Samson's Lovely Mortal
Page 8
With his hand on her neck he stroked her eagerly while his hand on her round ass couldn’t stop caressing her and pressing her harder against him. His cock was rock hard and ready to burst. Samson couldn’t remember ever having had an erection like this, not in the last hundred and fifty years anyway.
There was no way he’d let her go before he’d thoroughly fucked her. He wanted to bury himself in her for as long as he could and find the pleasure which had eluded him in the last nine months.
Samson swallowed more of her taste, gulped down more of her scent, and all of a sudden his nostrils flared.
Damn, what the hell was he doing?
Shit!
He wasn’t kissing a vampire. She tasted human! His friends were killing him. They’d gotten him a human stripper! They should have warned him at least. He would hurt her if he wasn’t careful. If he lost control, he could bite her and drink her blood. Those idiots!
And then he felt the pain, a sharp, stabbing und unexpected pain on his foot. He instantly let go of her and winced, hopping on one foot in an attempt to relieve the throbbing. She had driven her high heel into his Italian designer shoe with all her force.
What the fuck?
What had gotten into her? She’d kissed him back, she’d responded to him. There was no reason for her sudden outburst. And besides, Ricky had said she did extras. As he stared at her in disbelief, she glared at him furiously, and as if that wasn’t enough, she slapped him right across the cheek.
Bam!
Stifled laughter behind him made him spin around in record speed. There they were: all his friends, watching him get hit by a woman. This would go down in the history books, the night Samson got slapped by a human female. What else was planned for his utter humiliation?
“What the hell are you doing, Samson?” Ricky asked.
“What do you think I’m doing? I’m having fun with the stripper you got me for my birthday.” Since when was Ricky all prim and proper? After all, this was his idiotic idea.
“Stripper?” the woman yelled. “I’m not a stripper!”
Ricky shook his head, and the guys behind him couldn’t suppress their stupid grins like they were a bunch of college kids and not full-grown vampires.
“Are you blind, man? This is the stripper.” Ricky tilted his head to the woman in the short nurse’s uniform and garter belt who stood amongst his friends. Samson’s eyes ping-ponged between the nurse and the damsel in distress, then finally settled on Ricky. The truth was written on the redheaded vampire’s shocked face.
“That” —Ricky pointed at the furious woman next to Samson—“is a seriously pissed off lady, to whom you owe a huge apology. I’d start groveling right now.”
Good advice. Samson winced inwardly.
“Happy Birthday,” Amaury, his oldest friend, said. If he was trying to diffuse the situation, he’d have to work harder at it, because it sure wasn’t working.
“And congratulations,” Thomas added, grinning, but he wasn’t congratulating him on his birthday. His eyes were fixed on Samson’s crotch. Nothing could escape Thomas’ keen eyes, ever, especially when it came to a male body. Samson understood immediately, but it didn’t make the situation any more comfortable. Eventually he’d have to face the woman he’d kissed so passionately, and it wasn’t something he felt comfortable with. Especially not with the raging hard-on bulging under his slacks. A hard-on which did not want to go down, not as long as he had her taste on his tongue.
She brushed past him to get out of the room. He couldn’t just let her leave. He owed her more than an apology. She had healed what his shrink hadn’t been able to fix even after many months of weekly sessions. He had to do something, anything.
“Miss.”
She continued walking as if she hadn’t heard him. The guys parted to let her through.
“Please. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I thought you were the … I’m sorry. You must think I’m a savage. Please, Miss, let me offer you some dry clothes, something to warm you up. I’ll have my chauffeur drive you home.”
She stopped and hesitated at the door.
“Please.” He didn’t care that his friends were watching him beg. He would deal with them later. Strangely, all he now wanted was for her not to be mad at him. He didn’t understand why he even cared; after all, she was only a human. Finally, her shoulders appeared to drop as if the tension in them released.
