Page 47 of Allegiant

Life doesn’t allow me to keep anything that brings me joy.

For a little while, I refuse to think about that. It joins the box full of other thoughts I won’t allow myself to explore.

Right now, I’m happy to live in denial.

We fit together perfectly. I lean forward and bring him in for a long kiss. He hasn’t denied me anything yet. I don’t think he wants to. Or maybe he doesn’t know how to.

That joins the other dangerous thoughts.

Samson hasn’t left me at night either. He’s there when my body searches for him in the midnight hours. If he has a job he’s meant to be at, he hasn’t said anything about it.

And I haven’t asked.

His hand around my cock brings me back to the present, and I feel myself start to crest, my orgasm close.

He’s close too, our bodies in sync, our orgasms pulsing through us at the same time. My cock jerks in his hand, and he grunts, hips slamming up into me.

I feel it then, his release filling me. So much cum.

I’ve had to bring a change of underwear and tights when dancing the last two days, just in case. I should have him use a condom, but I don’t want to.

Feeling the sting, the drip of him on my thighs makes me forget how bad it’s all going to be. Very soon. So fucking soon.

I fall forward, my head resting on his shoulder, my lips brushing against his pulse point. I feel it thundering there. I sigh happily, feeling his cock soften and slip from me. His hand strokes up and down my back, massaging my neck before dragging down my spine and cupping my ass.

I have zero desire to move from my place here, but my stomach gives a loud growl, and Samson chuckles. “You’re hungry.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve burned a lot of calories today.”

I still don’t move, so he just cradles me closer and stands up, his muscles straining as he does. I’ll never get over how strong he is. I mean, I might be smaller, but I’m mostly muscle from years of dancing. The fact that he can just carry me around is… Well, it easily makes me hard.

“Let’s get you something to eat, then. I made dinner.”

He’s a fabulous cook, which is great because I’ve been known to burn water. I can bake, but cooking is another territory entirely. But Samson knows his way around the kitchen as well as he does my body. It’s something I’ve come to learn about him the past two days.

This knowledge is another blow to my sanity. There is no way I’m coming out the other side of this unbroken.

But I know this can’t continue. I don’t deserve it. Not after what I did.

I’m settled onto a chair with a cushion, and a blanket is wrapped around my shoulders. Samson doesn’t even bother to clean up or put on clothes, just walks naked to the kitchen, pulling down two plates. Nugget dances around his legs, yapping with joy that we’ve reappeared. He doesn’t seem to notice our frequent disappearances until we return, which is good.

I’m not sure I’ll survive any additional guilt at the moment.

“Chicken Alfredo,” he announces, lifting the lid off the crock pot. The aroma of cream and parmesan hits my nose, and my stomach rumbles once more.

“Smells amazing.”

“Just don’t tell Nonna that I used a crock pot for this, but I had to do some work today while you were out.”

I know he’s a Buckingham, but I still don’t know what keeps him busy when I’m at the studio. Just know it’s a family business. I don’t bother asking. I can’t. I don’t want to know more about Samson.

Everything I’ve learned already shows he’s too perfect for me.

Which makes him the most dangerous man I’ve ever met.

A plate is set down in front of me, and a glass of red wine, and I bend forward and shovel the food into my mouth. Nugget is happily munching his own kibble, which Samson filled his dish with before serving ours up.

He seriously needs to stop being so thoughtful.