Page 38 of Forsaken Vows

I turned away from him and walked down the hallway, arousal making my thighs thump.

By the time I stepped into the bathroom and locked the door behind me, I was shaking again.

I turned the water on hot. Peeled off my clothes slow, one piece at a time. The panties were gone—ripped from my body by another man. My skirt still smelled like him. I could still feel Sam’s fingers digging into my hips.

How was I supposed to get over how he fucked me when he did it so well?

I stepped into the shower and let the water wash down over me, steam filling the glass walls. My hand trailed between my thighs, fingers slipping over my swollen pussy lips.

His cum had leaked out of me.

It turned me on.

I pressed my palm flat against the tile and let my fingers dip inside of me. I fucked myself slow at first. Then faster until my breath hitched. My knees threatened to give again.

Sam had been a bully, and I loved it.

My other hand cupped my breast, thumb rolling over the nipple, thinking about how he gripped my throat and fucked me from behind. How his voice had dropped when he said, “You disrespectful.”

I moaned softly, the water masking my whimpers. My pussy tightened again, the orgasm creeping up fast—too fast—like it had been waiting on me.

When it came, it was sharp. Deep. Like I was confessing something with my whole body.

I leaned my forehead against the wall and tried to breathe.

Sam was chaos. He was going to get me in trouble.

But I hadn’t felt this alive in years.

Chapter 20- Sam

Hard-headed ass.

After showing up at her house, it took until nearly midnight Sunday for her to text me.

I watched my phone all weekend. Every time it lit up, I thought it was her. Every time it wasn’t, it made me want to drive back to her husband’s house and make her realize who she belonged to now. I wasn’t thinking straight. I hadn’t been since the first time she moaned my name with my dick still inside her. But I didn’t care.

When her text finally came, it was short. She asked me for the address to the house we’d be working on, and when I answered, she texted back:

“I’ll meet you at the house tomorrow morning.”

No I miss you.

No explanation as to why she hadn’t called me after I made it very clear she had to.

Now she had me at the house an hour early, waiting for her, wondering if she was pregnant. But I pushed that to the back of my mind.

I stood outside on the front porch, the air thick with heat already, and it wasn’t even eight a.m.—but that was Florida.

The property was a beat-up two-story we were supposed to turn around in ninety days—ugly as hell now, but if she learned how to see past the mess, she could make real money. Build something of her own. Have options again.

I was thinking about that when I heard the crunch of tires on gravel.

Her black G-Wagon pulled up slow, and she climbed out, hair slicked to her head again with waves, black leggings hugging those thick thighs, oversized tee slipping off one shoulder.

I should’ve been pissed at her.

Instead, my first thought was how fast I could get her bent over the hood of her own car.

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