Another picture comes in, and I’m already walking to the door, because I know that what I’m about to see will be enough to send me straight to her. Her legs are parted, and she has one finger in. I can see how wet she is, even from this picture. She’s blushing, biting her lip. And when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, she sent another text.
Sam: PLEASE come and get me soon bt hs hudnsk
Sam: i’m so wet for you i need you insde of me NOW
Sam: my pussk is rdhy for you
Even with all the typos, this is the dirtiest text she has sent me.
I pull up outside the bar like a man who has beenpossessed.
The second I step inside, I spot her.
She’s trying,trying, to pretend she’s fine. She’s laughing too hard, shifting in her seat too much, biting her lip every time her thighs press together. The girls are distracted, which is the only reason she hasn’t combusted yet.
She looks up, and her entire body reacts like she’s been waiting for me for hours. Her breath stutters. Her hand grips the edge of the table. Her knees go tight, like she’s holding onto whatever torture I left her with. “Theo…”
I lean down, brush my mouth near her ear, and murmur low enough for only her, “Stand up, let’s go.” She does, shaky, flushed, pupils blown. Rose snorts, “Why does Sam look like she’s seeing Jesus?”
“Good night, ladies, I’ll have a driver on standby for all of you when you’re ready to leave, just so you get home safe.”
My hand slides around Sam’s waist—firm, possessive, and I steer her out of the bar. She doesn’t protest. She practically melts into my arms. The girls look at each other, nod, thank me, and just laugh.
The second the car door shuts, she’s on the edge of the seat, thighs rubbing, breath unsteady. I start the car, and she puts a hand on my thigh. And her other hand? It slides down between her legs. Oh fuck. I grip the wheel until my knuckles go white. “Sam,” I warn. She looks at me with that needy, drunk, reckless softness that’s going to end me.
“I waited,” she whispers.
Her voice is a tremor. “But—I can’t anymore. It’s too much, Theo.” Her fingers move under her dress. I can barely see in this darkness, but I see the movement. “You’re going to make me crash the damn car. ”
“Then don’t drive. Do me right here,” she breathes, leaning closer, her forehead almost on my shoulder, as her hand starts to undo my pants. “Samantha.” My voice is rough, dark. She laughs, opens her legs even wider, one leg on the passenger door, the other by the console, takes one finger into her mouth, then into her. I don’t know how I didn’t fucking crash on the way home.
But the moment the door closed behind us, she’s done, we’re done.
I press her back against it, caging her in. Her chest rises fast, desperate. She reaches for me, but I’m done being patient. I grab her hips, turn her, and guide her straight toward the kitchen like I’ve lost every civilized bone in my body. She stumbles, laughing breathlessly, “Theo?—”
“Don’t.” My voice is low, lethal. “You knew exactly what you were doing the whole way here. Now it’s my turn.” Her back hits the edge of the counter. I step between her legs, spreading them with my hands until she gasps. I drag her dress up, slow and ruthless, exposing her inch by inch until she’s trembling.
“Look at you,” I murmur, my mouth hovering over her stomach, her hips. “Shaking and dripping wet for me.”
She closes her eyes, head dropping back. I tilt her chin up with a single finger.
“Keep your eyes open,” I ordered. “You’re not missing a second of how I’ll make you fall apart.” Then I pull her up to the counter, right where I want her, where she can feel every move, where she knows exactly what I’m about to do without me having to describe it. I kiss her thigh.
She’s trembling, and I can see how wet she is right now. And when she whispers, “Theo, please?—”
I grip her thighs, drag her closer, and give her exactly what she’s been begging for since the first text she sent tonight.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
sam
Theo’s mouthis on me, and there’s no universe where I survive this.
But I need to remind myself that I caused this. The stupid champagne made me horny, and here we are. Not that I’m complaining.
I would never.
My hands are in his hair before I even realize I’ve moved. I’m shaking—like actually shaking, because he’s not being gentle. He’s not being patient, he’s devouring me with this single-minded, controlled, obsessive intensity that has my legs trembling against the counter.
