I sit in the bathroom for what seems like forever. I don’t think I heard Sam leave, but I’m hoping he took the hint. My ass hurts from sitting on the hard toilet seat for so long. I’m also still wearing the towel and Pops’s coat. Ugh, that old detective guy had on as old a trench coat as mine. I cringe, thinking we have that in common. I’m also wondering…Where the hell is Lauren?She should have been here by now. I wait a few more minutes, but when I can’t take it anymore, I turn the knob slowly and hear the lock click free. I pull the door open a crack but don’t see any macho men around. I step out and into my bedroom and see Sam sitting on my bed, leaning forward with his head in his hands. “I thought you left.”
He looks up at me suddenly. “Let me explain.”
I ignore him, pulling off my coat. I’m torn. Should I remove the towel in front of him? Oh, who the hell cares at this point? I pull off the towel and bend to get into my underwear drawer. The groan I hear coming from him is deep and raspy. “MacKenzie. You trying to kill me?”
I continue to ignore him. If I pretend he’s not here, maybe he’ll get the hint.
No such luck. I feel him before I hear him. His palms slide up my backside until they’re wrapped around my waist. “Baby, you’ve got to listen to me,” he whispers through the hair on my neck. I want to moan, but I remain quiet. I attempt to slip on some panties, but he pulls them from my grip and tosses them behind him. “You’re going to listen to me, MacKenzie.”
I sigh. “Fine. Talk. But make it snappy. I’m hungry.” I’m always hungry, but especially when I’m scared. Or sad, mad, glad, tired, or wide awake. You get the idea.
He chuckles as he moves the hair away from my neck. He bites down on the pulse point beneath my ear. This time, I do moan. “Hurry up and say what you need to say,” I pant.
“Kent Jones is a dick. I’ve known him for years, and he’s an asshole when he knows something personal about you. I don’t want him to know anything about us. It’s true; we did just fuck last night. It’s also true that we just started seeing each other.”
As he talks, Sam’s hands slide up to cup my breasts. Pinching and pulling on my nipples is making it hard to concentrate on his words. “Sam,” I whine.
“Kent Jones is a gossipy old lady. If he thinks you’re my woman and then he puts the word out that my woman has had a break-in, I’ll never hear the end of it. So, yeah, I was probably too proud and maybe an asshole, too, but I was also protecting you. Does that make sense?”
“Sort of.” I noticed he didn’t actually apologize.
“I’m sorry I said what I said. But I said it so my personal life doesn’t become gossip fodder for the Chicago PD.”
As he’s talking, one of his hands has moved down between my legs. He’s running his finger slowly around and around my achy, overly sensitive clit. Breathlessly, I say, “Okay. You’re forgiven.”
“Finally. Did you say you were hungry?”
I blinked at the subject change. “Starving,” I admitted.
“I’ve got something you could eat.”
I giggle uncontrollably when I realize what he’s talking about. Stress giggles. I turn in his arms. “You’ve got such a dirty mouth, Sam Stone. I suppose I do owe you for coming to my rescue.” I run my hand over the zipper of his jeans.
He pulls my hand away and frowns at me. “I never want you to suck my dick out of gratitude for something I’ve done for you, MacKenzie.” His tone is pissed.
I gulp. “I, uh….”
“The only time I want that from you is if you’re turned on and youwantto do it,” he continues. He laughs, but it’s not a happy laugh—more like he’s still pissed.
“Iamturned on.” I tentatively touch his fly, looking up at his face, waiting for his reaction.
He gives me a small smile and an even smaller nod.
“I’m just torn between doing that”—I nod to his hardness—“and ordering food from Mama Mabel’s. I can’t help it, I need comfort food. Mac and cheese… and fried chicken.”
Now his laugh sounds genuine. “Jesus, MacKenzie. You’re going to be the death of me. But, my woman wants food. I’m gonna get her food.”
He turns to leave, but I pull him back to me and gently tug on his arm to position him where I want him—his back is to my bed. I push him down to the bed and kneel between his legs. I sneak a peek at his face, feeling a bit shy, and he flashes a small smile that encourages me. “I’m doing this because I’m turned on,” I say quietly. It’s true, I am turned on. And concentrating on Sam helps me put the intruder out of my mind. It’s a win-win.
Moving my hands to his belt buckle, I slowly unbuckle it and unbutton his jeans. But my progress is thwarted because I can’t unzip his jeans. His penis is so engorged that there is no room to negotiate the zipper down. Sam stands up to give me the room I need. I pull the zipper open and pull his jeans and boxers down. His huge penis springs out, nearly hitting me in the face. Nervously, I giggle for a minute, stealing a look at his eyes.
He’s not laughing. He looks so serious that I think I’ve pissed him off. But he gently slides his palm over the top of my head. Oh, shit. That touch on my head is hugely sexy. It’s just like it’sdescribed in one of my hot, sexy romance novels. A small sigh escapes me. I’m so turned on but I’m nervous that Sam may know I’ve never given anyone a blowjob. I’ve read a lot about it, and I tell myself I can do a decent job. Maybe Sam will never know.
“You ever done this before, sweetheart?”
Dammit. How did he know? “No,” I admit.
For some reason, that seems to make him happy. That confuses me a little. You’d think he’d prefer an experienced BJ giver. Why would a guy want a novice’s mouth around his you-know-what? For a minute, my confusion accelerates, and I almost panic. What if I hurt him? I know how much his, um, thing means to him—isn’t that true of all guys?
