Page 15 of Allegiant

He pushes against me harder, our rhythm faltering, but I don’t care. I just want this to keep going. I want to get off.

I had no idea this would happen when I started the day, but I like that this guy keeps showing up. Well, he’s shown up twice, but still. I don’t mind it. It takes my mind off all the things. In this moment, I’m just present with him, thinking only of what he could do to me in private. The fear I had about going there again is nowhere to be found now that I’m pressed against him.

I’m spun around, our bodies facing the mirror now. His hands tighten on my waist, pulling my ass back against his cock. We writhe like that for a moment, his cheeks pink, his hair slightly mussed.

I see it again. That raven on his bicep. Something about it is ominous, something telling. I just can’t put my finger on it.

“You’re dangerous,” he says in my ear, his warm breath hitting the shell of it.

I shudder, my head falling back against his shoulder. “Am I?”

“Yes,” he murmurs, biting at it, making me moan as he continues to roll his hips in a movement that’s driving me crazy.

One of his hands leaves my waist, and I feel it run down the front of my leggings, cupping my hard cock, squeezing it. I gasp, my hand winding up and around me to clutch at his hair.

Samson’s face is tucked into my neck as he teases me. The two of us paint an obscene picture in the mirror, one I can’t tear my eyes away from.

He takes me quickly to the edge, but before I can fall over it, before I can spill into my pants, he drags his hand away and slides it up to my neck. He squeezes it gently—a promise of some sort.

I just moan at the sensation.

Two fingers push between my lips, and I lave my tongue around them, our bodies continuing to rock into each other. I watch us in the mirror as he sucks marks onto my neck. He can’t look away either.

Samson likes what he sees. I can feel the evidence of it behind me.

His hand falls to my cock again.

Rubbing, sliding, making me wild with need.

I’m close, so fucking close. But each time he strokes up my chest and squeezes my neck, it breaks the cresting orgasm and sends me hurtling back to earth. It’s awful, it’s addictive.

I want more.

I want it all.

And when he falls to his knees behind me, spinning me around so I’m facing him, his face rubbing up and down the bulge in my pants, I thank the gods above that he’s going to suck my cock. That I’m finally going to find release.

My hands tug at his hair, holding on to him tightly. But then he reaches back and pulls out his phone, cursing beneath his breath as he places it to his ear.

He doesn’t stop stroking me though, just continues to rub his cheek against me.

Then I hear him speak.

“Yeah, I’m dancing. So what? And fuck off… No…” He glances up at me. “I’m not. I’m doing my job.”

I’m not sure what job that is, but I don’t think it involves being on his knees in a dance studio, torturing me with his hands and lips.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll fucking be there.”

His thumb presses on the screen, and he pushes it back into his pocket, letting out a long sigh.

A sense of foreboding rattles through me. I can almost see him shutting down before my very eyes, returning to the stranger who watched me from the shadows.

He’s not going to leave me, right? Not like this?

But my worst fears are confirmed when Samson gets to his feet with casual grace that was nowhere to be found when we danced. “I have to go.”

“But…but we were…” I reach out to grab his wrist, but he neatly evades my touch.