She sighed heavily. The sigh differed from the ones she’d been emitting during their kiss. This one? It matched the delight that softened her beautiful features as she tangled her fingers in his hair. She tugged on them, and the prickle across his scalp tripped down his spine, crackled at the base. He clutched her hips, digging his fingertips into the soft flesh.
With a growl, he skated his palms up the sides of her torso. Desperate to discover if his imagination matched reality, he impatiently tugged at her clothes and wasted no time in pushing the material over her shoulders and down her arms. She obliged him, freeing his hair and joining him in getting rid of the clothing. All of her was perfect, Samson discovered as he moved his hand touched the silky heat of her bare flesh, caressing upwards, until his fingers curved about the soft, up-tilting swell of her breast. Not too small. Not too large. Just a perfect fit in the palm of his hand.
“No.” The word escaped him before he could trap it.
“No?” she repeated, and he caught the hint of insecurity that crept into her voice. She started to lift her arms toward her torso, but he latched on to her wrists, lowering her arms back down before she could cross them.
“I mean,…. My imagination doesn’t match reality. Doesn’t even fucking compete.” He cupped a breast and hissed at the delicious weight of her flesh filling his palm.
Warm, soft, perfect. Reverently, he whisked his thumb over the nipple, watching in fascination as it beaded. No, she wasn’t the first woman he’d touched like this, but none had been her. He tore his gaze from his hand on her to meet her eyes. “Nothing or no one could fucking compete.”
Her lips parted, but no words emerged. Good. He was saying enough for both of them. Bending his head, he sucked a tip deep, flicking his tongue against her flesh before drawing hard. Isabella shuddered, her hands cradling his head, holding him to her with a strength that telegraphed her passion. That and the nails pricking his scalp. His own body throbbed anew as Isabella gave a throaty groan and her head dropped back. Samson moved the soft pad of his thumb against the puckered pout of her nipple and her breathing becoming laboured and ragged. He kissed down the length of her creamy throat so that his tongue and teeth could seek out the hollows at the base of her neck.
Switching breasts, he treated the other to the same devotion. She writhed against him, as if seeking to get closer. Cooperating, he fisted the hem of her skirt and shoved it up her thighs. With a whimper, she pressed harder onto him…. pressing them sex to sex.
He growled around her flesh, suckling harder. And she rewarded his attention with a dirty grind of her hips that had him throwing his head back against the seat, eyes squeezed closed. Her panties and his pants and underwear separated them, but none of those consequential details mattered. Not when her hot, wet heat rode him. Not when each drag of her flesh over his cock shredded his control.
She tasted better than anything Samson had ever experienced before. The feel of her skin against his lips was a beguiling combination of feminine softness and spice. He could feel the heat of Isabella’s arousal as she pressed her hips into his, sensed how ready she was for him.
So ready that Samson wanted to lie her down on the car seat and take her right here and now. To thrust into her time and time again, until she screamed out his name as she climaxed, wildly, fiercely, as spasm after spasm of pleasure wrapped itself around him and she took him over that edge with her.
He ground his arousal against her tempting heat in an effort to relieve some of the fierceness of his own need. He succeeded only in increasing that need until he could only move rhythmically against her, the barrier of his clothing no hindrance to the heat, the satisfaction he found between Isabella’s legs as he continued to surge against her. Again and again. Harder. Faster. Until Samson felt he would lose his mind if he didn‟t soon possess her for real!
“Give me your mouth again,” he ordered, in a voice so guttural he barely understood himself.
But she must’ve translated it, because she gave him what he asked for, her hips still working over him. She didn’t stop, and the thrust of her tongue and pull of her lips mimicked each stroke below. Even as she yanked his jacket open and attacked his shirt, damn near ripping buttons loose to get her hands on his bare chest.
They groaned into each other when she touched him. Those slender, clever hands swept down his chest, stoking and making him grunt.
“How is it possible that you just get more beautiful?” she whispered. He parted his lips to tell her she was the stunning one, not him, but she ripped away his ability to talk by brushing her fingertips over his nipples, rubbing them. His hips bucked into her. Live wires connected from her touch to the tip of his dick.
He swelled, throbbing, hurting.
“I need to be inside you, Belle” he rasped against her mouth. He abandoned her breasts and burrowed his fingers in her hair, gripping it, holding her still so he could stare into those slumberous eyes. “Are you going to let me?”
“Yes,” she breathed, trailing a route of fire over his clenched abs to the band of his pants.
“Are you going to let me take you?” he pressed as he braced himself against her and buried his head in the crook of her neck, trying to hide from her that he was shaking like a teenager experiencing his first sexual encounter. This human woman drove every sane thought out of his body.
“I want you, Samson. I want you inside me”
That meant so much to him, but he wanted to say more. He’d wanted to tell her what he felt when he was with her, but he couldn’t. He barely knew her. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what he was feeling. She would think he was crazy. He probably was. And besides, it would never work: he was still a vampire. He shouldn’t even feel the things he felt with her, but he couldn’t understand this attraction… This connection.