Chapter 5
SAMUIL
She’s so incredibly beautiful that it’s hard for me to take my eyes off her.
It’s not the manufactured, polished beauty I’ve gotten used to from so many other women over the years.
She’s real in a way I haven’t experienced in ages.
Everything about her feels unguarded and genuine.
She’s unscripted, honest, and soft in a way I’m not used to.
And I don’t know how to touch her without worrying I’ll ruin it.
After we both ride out our orgasms, she falls asleep on my chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
She doesn’t hesitate, and she’s not afraid of me.
She trusts me so completely, even though she knows nothing about me.
Her cheek is warm against my shoulder, her breath soft and steady, her fingers curled loosely against my ribs where she held on when her body shook around me.
I don’t move for a long time. I don’t want to disturb her.
I’m surprised by how much I like the feel of her against me.
She feels small and soft, something fragile I somehow earned without deserving it.
The city lights cast faint gold across her skin, illuminating the slow rise and fall of her chest. Her hair is still damp from the bath, the ends brushing my arm in feathery strokes that make my pulse tighten every time she exhales.
I’m hard again almost immediately.
It’s embarrassing how little control I have with her.
I’ve never been like this with anyone else.
Sex has always been transactional, a way for me to drown the noise in my head for a few minutes.
This is something else entirely. It wakes up parts of me I didn’t know existed.
She makes me feel hunger and possession and tenderness.
She shifts slightly in her sleep, her thigh brushing mine, and a low sound escapes me before I can stop it. I clamp my jaw shut. I tell myself to let her sleep, to give her space, to show more self-control than a fucking teenager.
Until she sighs my name under her breath, in a soft, breathless, dreamy voice.
Something in me snaps. I slide my hand slowly along her back, skimming the soft fabric of the robe she still hasn’t fully retied after I pulled it off her earlier.
My fingers slip beneath it, finding warm skin.
Her muscles twitch faintly. She stirs, eyelids fluttering.
“Wake up, gorgeous,” I murmur, low in her ear.
She mumbles something, turns her face slightly toward me, still half asleep.
I brush my thumb along her hip, slow and light.
Her breath catches, and her eyes flutter open, sleepy and unfocused.
When she moves and feels my hard length pressed against her, my thumb on her hip, it seems to jolt straight through her.
The sleepiness is replaced by something hotter and hungrier.
“What time is it?” she whispers, her voice hoarse.
“Late,” I say. “Or early.”
She blinks, realizes she’s lying on top of me, and her cheeks flush a warm pink. Her thigh shifts against me again, and this time there is no mistaking what she feels pressed against her.
She looks up at me. The smallest, shyest smile touches the corner of her mouth.
“Ready for round two?” she asks, cocking an eyebrow.
A low sound rumbles from my throat. “I’m ready to go all night.”
Her hand slides slowly down my torso, fingers tracing the lines of muscle. She touches me, and my eyes shut briefly as my breath leaves me in a sharp exhale. When I open my eyes, she’s watching me with that same wonder she had in the alley, when she took my hand without fear.
“Well, Samuil,” she purrs. “No need to ask what your weakness is.”
I don’t answer her with words. I cup the back of her head and pull her mouth down to mine.
The kiss is slow at first, warm, deep, and sensual. It threatens to hollow me out from the inside. She shifts onto her knees, straddling me, her robe falling open around her to perfectly frame her bare skin. Her breasts brush my chest, and the soft sound she makes sends a shock straight through me.
I grip her hips, thumbs stroking circles along her sides, guiding her as she lowers herself against me. She gasps when she feels me hard between her legs, causing her thighs to tighten. Her breath hitches. She looks down at me like she’s both satisfied and overwhelmed by the feel of me.
I sit up slowly, keeping her in my lap. Her hands move to my shoulders for balance, her fingers curling into my skin.
I kiss her again and again, until she is breathing fast against my lips.
I slip one hand between us, guiding myself to her entrance, teasing her gently. She trembles in my arms, eyelids heavy.
“Please,” she whispers.
Her voice sounds like a prayer.
I push into her slowly, inch by inch, until her entire body tenses and then melts against me. Her forehead drops to my shoulder. Her breath shudders. My hands grip her waist, steadying her as she adjusts to me. The feeling is nearly unbearable. Her pussy is so hot and tight. It’s perfection.
I move my hands down her thighs and pull her closer, lifting her just enough before lowering her again.
She moans softly, the sound muffled against my neck.
Her nails scrape lightly down my back, and it takes everything in me not to flip her onto the chaise and take her with the kind of desperation that has been burning in me since the moment she came out of that damn bathroom.
Instead, I move inside her slowly, letting her body guide the pace. She sits up, her hair falling around her face, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure. She rests her hands on my chest, fingers splayed, breathing hard as she rides me gently. Every sound she makes goes straight to my cock.
