And there is nothing merely adequate about Samson's cock.
I smile as my fingers run over the velvety smoothness that is his manhood, thinking to myself that if he led with this instead of a scowl or dismissive word, he could have sex with any woman he wanted.
He runs his hands over my ass, tugging down my panties, and I step out of them. They are discarded next to my ripped tights, my skirt, and top. He expertly unclasps my bra.
Maybe he does have sex with anyone he wants. Left and right, all the sex. That is the kind of man Samson is. He does what he wants and doesn’t ask permission. He certainly didn’t ask his brother if he minded.
This is the kind of man I need. The kind of man I’ve been waiting for. His thumbs roll over my nipples. My eyelids flutter, not intentionally, I’m just so overcome with this unexpected sensation. My body being covered by the hands of this ripped and rugged mountain man.
His mouth is on my neck, his beard tickling my collarbone, and my pussy is dripping wet.
Clichés be damned, right now, this is a fucking dream come true.
“You like it when I touch you?” He’s asking a question that he clearly doesn’t need an answer for because his hands have moved to my pussy, and he feels how wet I am for him.
So, I don’t answer, but I do let out a soft moan, because how could I not?
I haven’t been touched like this in so long. Maybe forever.
Why have I been with so many fucking idiots over the years? Why didn’t I hold out for Samson?
“You know how to touch my cock nice and good, don’t you?” Here he goes with the questions again, questions I can’t answer. Because why would I need to?
With his boxers on the floor, I look down and take in his cock in all its full, hard, glory.
“I’ve had sex before, if that’s what you’re asking,” I tell Samson.
“That’s not what I was asking. I was just saying you’re good at touching me. I like that. I like that you know how to touch me, nice and slowly.”
My heart goes pitter-patter. Yes.
And I unabashedly lap it up. I milk this romantic, swept-off-my-feet, unexpected rendezvous in my living room. This is the kind of romance I’ve dreamed about.
This is why I’m so happy my sister is having a perfect wedding, a perfect marriage, and a perfect life. I want that for her; I want that for everyone.
I may be an artist, but I’m a romantic at heart, and this is what my daydreams are made of.
A man touching me, so unrestrained, his hands running all over my skin as if he owns me. His cock in my hand, my pussy wet, my body his.
“So, you don’t care that you’re not my first?”
I don’t know why I feel this desire, this need, to push this question even further. Especially since this is just a hookup. A one-night stand. He’s the one who called it that.
Which of course, it must be, because he is my sister's fiancé's brother. He lives a million miles away, in the woods. He doesn’t have a real job. He’s a recluse. A not-creep. He’s absolutely not the kind of man I need.
I always go for these sorts of men: unavailable, uncommitted...… ohh damn.
I need to get out of my freaking head. Samson is running his fingers over my pussy, and I exhale after having forgotten to breathe.
Oh, my God. That’s it. That’s exactly it. I can’t think anymore because Samson has pressed his fingers inside my pussy, he’s rolling his thumb over my clit like he knows exactly what to do.
Because he clearly does. A man like him has done this a hundred times before. I’m glad to be his hundred and first. Because that means he has had lots and lots of practice.
“Oh, my God, Samson, that feels so so...”
“Fucking good?”
“Too many questions,” I moan.
“Just give me an answer.”
“Yes,” I forfeit. “So, fucking good.”
He grins and picks me up—yes, literally lifting me off the ground with his ridiculous biceps. “Where’s the bedroom?”
I smile, wrapping my legs around him, feeling weightless and beautiful and like a girl in a movie because no guy has ever attempted to pick me up like this — or would have been even capable of doing so— and yet here Samson is, all strong arms and persistence.
Samson is my deepest fantasies come to life.
I point to my room and he carries me there, I see a look of doubt cross his face as he enters my bright white and pale pink bedroom.
“I don’t think I’ve ever set foot in a bedroom that makes me feel more out of place,” he says as he sets me down on the floor. He towers over me and I look up at him, smiling, teasing.