I don’t feel comfortable telling you whether you should forgive him or if it’s worth hearing him out. But it sounds more like you hate the guy and not the idea of working for this place.”
He pulled her close and squeezed her tight, because he didn’t know what else to say. He hadn’t brought her here to comfort him, but that was exactly what she’d done.
He didn’t know how she’d take it if he told her how sweet and kind she was. Would she think he was getting too attached and cut him off?
Because he was. He was getting frighteningly attached. “Let me show you to my room. You need to sleep.”
SAMSON’S LARGE BEDROOM was the only place in the house, as far as Rhi could tell, that looked like it had been touched in the last decade. Here was some of the personality that was missing from his slick L.A. apartment and in the rest of this home. She crossed her arms over her chest and chafed them, though she wasn’t cold, and glanced around with curiosity. The walls were painted a soft gray, the king-sized bed covered in a fluffy white duvet. The end tables were clear, the closet doors open, revealing a few shirts, still in dry cleaning bags. A painting above the bed depicted an open-air hut with a thatched roof nestled on golden sand.
“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.