Chapter 21: I can't wait anymore

Sammantha's POV

I slipped into the kitchen to grab him a glass, desperately needing a physical barrier between us. But luck wasn’t on my side—the clean glasses were pushed all the way to the back of the top shelf.

I stretched up on my tiptoes, my fingers barely grazing the rim, my silk robe riding up dangerously high on my thighs.

Just as I was about to give up, an intense wave of warmth enveloped me from behind.

The air left my lungs. Rick was suddenly standing right there, his chest nearly brushing my back. He didn't say a word. He simply reached up, his massive, inked arm brushing past my ear as he effortlessly grabbed the glass from the shelf.

He brought it down, but he didn't step back.

Slowly, I turned around in the tight space between him and the counter, trapping myself completely in his shadow. He held the glass out to me, his dark eyes burning.

"Here," he murmured, his low voice vibrating straight through my chest.

"Thanks," I whispered, my hand trembling as my fingers brushed his to take it.

Neither of us moved.

The tension stretched between us like a wire wound too tight. My face flushed hot under his intense, heavy gaze. Rick’s eyes drifted to my lips, his jaw tightening as if he were fighting a war with himself.

Slowly, his free hand came up. His warm, calloused fingers gently traced the side of my face, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone with a tenderness that made my knees weak. Our breathing turned shallow, heavy, and desperate.

Samantha, just go for what you want.

I let go of my control. I gripped his shoulders, rising up on my tiptoes to press my lips to his—But he flinched.

At the very last second, Rick turned his head, and my lips brushed uselessly against the rough, warm skin of his jaw instead.

I froze, my heart shattering against my ribs.

"Rick..." I whispered, my voice cracked and pleading.

For a long, agonizing second, he didn't move. His forehead came down to rest against mine, his eyes closed tight as he let out a low, ragged breath that fanned across my lips. When he finally opened his eyes, the sheer, dark hunger burning in his gaze could not be missed. It was fierce, consuming, and entirely untamed—the look of a dangerous man completely brought to his knees.

His thumb caressed my cheekbone one last time, his grip tightening slightly as if it took every ounce of his strength to hold himself back.

"Samantha," he murmured, his voice dropping into a rough, gravelly warning. "If I get to taste you, I'm afraid it will be impossible to stay friends with you."

The threat in his words didn't scare me. It thrilled me. The lingering heat of his body, the scent of rain and leather, and the memory of my daydream in the archives rushed back all at once, drowning out any lingering doubt.

With a breathy, uneven voice, I looked straight into his dark eyes and replied, "Who said anything about being friends?

He slowly pulled back, his chest rising and falling with a heavy, controlled breath. The sudden distance felt freezing.

"Marcus still bothering you?" he asked, his tone shifting into something cool and conversational as he walked toward the living room.

The abrupt change in topic threw me. My heart was still hammering against my ribs, the ghost of his touch burning on my cheek. I looked toward the kitchen counter, trying to find my footing. I didn’t want to tell him about the chaotic scene Marcus had caused at my workplace.

"No, he's not," I lied, though a quiet, uneasy voice in my head whispered that he already knew.

"Are you lying to me, Sammie?"

"No, seriously," I said quickly. I avoided his eyes, walking over to the sofa and sitting down, focusing entirely on pouring the dark red wine into his glass to keep my hands from shaking.

I didn't hear him cross the room, but suddenly, the air grew heavy again.

Rick came right to the edge of the couch. Instead of sitting next to me, he slowly lowered his massive frame, squatting on the floor directly in front of me. The position was almost reverent, yet his dark eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made it impossible to look away.

"Would you still want me," he murmured, his voice a low, terrifyingly calm rumble, "if I told you I'd kill anyone who dares lay their hands on you?"

My breath hitched in my throat. I stared at him, my fingers tightening around the neck of the wine bottle as I swallowed hard.

"I'm ruthless, Samantha," he continued, his gaze unwavering, stripping away every single mask he wore for the rest of the world. "Dangerous. Obsessive. Possessive. And apparently selfish... because I can't stop thinking about you."

A shiver ran straight down my spine, a mix of sheer thrill and overwhelming confusion.

"Rick..." I whispered, my eyes darting across his handsome, deadly serious face. "You're confusing me.”

"You're beautiful, sweet, and innocent, and I have no business being here," he murmured, his voice a rough, broken whisper that seemed to tear right out of his chest. "But you're just so irresistible."

Slowly, his warm, calloused thumb dragged over my lower lip, pulling it down slightly. The touch was gentle, almost worshipful, but the fire it ignited inside me was anything but that.

The pool of heat between my legs was getting unbearable. I was burning hot all over, my skin practically sensitised to the cool air of the apartment. My mind and my heart were completely dark with an overwhelming, desperate desire for this man. I couldn't wait another second. I couldn't think straight. I didn't want to think straight.

I leaned forward, closing the final, agonizing distance between us, and slammed my lips against his.