Slow, slow molasses.
When he finished, he shifted the safety glasses to the top of his head and shoved his gloves in his back pocket. "Why are you sitting on my table and looking guilty?" he asked.
"I'm having some very dirty thoughts about you right now, and I got drunk at lunch and I broke Shannon," I blurted.
Sam braced his hands on either side of me and leaned forward. "Tell me all your dirty thoughts, drunk girl."
Oh, hell. Those arms.
I was raking my gaze over them like they were fresh meat.
"I broke Shannon," I repeated, but instead of retreating, Sam moved farther into my space. His lips coasted over my neck and across my chest. He pulled my sweater down, exposing the swell of my breasts. He buried his face there, kissing, licking, sucking.
"Was this one of your dirty thoughts?" he asked.
There were going to be marks. Little red spots where his teeth closed around my tender flesh with the right amount of pressure to leave memories tomorrow, but not enough to break the skin. They felt like everything, all at once, and I loved it.
"I have to confess my sins," I said, gasping as Sam's tongue found my nipple. "Lunch was really bad. IbrokeShannon. I said all the wrong things and then Riley had to pick me up, and now he's off fixing plaster because it's quiet."
Sam gazed up at me from between my breasts, his eyebrow arched. "Is Shannon in immediate danger?"
"Unlikely," I said, thinking back to Tattooed-and-Toweled in her apartment, and his fierce, possessive stare.
"Outstanding," he said as he hauled me off the table. "I'm gonna take advantage of you now, drunk girl. Let's go talk about your dirty thoughts."
Sam marched me into our bedroom, one hand locked on my breast, the other unlatching my belt. His mouth was on my neck, and I could feel him hard against my backside.
"You look like you could do terrible things to me, and then smile about it."
"Oh, I really could," he said, his hand sliding into my jeans. "You need to be spanked."
"Yes," I moaned, melting into him.
He cupped me over my panties, rhythmically squeezing and releasing until I was aching. "It wasn't a question."
There it was: the subtle shift in our power dynamic. Gone was Fiancé Sam, the one who shared all the household chores with me, the one who was exceedingly sweet and respectful as a matter of fact. In his place was Bedroom Sam, the one who was known to rip off my underwear and fashion it into a gag, or tease me until I wascryingwith need, or leave discernible handprints on my ass.
I loved Bedroom Sam, and I loved the people he let us be here. He understood me and everything I needed, even when I didn't understand it. There was something gorgeously liberating about gaining freedom from my own thoughts, and I merrily surrendered to him every time he demanded it and not only because it was good for me—it was fan-fucking-tastic—but it was good for him, too. It shuttered his smooth, charming façade and funneled it into a flavor of loosely chained aggression that looked better on him than any low-slung jeans or three-piece suit in existence.
His grip tightened on me for a long moment, and when it relaxed, the ache between my legs was now a drum-beating throb. "You need someone to take care of this pretty little pussy, don't you? Someone to make it feel better?"
"Yesssss," I said. Then I remembered. "Wait, no, I still have my period. It's just about over, but—"
"Don't care," Sam murmured against my neck. "Now take my clothes off."
Turning in his arms, I yanked the tank top over his head and drank in the sight of him. The jeans accentuated the deep grooves chiseled into his belly, the angular lines directing all attention between his legs.
"Mmmm, it's like you're not even real," I sighed, running my fingers down his chest and abs. "I'm so lucky. Have I told you that? I look at you, and all I can think is,boom. My panties just melted. Then I think, let me lick that boy's cock."
His head tipped back as his eyes drifted shut with a laugh, and I watched the rise and fall of his chest as he blew out a breath, my fingers mapping the movement in wonder.I get to keep you, I thought, and pressure swelled in my chest as I realized, for the millionth time, that this man belonged to me. He was going to be my husband, the father of my babies, the one I grew old and most likely senile with, the one meant all for me.
"But you're not allowed to come in my mouth," I said, my words thick and slow. "Or on my tits. Nope. We're done with that, and will you help me brew some tea later?"
"I'm going to count to five," Sam said, holding up his hand. "And when I'm finished, I want you naked and kneeling."
I nodded toward the bathroom. "Give me a minute first, but…" I bit my lower lip and lifted my eyebrows. "Maybe you could finish getting undressed and stroke your cock until I get back? Or, if you wanted to keep doing it, I wouldn't mind watching."
"You have one minute," Sam said, biting out each word. "And when that minute is over, I expect to see you on your knees with my cock in your mouth, and you will not be calling the plays anymore, sweetheart."