Delilah turned and looked at him. She knew it was still raining outside, and the thought of dry clothes and somebody driving her home was tempting, especially since she wasn’t quite sure if she would even find her way back to the apartment. Besides, the thug could still be lurking outside somewhere, and then she wouldn’t be any better off than before.
There was no way he’d let her go before he’d thoroughly fucked her. He wanted to bury himself in her for as long as he could and find the pleasure which had eluded him in the last nine months.
Samson swallowed more of her taste, gulped down more of her scent, and all of a sudden his nostrils flared.
Damn, what the hell was he doing?
Shit!
He wasn’t kissing a vampire. She tasted human! His friends were killing him. They’d gotten him a human stripper! They should have warned him at least. He would hurt her if he wasn’t careful. If he lost control, he could bite her and drink her blood. Those idiots!
And then he felt the pain, a sharp, stabbing und unexpected pain on his foot. He instantly let go of her and winced, hopping on one foot in an attempt to relieve the throbbing. She had driven her high heel into his Italian designer shoe with all her force.
What the fuck?
What had gotten into her? She’d kissed him back, she’d responded to him. There was no reason for her sudden outburst. And besides, Ricky had said she did extras. As he stared at her in disbelief, she glared at him furiously, and as if that wasn’t enough, she slapped him right across the cheek.
Bam!
Stifled laughter behind him made him spin around in record speed. There they were: all his friends, watching him get hit by a woman. This would go down in the history books, the night Samson got slapped by a human female. What else was planned for his utter humiliation?
“What the hell are you doing, Samson?” Ricky asked.
“What do you think I’m doing? I’m having fun with the stripper you got me for my birthday.” Since when was Ricky all prim and proper? After all, this was his idiotic idea.
“Stripper?” the woman yelled. “I’m not a stripper!”
Ricky shook his head, and the guys behind him couldn’t suppress their stupid grins like they were a bunch of college kids and not full-grown vampires.
“Are you blind, man? This is the stripper.” Ricky tilted his head to the woman in the short nurse’s uniform and garter belt who stood amongst his friends. Samson’s eyes ping-ponged between the nurse and the damsel in distress, then finally settled on Ricky. The truth was written on the redheaded vampire’s shocked face.
“That” —Ricky pointed at the furious woman next to Samson—“is a seriously pissed off lady, to whom you owe a huge apology. I’d start groveling right now.”
Good advice. Samson winced inwardly.
“Happy Birthday,” Amaury, his oldest friend, said. If he was trying to diffuse the situation, he’d have to work harder at it, because it sure wasn’t working.
“And congratulations,” Thomas added, grinning, but he wasn’t congratulating him on his birthday. His eyes were fixed on Samson’s crotch. Nothing could escape Thomas’ keen eyes, ever, especially when it came to a male body. Samson understood immediately, but it didn’t make the situation any more comfortable. Eventually he’d have to face the woman he’d kissed so passionately, and it wasn’t something he felt comfortable with. Especially not with the raging hard-on bulging under his slacks. A hard-on which did not want to go down, not as long as he had her taste on his tongue.
She brushed past him to get out of the room. He couldn’t just let her leave. He owed her more than an apology. She had healed what his shrink hadn’t been able to fix even after many months of weekly sessions. He had to do something, anything.
“Miss.”
She continued walking as if she hadn’t heard him. The guys parted to let her through.
“Please. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I thought you were the … I’m sorry. You must think I’m a savage. Please, Miss, let me offer you some dry clothes, something to warm you up. I’ll have my chauffeur drive you home.”
She stopped and hesitated at the door.
“Please.” He didn’t care that his friends were watching him beg. He would deal with them later. Strangely, all he now wanted was for her not to be mad at him. He didn’t understand why he even cared; after all, she was only a human. Finally, her shoulders appeared to drop as if the tension in them released.
Delilah turned and looked at him. She knew it was still raining outside, and the thought of dry clothes and somebody driving her home was tempting, especially since she wasn’t quite sure if she would even find her way back to the apartment. Besides, the thug could still be lurking outside somewhere, and then she wouldn’t be any better off than before.
