“I’ve had that since I visited Samoa as a kid. It’s a beach near where my mom grew up.”
“It’s lovely.”
He pulled back the comforter. “Do you want me to sleep in here or would you like to sleep alone?”
His question was matter-of-fact, leaving the decision up to her. “Yes. I want you.” Rhiannon would brush her teeth and wrap her hair later. They wouldn’t be sleeping yet. There was too much restless energy jostling around inside her, both from her confrontation with Peter and from the surge of empathy for Samson.
It had been a busy night.
Samson pulled her close once they were in bed. She didn’t know how long they cuddled. Or when they started kissing.
He stripped out of his clothes first, and the sight of all that tan, smooth flesh made her mouth water. He was such a nice specimen of a man, all his slabs of muscle layered on top of each other, his belly wide and thick.
He pressed her back against the bed and brushed his lips over her cheek, her lips. Her hands fluttered, then came to rest on his hot, naked shoulders. Samson slid his hands around her waist and untucked her shirt, skimming his palms up her sides.
His touch was tender and sweet, and part of her, the part that was still terrified by the evidence of how much she’d grown to trust him, hated how much she loved it. So she ran her fingers through his hair and tugged his head up until he could clearly see her. “Right now, I need you to fuck me hard.” She deliberately used the crude word. He drew back, and she wondered if she’d hurt or offended him, but he nodded.
As soon she had his consent, she kissed him again, and it was rougher this time, dirty, their tongues rubbing against each other, their bodies doing the same. His hands grew surer.
Their fingers fought with one another as they tried to get her clothes off. Her shirt went first, and then her bra. Samson stripped her pants and panties off in one smooth move.
He sat back and stared at her. “How are you so perfect,” he marveled. A shiver of pleasure ran from her head to her toes.
Rhiannon scrambled onto her knees. His cock was thick and heavy and she cupped it in both hands. “Can I take you in my mouth?”
“You never have to ask.”
“It’s more fun to ask.” She stroked his shaft down and back up again. A shot of heady power ran through her. “That way you know what’s coming.” She bent forward, letting her hair tickle his thighs. “You can anticipate it.” She licked the tip, delighting in his groan of pleasure. “And I know you want it.”
“I want it. I definitely want it.”
She’d given him a taste, and he was reacting like she’d given him a feast. The sweet man.
She took more of him in her mouth, sucking him deep. Normally, blow jobs weren’t something that turned her on. Rhiannon liked to be good at everything, so if she wasn’t an expert, she didn’t see the point in putting forth her whole effort. But Samson didn’t seem to care that she wasn’t some blow-job queen.
He didn’t need to resort to hair tugging for her to understand his urgency. It was there in the contracted muscles of his stomach and the sounds he uttered, a sexy symphony of sighs and groans.
Rhiannon was so into it, she was startled when he drew away. “You said you want it hard?”
She nodded.
“Get on your hands and knees.”
A thrill of need and desire shook her. Her movements were less than graceful as she got into the position he’d demanded, but his groan when her ass faced him told her he didn’t care much about grace.
She heard the rip of a condom wrapper and then the bed depressed behind her. Her fingers curled into the bedspread when he parted her folds. “Are you wet?”
“Yes—Jesus.” Her fingers clenched tighter as his tongue swiped over her pussy.
Teasing laughter filled his words. “Just making sure.”
The man was sweet, but that sweetness hid a streak of filth. Pure filth.
She moaned when he thrust inside her, and he raised her ass higher as he set a steady and rough pace. He laid his palm flat on her back, pressing her upper body down so he could fuck her even harder. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he gritted out.
“It’s not enough,” she managed.
“Oh no?”
Uh-oh. That was definitely a challenge-accepted if she’d ever heard it.
He snaked his hand under her body and pulled her upright, so there wasn’t any space between their bodies, and gave her short, fast thrusts. She cried out. “Yes, perfect. More.”
His thick arm tightened around her breasts, his heavy breaths tickling her ear. “Look.” He nudged her with his forehead. “Look at us in the mirror.”
She turned her head and almost came right there and then. The full-length mirror on the wall gave her a perfect view of the two of them in profile, his much bigger body tight against hers, penetrating her. No one had ever called her a woman of small stature, but right now she looked tiny, caught up in his grip. Helpless.
He pressed his forehead to her shoulder, his pained expression reflecting back at her in the mirror. Or he was the helpless one.
Or they were both helpless.
He kept one arm around her breasts to plaster her to his front. With two fingers he opened her up to rub his thumb against her clit. A kiss glanced off her ear. “You close?”
“Yes.”
Samson guided her back down to the bed. She pressed her cheek to the pillow so she could keep watching in the mirror, gasping when he held his hand gently but firmly against her neck to keep her pinned down while he hoisted her hips higher. The biological function of sex became a cinematic masterpiece, each muscle contraction in the side of his ass and his thighs hypnotic and amazing.
The orgasm hit her hard and fast out of nowhere and she shuddered. His thrusts grew harder, rougher. She was still shivering when he groaned loudly and pushed deep inside her a final time.
Rhiannon couldn’t budge, not even when he moved off her and collapsed onto his back. All she could do was lay there in a ball of wasted energy and limp muscles as he got off the bed and dealt with the condom.
It was only when he returned to the bed that she lifted a finger, and it was mostly to sleepily let him arrange her so he could big-spoon her. His hand coasted up her arm. He had calluses that teased the hair on her flesh. “Your skin is so soft, Rhi.”
Rhi. He didn’t slip up anymore. He’d respected her demand immediately, even when he hadn’t known the story behind how Peter had tarnished the thought of a lover using her full name.
He was a good guy. The fragile bloom of hope dug its way out of the frozen ground of her heart, and she almost whimpered.
He stroked her back, settling her. There were things they needed to talk about, logistics for the morning to plan out. As if he could read her mind, he kissed her ear. “Go to sleep. I’ll wake you up early, and we can sneak you back into your room at Aunt Belle’s house before breakfast.”
“I asked for breakfast in my room.” She’d wanted to psych herself up before her pitch. The best way to do that was to be alone.
“Before anyone else wakes up, then.”
“Thank you.” Rhiannon meant the thank-you to apply to everything. Coming to her rescue, bringing her to his home, sharing why he’d been so distant. Fear and worry trembled awake under her contentment, but his arm flexed and she fell right back into the warmth of his grip.