Play It Safe (The Safe House Series Book 2) (8 page)

Samson pulled the desk chair to the bedside and sat, watching, waiting, his own legs spread impossibly wide in solidarity. The fly of his jeans was full, prominent. His dark hair was tussled from slumber, but his eyes had never been more penetrating.

Angela might as well have had magnets on the inside of her knees for all she took to his request. She had barely stomached the position for her gynecologist, and now Samson wanted to start with a peep show?
Not
what she expected.

“Thighs?”

“Wide.”

“Samson—”

“Less thinking, Angel.”

If she had any final reservations, his endearment obliterated them. The name landed against her skin like a thousand suns. She catalogued her imperfections: zero muscle tone, pale skin, practical underwear that no one was meant to see.

“Before my tongue does it for you.”

A hot rush of wetness swamped the area in question. The man could elicit a response with mere words. The word
genius
returned to mind. She scooted to the bed’s periphery and opened her knees.

“Wider.”

Her thighs stretched the cotton fibers of her button-down-the-front dress to their limits.

Samson shook his head, a devilish uptick teasing the corner of his mouth.

Angela hiked up her skirt and pressed her knees against the mattress, butterfly-style. The robust action was born out of frustration—how much wider did he want them?—but the end result was a slow, satisfied crawl of his gaze from one set of lips to the other. The man could fuck with his eyes. The muscles of her cervix tightened, a purely Pavlovian response she was unaware she possessed.

“My turn,” she said.

His hand raised from his knee in casual invitation.

“You. Naked.”

Samson’s brows pitched. His lips pressed into a barely-restrained grin. “Don’t waste much time, do you?”

“Not when the only man I’ve seen is a plastic anatomy dummy.”

Again, with the smile. He took his time, because South Africa might as well have been Mars for all the distance that stretched out before them or because he wanted it to last, for her. Her first time had been more like a fire drill and three taps of a hydrant. Angela intended to enjoy every sweet twitch of muscle as he maneuvered out of his clothes.

With every stitch of fiber that fell to the floor, Angela knew a greater appreciation for the male body. Her eyes feasted on the impeccable proportions of his chest, his etched barbed-wire tattoo that had once been the subject of a quip, the sinuous movements of his shoulder blades and arms as he stripped the final scrap of clothing above his waist. He was magnificent, and they hadn’t even gotten to the good part.

“I could use a little help with the rest.”

His invitation was clearly in violation of the rules, but Angela wanted nothing more than to be violated. She climbed off the bed, stood before him, and placed her hands at the top button of his jeans. Eagerness stalled in uncertainty.

He teased her temple with his lips and whispered against her skin. “Like opening a gift.”

Her throat constricted. He didn’t make her feel silly or inexperienced; he was the ideal tutor—slow, patient, completely without judgment. She wanted so much to please him, for it to be as good for him as she knew beyond all doubt it would be for her.

Life begins at the edge of one’s comfort zone.

She unfastened his pants. His cotton-draped shaft throbbed and scorched the back of her fingertips on every subsequent button.

Samson hissed his appreciation.

Thumbs hooked in his belt loops, she tugged the tight denim down his muscled legs dusted with hair and freed his ankles from his jeans and socks simultaneously. When she had completed her task, she straightened, unable to suppress the grin of accomplishment that broke out on her face.

“You forgot something,” he teased.

She glanced down at his boxer-briefs, smoke gray and sheathing what looked like a very impressive laboratory rod.

“Right.” She pushed her glasses back to the bridge of her nose.

Samson chuckled.

As any good scientist would, she worked out the precise angle for maximum efficiency, stretched the fabric to free his sizeable length, and proceeded to study his appendage, eye to dick, as she removed the underwear past his ankles.

Her mouth went dry. Purple veins bulged along his substantial shaft, a span impossible to fit inside her. His erection throbbed under her scrutiny. She reached for his cock, sating a need to feel the man who would soon fill her, running her fingertips from the nexus of hair at his body to his engorged, spade-like tip.

His skin was positively volcanic.

Samson dropped his head back and groaned. At that moment, Angela knew addiction. She decided she would do anything—
anything
—to summon that musical note of pleasure, again and again and again.

“Easy, Angel. We have eight-thousand miles to cover. And it’s my choice.”

She bit her lip, simultaneously aroused and fearful of his next request.

“Lay back on the bed, knees wide, and touch yourself.”

A thread of uncertainty cinched her stomach. She had used a vibrator before. Never her bare fingers. She didn’t even know how that part of her body would feel. But he had been a good sport about her curiosity. And she did love a fair competition. She backed her heels to the bed and crawled up to the middle of the mattress. Samson remained in a wide-legged stance, in all his perpendicular glory, his eyes devouring her every movement. When she was in position, the cinch around her stomach tightened. She hesitated.

He crawled up on the bed beside her and leaned close, caressing her ear with his pillowy lips before he whispered. “You are exquisite. Soon, I will be there, inside you, but for now, pretend your fingers are my fingers, my tongue, my cock.”

All the words in her two hundred page dissertations never amounted to the power of his directness married to his lustful, pressing directives. She discovered that his voice wrapped around words she had always thought of as forbidden established a stark and powerful connection between her eardrum and the sensitive folds within her reach.

He watched as she drew the crotch of her panties aside and made her first tentative exploration. She hadn’t expected there to be so many facets and folds, and she didn’t anticipate the surge of decadence at her own touch.

