Chapter 6

Samson

I opened the door for Blair, gripping the Burger King bag in one hand. She entered our joint bedroom with the colas in hers, then walked them over to the bedside table and put them down.

“Well,” she said, “isn’t this the best Christmas ever?”

“Burger King? Are you kidding? Better than my last Christmas for sure.”

Blair spun on the spot, a half-frown, half-smile toying with her features. “What was last Christmas?”

“One shot of nasty eggnog and the entire evening going down on the toilet.” And that wasn’t a lie. God damn, that was some foul shit. I’d never fathom how people managed to get it down. It was raw fucking egg without the protein payoff in the gym.

Blair giggled and walked to the four-poster. She sat down on the mattress, then dragged one of the pillows into her lap and worked it. “I shouldn’t have flipped out back there. Shouldn’t have jeopardized this.”

“You stood up for yourself,” I replied. “That’s a good thing.”

Blair shrugged. “Maybe but I’m not sure it’s worth it in the long run. Whatever I say to my mother is like water off a duck’s back. Just rolls right off.”

“Then why did you bother?”

“Because I’m not someone who just lies there and takes it,” she replied and looked up at me. Her almond-shaped eyes flashed and her pouty, blowjob lips drew into a thin line. “I’m not going to back down from a challenge, ever.”

Interesting. I could relate to that. I never backed down from a damn challenge, at least not professionally. Emotionally… that was a different story. I’d discovered early on in life that emotions were complications. They caused unwanted frustration.

“Your mom isn’t worth your time,” I said and walked the bag of burgers to the dresser, plopping it down. “Trust me when I say I have experience in that type of shit.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“What kind of experience?”

I froze, studied my reflection in the mirror and the one of her on the bed behind me. I shrugged off my coat and revealed the long-sleeved button down underneath, pulling tight around my muscles. She sat, long legs crossed, the red dress hitched up on one side, revealing a lot of thigh.

I licked my lips. “Never mind that,” I said.

“What? Why?”

“Because it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you get what you want this Christmas,” I said. “Everything you want.”

And I wanted something for Christmas, too. I wanted her, crying out beneath my touch as she had the night before. I wanted her legs wrapped around my waist. I wanted her pussy tight on my dick.

“All I want right now is a hot bath,” Blair said and got up. She straightened her dress. “So, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. If you’ll excuse me.” She swept by, trailing her perfume, reminded me of a sea breeze on a hot summer’s day, and entered the bathroom. She shut the door behind her.

I stripped off my shirt next, dropping it on the floor. Kicked off my boots, unzipped my jeans, and dropped ‘em to the carpet. Hard planes of muscle, defined abs, and my dick, already swelling at the mere thought of Blair getting naked in that bathroom.

But she’d been through enough to piss her off tonight. It couldn’t have been easy facing her ex and all the other jack asses at that table. Man, that guy needs a face full of fist like I need Blair’s lips around my cock.

I walked to the bathroom door, rapping my knuckles against the wood.

“Come in,” she called out. “Do you need the bathroom? I haven’t gotten undressed yet.”

I opened the door and entered.

Blair turned from fiddling with the faucets in the claw-foot tub and gasped. She tumbled forward and caught herself before she fell face first into scalding hot water. “Christ!”

I rushed to her side, grabbed her by the elbows, and lifted her, placing her on her feet. “You crazy?” I asked.

“Are you? I didn’t expect – dude, you’re naked.”

I placed my arms around her, rested my hands on her back, two fingers pinched on the zipper of her dress. “Dude, I know. I figured you could use a little help. Maybe a massage.”

“A massage,” she said, and gulped.

“Yeah,” I replied. “I’ll massage, and you tell me all about your art and what you want to do with your life. How does that sound?”

“Okay,” she whispered.

I undid the back of her dress, the long zzzzip the only noise but for the water tumbling into the tub. I hooked one finger under the left strap of her dress and another under the right, then tugged.

