants to run like hell.
But a third part of me wants to tell him to stop. To push against him, exert what little strength I have.
Sure, I know it would be futile. But that part of me wants to do it.
“God, what you do to me…” He leans close, inhales against my neck. “You’re playing with fire, Delaney.”
“Maybe I like fire,” I whisper.
He grabs one of my breasts, pulls it out of the red dress, and pinches the nipple hard. “What did I say about talking?”
“Is that my punishment?”
He twists the nipple again. “Oh no. I may be hurting you a little right now, but you’re loving every minute of it.”
I don’t bother to deny his words. He knows I’m turned on. Hell, I can already smell myself.
“You’re getting wet, aren’t you?” he says against my earlobe.
I say nothing. After all, he told me not to talk.
“Good girl,” he says. “I told you not to talk, so you didn’t answer.”
“I figured you could smell my arousal,” I say. “After all, I smell it. But whether or not I’m turned on doesn’t mean you get to control me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, baby,” he says, nipping at my earlobe and then biting it hard.
I can’t help a squeal.
“I control everything around me,” he continues. “And I’ve been controlling you since we first crossed paths.”
This time I do push back. To no avail of course. The man is the size of a tank. But no one controls me. Not for a very long time, anyway.
“Nice try,” he says, one of the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.
“You can tell me not to talk,” I say. “You can twist my nipples until they fall off. You can make me wetter than any man ever has. None of that means you control me.”
A low rumbling comes from him. I almost mistake it for a chuckle, except he’s not smiling.
“You don’t listen. I told you not to talk.”
“How am I supposed to not talk when you keep asking me questions?”
He grabs my throat, squeezes enough that I catch my breath.
“I’m not asking you any questions. I told you who’s in control here, and it’s not you.
If I wanted to, I could fuck you right now.
Right up against this wall. You could scream and yell and tell me to stop.
I could snap your pretty little neck if I wanted to, and there’s not a damned thing you could do about it.
You could scrape your fingernails over me, sink your teeth into my flesh. None of it would stop me.”
I swallow audibly.
I should be frightened. I should be crying, begging him to leave me alone.
Instead?
I want Samson to take me.
I want his roughness. His dominance. His beast.
And I shouldn’t want any of that. I was attacked tonight because of him. Not because of him specifically, but because of what I’m doing, and that involves him.
“That person tonight,” he says, as if reading my mind, “could’ve killed you, Delaney. If he had been ordered to, he would have.”
I shudder.
I believe him. And I believe that if that shadowed man had wanted to steal from me or rape me, he would’ve done that as well.
“He will pay for it,” Samson says. “He will pay for touching what’s mine.”
I gulp again.
Did he say mine?
Then his lips are on mine, his tongue diving between them. He drugs me with his kiss, and thank God he’s pressed against me, because I don’t think my legs would hold me up.
I should stop him. Even though he says I can’t stop him, I believe that if I truly wanted to stop, he would.
But I’ll never know.
Because I don’t want to stop.
His control over me tightens. The kiss and his movements get rougher, more urgent. He pushes his hard cock against my belly, grinds into me.
My breasts are already free, and my nipples hard as rocks. I squirm, shiver, arch my back.
I want this. I want him.
More than I’ve ever wanted anything. Any-fucking-thing.
With one hand, he slides the skirt of my clingy dress up over my hips and then he plunges his fingers into my thong.
He massages my pussy, my clit, and I nearly explode right then and there.
“God…” I moan.
Will he consider that talking? I don’t rightfully care.
He breaks the kiss. “I’ll let that go,” he growls. “Unbuckle my belt, bitch.”
I raise my eyebrow at the term. It’s not the first time I’ve heard it, and for the life of me I don’t know why this is the first time I’ve said anything.
“I’m nobody’s bitch, Samson.”
I expect him to argue the point, to threaten punishment for me talking again.
Instead, he meets my gaze, his amber eyes on fire. “No,” he says, his voice a rasp, “you’re not.”
I hold back a smile.
“I told you. Unbuckle my belt.”
I don’t even consider arguing. My hands go automatically to the silver buckle of his belt, and as I finger it, I let one palm slip, graze against his huge bulge.
He sucks in a breath.
Good.
He’s not the only one with power here.
When his belt is done, he signals me to keep going.
I unbutton his pants, unzip them, and then I pull his huge cock out of his boxer briefs.
It springs forward, and I take a good look at it this time.
It’s huge and beautiful with two veins marbling around it and a drip of pre-come already at the tip.
“Get on your knees, Delaney. Get on your knees and suck me.”
Again, I could argue, but I have the feeling if I did, he’d grip my shoulders and push me down anyway.
And I’d let him.
So I obey. I drop to my knees, the hardwood floor hurting them as I kneel, and I grab his large shaft with my right hand. He groans. I slide my tongue over the small drip of pre-come, savoring the saltiness.
He groans again.
This time I lick the tip, gliding over it, before I thrust my mouth down on the length of him.
And another groan, this one longer, more satisfied.
Good.
He tastes of salt and musky man. I want to deepthroat him, give him everything.
But I pull back a bit.
“Fuck…” He grabs two fistfuls of my hair and pushes me back down on him. “I’m going to fuck that hot mouth of yours. I want my come to slide down your throat.”
Yeah. Problem. I don’t swallow. But already I know I’m going to break my own rule for Samson Vexley. Because I want him. I want all of him.
He continues to fuck my mouth, seeming to know exactly how far he can go without alerting my gag reflex.
And he can go far. I like head. I’m good at it. And swallowing Samson’s gorgeous cock is nothing but a pleasure.
Until—
He pulls away from me. “No. I want to come inside that hot cunt of yours.”
In a flash he lifts me to my feet, pins me against the wall, rips my thong off, and shoves his cock inside me.
A low groan escapes my throat.
So full. So wet. And I want him so much.
“Tightest little pussy…” he groans.
He pulls out and thrusts back in.
“I’m going to fuck you hard, Delaney. I’m going to fuck the touch of that bastard right out of you.”
“Can I talk now?” I grit out.
“No. You stay quiet. All I want to hear out of you is your moans, your groans. If you have to say something, you can say ‘Fuck me, Samson.’”
I meet his gaze. “Fuck me, Samson.”