Page 50 of His Lair
“Tell me that you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” she says, and I swear I almost come just hearing the words.
Leaning forward, I cup her chin and fuse my mouth with hers. “I fucking love fucking you,” I tell her. “Thisis mine. You are mine.”
Lailani’s arms wrap around my neck. “Yours,” she repeats against my lips.
“Fuck,” I grunt. “I need you to come again.”
Sitting back on my knees, I pinch her clit with my fingers and her body lights up like a fucking firecracker. I pull out and fist my cock. One, two strokes and I’m coming all over her.
Lailani looks down at my cock still squirting seed all over her stomach. “We didn’t use a condom.”
“Sorry.” I shouldn’t have done that. “I’m clean.”
“I know you are,” she says confidently before lifting a brow. “But how do you know that I am?”
“Whatever germs you have, babe, I’ll happily take 'em because I’m not planning on ever not fucking you,” I tell her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
No one else has ever had the kind of effect on me that Sammie does. If I’m honest with myself, it scares the hell out of me. The things he asks me to do and the fact I just do them without question is… concerning. It’s confined to sex, though. Ifwe’re not talking about sexual activity, all bets are off. I’m not weak-minded, no matter how much I’m pretending to be right now.
That’s not the most concerning part, though. No, the most concerning part would be the fact that I’m currently curled up against him and I don’t want to move. I don’t have the need to run, to distance myself. That’s dangerous, because I know it’s going to hurt a lot when I can no longer do this.
Sammie’s fingers are aimlessly brushing through the ends of my hair. “You’re thinking is loud,” he says.
“No, it’s not.” I snort.
“What’s on your mind?”
“My dad’s friend is getting married. He wants me to go with him as his plus-one,” I say, instead of what’s really bothering me.
“Do you have something against weddings?” Sammie asks.
“Not really—except I think they are a complete waste of money, time, and energy. I mean, it’s really just consumerism at its finest. Why do you need to spend hundreds of thousands of dollars to declare your so-called never-ending love to one another? Especially when chances are you’ll be divorced and burning the photos a few years later anyway.” I huff out a breath.
“Wow. So, you’ve thought about this a bit then?” He sounds amused. “Not all weddings end in divorce, you know.”
“Actually, around fifty percent of first-time marriages end in divorce. And those odds increase if it’s a second or third marriage,” I tell him.
Sammie shrugs. “I don’t plan on marrying to divorce. I don’t fail at anything.”
The thought of him getting married turns my stomach, while that god-awful jealous feeling rears its ugly head. I do my best to shove it all down. “Well, whoever she is, she’s going to be the luckiest woman alive to get you as a husband.”
“Luck isn’t a real thing.” Sammie chuckles. “But, sure, you might just be the luckiest woman alive.”
I freeze. He didn’t mean that. He’s just fucking with me. “You own a casino. Yousellluck and you don’t believe in it?” I ask, changing the subject. Because, let’s be honest, long-term commitment is not in the cards for us.
“Everyone knows the house always wins, babe. Luck is something fools believe in,” he says.
“So you’re not superstitious, like, at all?”
I find this hard to believe. It’s my job to learn everything there is to learn about people, and I know that Sammie issuperstitious. He always puts his right shoe on first. It’s an ancient belief that your right foot symbolizes good fortune and luck, whereas your left represents misfortune and evil. That’s not all either. Sammie has other quirks that are buried in superstition too.
“I believe in what’s in front of me,” he insists.
I can’t help but laugh. “Okay, do me a favor.” I jump out of bed, wrapping the sheet around my naked body before walking to the end of the mattress. Then I pick up his shoes and hand him the left one. “Put your shoes on.”