It fell free, exposing her breasts. Her nipples puckered in the sudden rush of cold air.

I removed her panties, crouching down low and placing kisses against the insides of her thighs, left, right, left, right. She dug fingers into the meat of my back but I didn’t part her legs and eat her out again. Not now.

No, I wanted Blair to relax, fully.

I stood again, then cut off the water. The tub was big enough for both of us, and I helped her into it the, water splashing against the rim.

Blair sank beneath the surface, submerging herself completely. Her hair spread out around her head, drifting in the water like strands of raven seaweed. The water magnified her, every inch – the pink nipples, the curve at her waist and hips, and her long legs, ankles crossed.

If a woman could have a perfect form, this would be it.

She slipped her head above the water and pushed her hair back, steam rising from her skin. “It’s hot,” she said.

“Move forward,” I replied.

She scooched along the bottom of the tub, and the metal squeaked underneath her skin. She laughed then looked back over her shoulder at me. “You can dim the lights,” she said, and pointed to the dial against the wall. “Over there.”

The soft lighting set the mood, and I brought my cell phone into the bathroom and put on some mood music – Jack Johnson.

“I love this,” she said and rocked in the water, eyes closed. “God, this is relaxing.”

“Good.” I got into the water behind her, at last. I winced at the heat but bore it. I sat down behind her, laid my legs either side of her hips, then reached for the sponge hooked to the wall above the bath.

I wet it, soaked up the water, then sluiced it down her back.

Blair sighed, and her skin broke out in goosebumps. “That’s great,” she said.

“You’re stressed,” I replied. “You need to let go of all the tension, Blair. I watched you tonight.”

“Meaning?”

I picked up the soap, wet it under the water, then dragged it over her skin. “Every time you’re in the same room as your mother, your shoulders go stiff as iron fucking rods. You shouldn’t let her affect you that way.”

“Easier said than done,” she said.

And I dropped the topic, focusing instead on lathering up her velvety skin with bubbles, then washing them off again. The soap gathered between us, foamed up in the bath, and I stroked her shoulders next, then gathered her in one arm and tipped her back, supporting her neck.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Quiet,” I replied.

I wet the sponge and smoothed it over her breasts, focusing on the nipples. The flesh bounced, and I couldn’t help my reaction to her – a growing pressure between us. My dick hardened again.

Blair’s eyes glittered by the soft lighting, and she blinked languidly. The slop of water against the bathtub and the melody from my phone were the only sounds, and they reverberated off the tiled walls.

I dragged the sponge over her stomach, dipping a finger into her bellybutton.

She squirmed. “Hey!”

I chuckled. “Just checking you’re still awake.”

“Barely,” she said and yawned to prove it.

I slid the sponge between her legs, parted her thighs, and ran it over her pussy, pressing a little harder, now.

“Okay, okay, I’m awake,” she said, slapping a hand down on the rim of the bathtub. “I’m awake.”

“Calm,” I replied and moved the sponge on, down to her left knee, back up and to her right knee. “Feet next.”

“Are you serious?” Blair asked.

“As a positive pregnancy test.”

“There’s an image.”

I sat her up, then moved to the opposite side of the tub, spilling water over the rim. I settled in, lifted her left foot, and pinched her big toe. She’d French manicured her toenails. Cute. I tickled the underside of her foot, and she wriggled in the water, slip-sliding.

“Hey! Quit it. Samson!”

I chuckled and tortured her for a couple seconds more, then stopped and focused on washing instead. Both feet done, I placed the sponge on the side of the bath and switched to massaging instead.

“Oh, god,” she groaned and pressed her hand to her forehead. “That’s so good. That’s the first time anyone’s ever massaged my feet.”

I kissed the arch of her foot. “You haven’t lived yet.” She truly hadn’t. Not until she’d had me inside her.

“You don’t have to do this, you know. I’m not paying you for any of this. I don’t want you to feel obligated –”

“I only do things I want to do,” I replied and kissed the top of her other foot.

And I want to do you.