Chris finally pulled out and collapsed on the sofa, staring at the ceiling in disbelief.
"That was..." Sammy tried to speak, but the words failed her.
She stood on shaky legs, only to stagger. In an instant, Chris was on his feet, catching her before she fell.
Sammy looked up at him, suddenly shy under his gaze.
"What did you want to do?" He asked gently, still holding her.
"Lie down." She admitted. "My legs feel weak."
Chris chuckles, glancing at the sofa. "That is too small for both of us. Where is your bedroom?"
She hesitated.
He smirked. His eyes are dancing. "Relax. You are too weak for round two."
Sammy's cheeks burned as she pointed to the bedroom.
Without hesitation, Chris scooped her up into his arms and carried her inside.
Sammy felt Chris's hard, lean body under her very naked one. She had expected shame or to feel shy this morning, but she felt neither.
Sitting up, she turned her gaze to the man sleeping beside her.
He looked so gentle with his eyes closed. He didn't look like the man who made her sore all over.
He piqued her curiosity.
Who was he? What did he do when he wasn't in a bar with a random girl like her? Was he really single? Would he have liked a girl like her if they had met under different circumstances?
Samantha Jones, STOP IT!
Her mind was doing that thing again... overthinking, dissecting things best left alone. But shouldn't she at least wonder about the stranger in her bed?
Carefully, Sammy slipped out from under the covers, making sure not to wake Chris. She grabbed the night robe draped over a chair and slid into it.
Crossing the room, she pulled the curtain back just enough to peek outside without letting in too much morning light.
The street below was quiet. It was early Saturday. A few joggers were doing their morning rounds. Among them, Sammy noticed an older couple, probably in their late fifties or sixties, wearing matching jogging outfits.
They ran together. Looking at one another affectionately.
Something simple. Something rare.
Rare, because she knew she would never have that. In a month, she would be married to a stranger, Dave Rice, and bound to him for life.
There would be no love, no admiration, no running together in matching joggers in that union.
Just business. A transaction.
Sammy felt a catch in her throat. She swallowed hard, her throat tightening as she watched the couple. She blinked back tears, frustrated by her emotions. Angry, even.
Angry that something so mundane, so simple could stir such longing in her. Angry at herself for feeling angry. Angry at herself for feeling this way. Angry because...just because...
Stop it, Samantha Jones.
She was in Vegas, just as she wanted. She was having fun, just as she wanted. Living her life on her terms, just as she wanted. So why this sudden wave of self-pity?
Her gaze drifted back to the sleeping man in her bed. She licked her lips. The memory of last night sent a shiver down her spine. She wanted more. She put a finger in her mouth and sucked the tip absentmindedly, her breath hitching as she stared at him.
She kept biting her bottom lip.
Oh, my God. He is so beautiful.
But you can't be with him. This had to end now.
The thought snapped her back to reality.
Lose her virginity to a stranger of her choice? Check.
Next? Enjoy Las Vegas. Do all the things she had never done before, things she had been too busy being the perfect daughter to experience.
Sammy's mind went blank.
She had twenty-nine days left to spend in Sin City, but had no idea how to spend them. A wave of fear passed through her.
Who am I without my father controlling the strings?
Frederick Jones had always been her antenna. The remote that dictated all aspects of her life, ensuring that everything was perfect. And she had been fine with that.
Until now.
"What am I going to do?" The words escaped her lips like a whispered prayer. Sammy felt lost.
Strong arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her against a warm, solid chest. Sammy gasped at the delicious sensation.
Through the window, she was Chris's reflection. He was wearing a bathrobe, but she knew he was naked underneath. She could feel him. He wrapped the robe around her body, enclosing her in his warmth.
Her body burned, and her pulse raced.
"What are you thinking about?" he murmured.
Sammy turned, tilting her head to meet his gaze. His eyes held mystery. And his lips...
She blinked. No. Don't go there. Stay away from this temptation.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
She nodded, avoiding his eyes. Instead, this time, she focused on his chest. Toned, strong, masculine, perfect. Tempting...
Sammy pulled away from him, putting distance between them. It helped. A little.
"I can't do this." She blurted, gesturing between them.
Chris raised an eyebrow. "What can't you do? I haven't asked you to do anything."
Sammy inhales. "You and me. This-" she motioned vaguely. "Nothing can happen. I mean... You understand what I mean. Right?"
He said nothing, arms crossed, waiting.
"Use your words," he said, finally. "Say what you mean. Stop stuttering."
Sammy stiffened at his commanding tone. "Well... I..."
"Don't stutter."
"I wasn't!" She glared at him.
"Then say what you mean."
"It was a one-night stand thing. YOU SHOULD LEAVE." She was flat, her finger pointing at the door.
Chris remained emotionless.
"Better." He turned towards the bathroom. "I will get cleaned up and get out of your hair."
Sammy exhaled in relief. That was easier than she expected. She hadn't expected his reaction. She didn't know what she had expected, but it wasn't this.
Suddenly, she felt weak. She walked back to the bed, sat on the edge, and stared at the rumpled sheets. The scent of their bodies still lingered in the air. Her hand drifted to the space where Chris had slept.
She trailed her hand over the surface. It felt warm to her touch.
Her eyes closed as memories of last night crashed over her.
His lips were on her neck. His teeth grazed her skin. His lips marked her, claiming every inch of her.
A shudder ran through her. Her hand skimmed over her body, remembering...
She bit her lips, remembering his mouth. She squeezed both of her breasts, ran her hand over her neck, and one finger found a way into her lips. She sucked on it...
A cough interrupted her thoughts.
Sammy's eyes snapped open. Chris stood by the door, watching her.
She froze. This is embarrassing. "I didn't mean to watch," he said, amused.
"Huh?" Her face turned red.
His hair was still damp from his shower, but he was wearing his clothes. His expression was unreadable. He picked up his wallet and slid it into his pocket. "I am leaving now."
"OK," Sammy let out a breath. Finally.
He turned toward the door.
Sammy runs her hand over her face. Her one-night stand had left. Now, she should make plans for what to do today.
BANG! The door slammed shut.
Her heart jumped.
She looked up and saw Chris hadn't left; rather, he was standing still in front of the door, arms crossed, staring at her.
Her stomach dropped. For the first time since Sammy picked a stranger for her one-night stand. She felt afraid.
Chris's words from last night echoed in her mind...
Wait, are you some type of serial killer?
"Aren't you leaving?" Sammy asked, trying to keep her voice steady. She failed. She was shaking.
Chris didn't answer. He just stood there, arms crossed.
Sammy gulps.
Her eyes darted to her discarded high heel on the floor. Slowly. She nudged it closer with her foot.
"I—I asked you a question," she said.
Chris took a step forward. "Are you scared? Do I scare you?"
He leaned down, resting his hand on the edge of the bed, his face inches from her. His eyes were dark, unreadable.
Chris smirked. "Good."
Sammy gulped.
She quickly picked the heel from the floor, gripping it tight, and hid it under the sheets.
"It...is good that I am scared?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Chris didn't blink. His expression remained unreadable. Then, after a pause. He said, "Yes."
A slow, almost subtle smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.