Had he not been watching, she might have stopped. She had fulfilled her commitment, and there was so much more on her wish list, but at random intervals of his focused concentration, he dipped his head low and pressed feathered kisses to her inner thighs that drove her mindless, breathless, careless. When his kisses reached her damp curls, he took her saturated fingers in his and sealed them inside his mouth. His tongue laved every last drop of silky wetness before he spoke.

“You taste like sweet perfection.”

Watching him devour her nectar was an energizing jolt straight to her clit. The game of back and forth was no longer enough. She found it a challenge to hold back her greed. At this rate, she would go insane with need.

“Sam—?” Her want had reduced her to syllables.

“Yes?”

“I need more.” More of what she couldn’t say. More heady sensations. More expert instruction. More of him touching her. Just more.

At her plea, his fingers plunged inside her tight channel. A scorching ache spiked through her and settled around the steady, practiced movement of his digits. She arched beneath his touch, learning the precise angle to leverage that ache against the spot inside that made her breath come fast and hard. Piston enough to bring her to the brink of an attack.

He must have heard the crackle in her whimpers, too, for he stopped his ambitious probing and said, “Easy, Angel. Breathe…”

She remembered the precise thing that had stopped an attack before—imagining his Samson’s hands all over her—and smiled. Imagining hadn’t come close to the real thing. The cadence of her breaths eased.

“Good?”

“Majestic.”

He laughed and sat back on his haunches, knees wide. He reached for her eyeglasses to remove them.

She brought a hand up to stop him. “I want to see everything. Nothing blurred.”

“Then I’d better give you a good show.”

His warm hand splayed across her belly and marked a random trail of her wetness higher, higher, higher. With each languid centimeter, her nipples stretched the confines of her bra in anticipation. A fresh, hot ache settled low in the hypersensitive folds he had just forsaken. He undressed her with his eyes first, his hands second. When she had wiggled free of all garments and thought she might combust from waiting for him to touch her breasts, his voice came, hoarse and tortured, like a man struggling with his own measure of control

“Ladies first.”

This time, she didn’t hesitate to pleasure herself. He knew her body better than she, and she was completely at his mercy. She corralled her nipples between her first two fingers but was hard-pressed to feel the reward she craved.

“Like this.” He took her hands in his and tutored her on the fine art of sensitized pressure. “Tell me how it feels…”

She was embarrassed to put it to words. After having his fingers inside her, she doubted any other exploration would take her breath away. But the more he guided and clamped and squeezed the taut nub of her breast the more readily the words came.

“Electrical impulses that race down…”

“Where, Angel? Say it.”

She shook her head.

“The moment you say the word, I take them in my mouth, one by one until you’re begging me to feast lower. Say it.”

“P-uss-y.” One word, three distinct syllables on the heavy pants his expert touch prompted.

He pulled one diamond-hard nipple into his mouth while he continued to draw the other to a bright red, toe-curling peak. Her sensitive tip nestled inflexible, unyielding, against the palette of his mouth as he pulled her in, driving her higher and higher. She arched her back to grant him equal access to the other nipple, begging to not be forgotten. His wide, capable hands cupped the slight weight of her breasts into two prominent mounds of cleavage while he licked and toyed and sucked her nipples in tandem. Every turn of attention shot a spiral of gravity and a fresh wash of need straight between her legs.

“Please…”

“Anything.”

“Lower.”

“On your knees, Angel.”

She thought he might want her to beg, but that wasn’t Samson and nothing so far had been about him. She wanted it to be—god, how she wanted to please him—but his attention on her was relentless. From behind, he used his knee to urge her legs spread wide. The stiff line of his cock teased the ridge of her ass then pulled away. His body heat disappeared. She glanced over her shoulder to discover he had settled on his back. He positioned her knees at his shoulders, her saturated mound above his lips.

He dotted her thighs with chaste kisses, prolonging the inevitable. She might have cursed him had his hands not clenched the cheeks of her ass. He aligned her into position. Down the plane of her belly, her gaze collided with his. Gone was the glimmer of play, all hint of a game, replaced by an unmistakable cloud of lust. Arms wrapped around her thighs, he anchored her in place.

“So
fucking
perfect.” Puffs of air from his word teased her flesh.

Angela shivered.

His tongue danced one firm flick across her pleats, nearly severing her ability to keep her knees firmly planted. The sleek arch of the jet’s body offered no purchase for her to grab, catapulting her further into a pleasured abyss of his creation. He alternated probing with his tongue and drawing her into his mouth, much as he had with her nipples, until she could no more kneel than she could speak. She braced her palms against the bed and twisted the duvet cover in her grip.

Still, it wasn’t enough. Somehow, she knew the only thing to combat the mounting ache was him, inside her. She begged one final time, directing everything he had taught her—the command over her body, asking for precisely what she wanted, using words far beyond any she had ever uttered—into a fevered plea for relief from the relentless rush toward…something she couldn’t imagine.

And then he was gone. A sigh of protest escaped her. She mourned the loss of him where her need weighed heaviest. She couldn’t imagine anything that would surpass the mind-numbing ecstasy that had befallen her, but in the next moment, she heard the rip of a package, watched Samson sheathe himself in one practiced stroke, and knew the overloaded sensation of his warm hand at the small of her back and his thick, rigid cock parting her cleft from behind.

She tossed an inquisitive stare over her shoulder. Observing the slow, hypnotic rhythm of her body taking him deeper and him edging out of her, his carbon-strength cock shiny with her liquid, threatened her sanity more than his intense gaze, a gaze that rivaled the moment of their alley escape, six hundred horsepower at his mercy.
In, out, in, out…
The friction of his thrusts impaled her far, far out of her head, past thought or reason.