Chapter 8: Thick Airs and pheromones

Samantha's POV

The heavy click of the front door closing behind Chloe felt less like an exit and more like a vacuum seal. Suddenly, the entire apartment felt half its size, stripped of any safety nets, leaving me entirely exposed to the man standing in my kitchen.

The air grew thick, instantly saturated with the intoxicating scent of the man standing in my kitchen. A heavy, masculine wave of pheromones that seemed to coat the walls and settle deep in my lungs, making it impossible to catch a normal breath.

Rick didn't move right away. He stood by the counter, the sheer contrast of his rugged, devilishly handsome look against my neat, modern kitchen sending a liquid heat rushing straight down my spine.

The form-fitting black t-shirt clung to the broad expanse of his chest, and without his jacket, the dark ink of his tattoos was on full display—intricate, sharp, and intensely masculine.

He tracked me with a slow, consuming gaze, his striking green eyes dark with an intensity that made my knees feel dangerously weak.

"Take a breath, Sammie," he murmured, his deep baritone rolling through the quiet room, thick and low.

"I am breathing," I whispered, though the way my chest heaved completely betrayed me. My body was reacting to him on a primal level, every nerve ending firing up, entirely hyper-aware of the small distance left between us.

Jeez Samantha, you should be mourning your relationship not losing your breath over this fine specimen of a man that has been sent to bring havoc to the hearts of women.

He took a slow step forward. The sheer gravity of his movement pulled me in, my heart hammering a chaotic rhythm against my ribs. He didn't look at the luxury bags Louis had left behind, and he didn't bring up the ghost of Marcus that still lingered in the air.

He stopped just inches away, completely towering over me. The heat radiating off his body was a physical force, wrapping around me, melting away the last remnants of my morning exhaustion and replacing it with a tense, intoxicating anticipation.

He slowly lifted a hand, his large, warm fingers hovering just a millimeter away from my cheek, giving me the choice to pull back. I didn't. I couldn't. When his thumb finally brushed against my skin, a sharp jolt of pure electricity surged through me, making my breath hitch.

"You're burning up," he whispered, his eyes dropping to my lips before locking back onto mine. "And your heart is racing. I can hear your heartbeat.”

"That's... probably just the fever," I lied breathlessly, my hands clutching the fabric of my sweatpants just to keep from reaching out and touching him back.

Rick’s lips curved into a faint, devastatingly handsome smirk, his thumb tracing a slow, agonizingly perfect circle against my jawline.

"Is it?" he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerously quiet, venomous register of pure temptation that makes my heart skip.

The smirk on his face told me he knew exactly what he was doing to my heart rate.

"Rick," I breathed, my voice barely a thread. The sheer proximity of him—the heat radiating off his chest, the heavy scent of his leather jacket lingering on his skin—was making it impossible to think straight.

"Sit down, Samantha" he commanded softly, though there was a gentle, protective undercurrent to his voice that made me want to obey without question.

He didn't wait for me to move. His hands slid down from my jaw to my waist, his grip firm and warm even through the thick fabric of my oversized sweatshirt.

A fresh spark of electricity jolted through my veins as he guided me back a step until the edge of the living room sofa hit the back of my knees. I sank into the cushions, looking up at him as he loomed over me, a dominant silhouette against the morning light.

Instead of taking a seat next to me, Rick dropped into a low crouch right in front of the sofa. The posture brought him eye-level with me, but it did absolutely nothing to diminish his power. He reached over to the coffee table where I’d left the water, picked it up, and handed it to me.

"Drink," he murmured, his striking green eyes tracking the movement of my throat as I took a tentative sip.

Once I set the glass down, he reached for the premium pharmacy bag he’d brought up. His large, tattooed hands looked entirely out of place handling the neat little boxes of medication, yet he moved with an efficient, deliberate care that made my chest ache with something far more dangerous than a fever.

"You haven't eaten anything today, have you?" he asked, his tone shifting into that quiet, demanding register that expected nothing but the truth.

"No," I admitted, looking down at my hands. "I haven't really had an appetite.”

"Louis is bringing up something light from a cafe down the street," Rick said, his thumb brushing over the back of my knuckles, a brief, grounding touch that sent a warm flush straight up my arm. "Until then, you're going to rest. I don't care how much thinking you claim you need to do—your brain is shutting down for the day."

I swallowed hard, looking up into those piercing green eyes. Under his intense, unwavering gaze, all my defenses simply crumbled. I didn't want to fight him. I didn't want to argue about rules or boundaries. For the first time in two years, someone was looking at me and seeing that I was hurting, taking the weight entirely off my shoulders.

"Okay," I whispered softly.

A small, incredibly tender shift softened the hard planes of his face. He reached out, his large, warm hand gently pressing against the side of my neck, his thumb resting right over my pulsing vein. He could feel how fast my heart was still hammering for him.

"Good girl," he murmured, his deep voice dropping an octave, thick with a possessive warmth that made my entire body melt into the cushions.

He slid his hand up, his fingers tangling slightly into the messy strands of my hair as he gently guided my head back against the plush pillows of the sofa. He reached down, grabbing the soft throw blanket draped over the armrest, and unfolded it, shaking it out before covering me up to my chest.

He didn't pull away immediately. He leaned over me, one heavy hand resting on the back of the sofa right next to my head, trapping me in his space. The scent of leather, expensive cologne, and his intoxicating pheromones enveloped me completely like a heavy, suffocatingly beautiful wave, making me feel things I shouldn't.

"Why do I always seem to end up in your arms" I asked.

He chucked lightly. 

 After a moment had passed. "Do you like being in my arms ?" He suddenly asked. I could tell that he was holding his breath.

"Maybe".

He chucked again. "Close your eyes, Sammie," he commanded softly, his face so close I could feel the heat of his breath against my lips. "I'll be right here when you wake up.”