His Hunger for her sweet innocence

Samantha's POV

"What do you mean you can't make it?" I yelled into the phone, my voice already breaking.

"It got busy at work and I can't leave just yet," Marcus sighed across the line, his tone entirely flat. Completely nonchalant.

"Babe, it's the weekend and it's our two-year anniversary! I made these reservations months ago," I pleaded, the sting of tears prickling the backs of my eyes. "I've been sitting in this parking lot for over thirty minutes waiting for you. You can't just do this to me."

As if the universe heard me and decided to rub salt into the wound, the clouds suddenly opened up. A violent sheet of heavy rain began to pour down, hammering mercilessly against my car's windshield.

"Look, I gotta go," Marcus snapped carelessly. "We can just go next weekend. They need me here. Catch you later."

Click.

The line went dead.

I stared blankly at the dark screen, a bitter, disbelieving scoff escaping my lips. "He didn't just do that..." I whispered to no one in particular.

I sat frozen in the driver's seat of my car with a completely broken heart, listening to the roaring storm outside, wondering where the hell everything had gone so wrong between us. Two years of a relationship, reduced to a careless hang-up.

Wiping a stray tear before it could ruin my makeup, I shoved the car into reverse. I wasn't going to sit here and cry. I needed a drink, and I knew exactly where to go.

Ten minutes later, I pulled up to The Foundry.

The bar was packed, buzzing with the low thrum of music and the heavy scent of whiskey and rain. I pushed through the glass doors, soaking wet, looking completely distraught but trying to hold my head high.

Sitting at a booth near the back, surrounded by a group of wealthy-looking investors, was Rick.

Rick was twenty-four, but he looked absolutely nothing like his age. He was massive, with broad shoulders, an imposing frame, and a commanding presence that ran the entire room. He ran the bar on the main floor, owned a highly successful tattoo shop on the upper floor, and commanded a motorcycle gang that did more to protect this town than the local police ever would. He was the definition of a bad boy, doing incredibly well for himself.

He was also four years younger than me.

At twenty-eight, younger guys had never been my spec. I had strictly friendzoned him the moment we met, but Rick made it terrifyingly hard to keep him there. He was brilliant, fiercely mentally aware, and possessed a maturity that put men twice his age to shame.

The moment I stepped inside, Rick’s dark eyes locked onto me. Even in my ruined, rain-soaked state, his gaze tracked me as if I were the only person in the room. He didn't hesitate. He abruptly cut off the investor speaking to him, excused himself from the table, and walked straight toward me.

"Sammie," he said, his deep, gravelly voice instantly cutting through the noise of the bar. He took in my trembling lower lip and the damp fabric of my dress. "What happened?"

"Marcus," I choked out, the humiliation of the night finally catching up to me. "He stood me up. For our anniversary."

Rick’s jaw clenched so hard I thought it might shatter. A dangerous, predatory darkness flashed in his eyes, his massive chest rising and falling as he fought to keep his temper under control. He stepped closer, invading my space, shielding me from the rest of the bar.

He reached out, his large, warm hand gently cupping my jaw, forcing me to look up into his intense gaze.

"Lord knows if you were mine, I would cross seven seas and seven oceans to get to you," he whispered, his voice vibrating with a terrifying, beautiful sincerity. "I would walk through the fires of purgatory for you, Sammie."

He used the nickname he knew I liked, and in that exact moment, the boundary of the friendzone felt incredibly thin.