I cup her breasts, thumbing her nipples lightly. She gasps, arching into my touch. She moves faster without realizing it, hips finding a rhythm that pulls a low groan from my throat. Her body shudders, pulses, tightens around me.
“Samuil,” she breathes, her voice breaking on my name.
The way she says it almost undoes me.
I grip her hips more firmly, meeting her movements. She moans, head tipping back, throat exposed. I lean in and kiss the soft skin beneath her jaw, then her collarbone, then lower. She clings to me desperately.
She comes with a sharp, breathless cry. Her body trembles around me, tightening in waves. Her hands grip my shoulders so roughly that her nails leave crescents in my skin. I hold her through her entire shuddering release, moving slowly until she slumps forward, exhausted and limp.
When she finally lifts her head, her cheeks are flushed, eyes dazed, mouth soft and slightly bruised from my kisses.
“You’re unbelievable,” she whispers.
My only answer is to pull her back down onto me, kiss her again, and flip her gently onto her back on the chaise.
She laughs breathlessly against my mouth. “You want more.”
“I don’t think I could get enough,” I tell her honestly.
I take her again, slow and deep, until she gasps.
Then harder. Then slow again. I learn the places that make her clench around me.
The sounds that pull her back from exhaustion and into another wave of pleasure.
The way she curls her toes when she’s about to come.
The way she tries to hide her face when she’s overwhelmed.
The way she reaches for me when she falls apart.
I lose track of how many times she comes beneath me.
I lose track of how many times I follow her.
At one point, she’s on her stomach, hips lifted by my hands as I thrust into her slowly, deliberately, kissing the back of her neck until she collapses with a broken sob of pleasure.
Another time, she’s beneath me, legs wrapped around my waist, her hands gripping my biceps as I kiss her mouth again and again until she begs for release.
When her body finally gives out, trembling and sore and spent, I carry her to my bed. She’s half asleep already, head resting on my shoulder, fingers curled into my chest like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she lets go.
I lay her carefully on the sheets and pull the blanket over her. She doesn’t wake. She only shifts slightly, reaching blindly for me. I sit beside her and take her hand, brushing my thumb over her knuckles.
Her breathing steadies and her face softens.
She looks peaceful, and I know I should leave her be, but I don’t.
Instead, I lie down beside her and let her curl against me.
Her hand rests over my heart. Her cheek presses to my shoulder.
I listen to her breathing until mine matches it, until the edges of the world blur and everything inside me quiets.
For the first time in years, I fall asleep beside someone. It’s just more evidence that this woman is driving me out of my mind.
When I wake up, sunlight spills across the bed. I can’t tell what time it is, but it feels later than I usually wake up. My body is both exhausted and wired. I roll over and reach for her, wanting to experience her perfect body one more time, but the space beside me is empty.
Her scent lingers on the pillow. Her warmth still clings faintly to the sheets. But she’s gone. The robe is folded neatly at the foot of the bed.
I get up slowly, stretching and trying to put some life back into my body after the marathon of last night. I vainly hope that I’ll find her in the kitchen, brewing a cup of coffee or chewing on a bagel, but she’s truly gone.
She did, at least, leave a note for me on the front door, like she wanted to make sure I didn’t miss it:
Thank you for last night. If you ever want to do this again, here’s my number.
Below the words is a hastily scrawled number. It all reeks of regret and forced politeness. I can’t shake the disappointed feeling that starts in the pit of my stomach. It’s ridiculous, but she’s already gotten under my skin, and I don’t even know her name.
I scrub my hands over my face and go find my phone. I pick it up and press the contact for Vlad, my head of security. The line only rings once.
“What’s up, boss?” Vlad answers.
“I need you to keep tabs on someone,” I say.
My voice is flat and controlled, but heat lingers beneath it.
I can only hope he doesn’t hear it. “I don’t have a name, but I have a phone number.
She has dark hair and brown eyes. If you check my security feed, you’ll see her leaving my penthouse this morning. ”
There’s a short pause on the other end.
“Do you want her followed?”
“Yes,” I say. “Get as much information on her as you can.”
“Do you want a protection detail for her?”
“For now, just surveillance,” I confirm. “Unless there is a need, then make contact.”
“I’ll get it taken care of,” he says.
I end the call and go back into my bedroom, staring at the empty space beside me, my jaw tight.
How can I already be this far gone over someone when I don’t even know her name? This isn’t me, and if I were smart, I’d shut the door on this and move on with my life.
But I can still feel her body clenching around me, still taste her breath in my mouth, still hear the soft, broken sounds she made when she shattered beneath me. I can still feel her head on my chest as she slept.
She’s already gotten under my skin, and I don’t think there’s any coming back from it.