Page 24 of In Stockings
My hand rests on the front door handle when a voice from the stairway calls out, “Omega.”
I freeze.
Anticipation spirals along my spine.
Feet thunder down the staircase.
I turn around slowly to find Samson standing in the hallway in just a pair of boxers, his hair a ruffled mess around his head.
And holy smoke.
I let out a squeak. An actual squeak.
Because the man … the man is built like a Greek god. I’ve never seen someone in the living flesh with so many muscles. And there’s a lot of flesh. A lot of bare flesh. Plus, something obviously sizable tucked inside those boxers.
My damn stupid body responds immediately to the spectacle before my eyes. My legs turn to jelly. My mouth waters. My core spins. And everything,everything, throbs.
“Where are you scurrying off to?” he says.
“I was…” I point towards the door but lose my train of thought as he comes closer and closer. My heart is skittish and erratic in my chest.
“You were what?”
I swallow, searching for my voice. When I find it, it’s all high and squeaky, and I have to swallow twice more before I’m coherent. “Lyra’s granny has taken her out for the day so you could sleep. I’m leaving so you can get some shut-eye.”
“We were rather hoping you’d join us in bed,” Samson says, eyes roaming over my baggy outfit. “Are those my clothes?”
I peek down at the t-shirt swamping my frame and the shorts that reach down to my calves. “I’m not sure.”
“They look good on you.” He reaches forward, takes a fistful of the shirt, and drags me towards him. My feet move willingly.
How can this be happening? How can this be happening to me? Did the Christmas gods choose to bless me this year?
“We were hoping we could pick up where we left off last night.” His mouth comes down to hover against my lips, and I close my eyes, waiting for the kiss. He pulls away. “Then again, if you want to go ...”
“I want to stay,” I growl, wrapping my arms around his neck and dragging him down for that kiss.
His hands are up inside my t-shirt in a flash, brushing against my bare stomach and then wrapping around my ribcage. The pad of his thumb caresses the underside of my tit, and he groans into my mouth.
“Going to take you upstairs, Omega,” he murmurs into my mouth.
He slides his hand out of my t-shirt, and I pout at him in disapproval. He grins wickedly, and I’m wondering why when he barrels forward, his shoulder meeting my middle, his hands gripping the backs of my thighs, and I’m thrown over his shoulder.
I yelp, and he slaps my arsecheek, making me bite my lip.
“Fireman’s lift,” he explains. “It’s the only way to transport our women.”
“You have lots of women?’
“Correction, woman! Shit, this arse!” He buries his face against it and nips at one cheek, making me screech again. “Sorry,” he says, “couldn’t help myself. I really, really want to dive between these thighs and … fuck it!”
He drops me halfway up the stairs. I’m on my back, and he’s a couple of steps lower. He kneels down and, keeping his eyes locked with mine, places his hands on my knees and parts my legs.
“I thought we were going upstairs.”
“We are upstairs,” he smiles at me sheepishly, “sort of. But shit, Omega, your pussy so close to my face smelled so fucking ripe, and I…” he buries his face between my thighs, his breath warming me there, and inhales fiercely. He groans. “Can I?’
“Yes,” I pant, helping him to wriggle down the shorts. I’m bare underneath, and for far too many seconds, he simply looks at me, swiping his fingers backwards and forwards over my swollen outer folds.
