God, I’d like to strip that ancestral polish from her bones and reduce her to a dirty, needy, wanton mess.

A cornucopia of filthy images run through my mind, most of them starring the woman I’m here to protect. When a momentary pang of guilt slithers in, I push it away, telling myself what stays in my mind does no harm.

When a fantasy of her on her knees, swirling her tongue around the thick ring through the head of my cock hits me, my orgasm does too. I come with a silent moan, hitting the tiles with a thick spray of cum, followed by three more spurts. My hips fuck into my fist as I ride it out.

As the waves of pleasure slowly leave me, I wash off any remaining cum and the shower gel, and then make quick work of cleaning myself. I hesitate when I think I might have heard something, but there’s nothing except the sound of the water. I finish and turn it off.

I’m out of the shower and halfway dry when the alarm pierces the air.

Fuck.

Racing into the room, I grab the sweatpants off the bed and have one leg halfway in, when the door to my bedroom bursts wide open and Carolina runs in.

5. Carolina

Chapter 5

Carolina

“I’m sorry. False alarm. Brutus heard something, started barking, and ran out of the room. He never does that. I can’t believe he picked tonight after I said….”

Holy. Shit.

My brain suddenly catches up all at once with the visuals my eyes are relaying.

Holy. Double. Fucking. Shit.

Samuel is naked. Or, rather, he’s mostly naked. One leg is half covered in sweats, the other leg, and the entire rest of his body, is nude.

Gloriously, insanely nude.

Boy, there’s a lot to take in. The muscles. The tan skin. The ink. The muscles. The pierced nipples. The eight pack. The muscles.

My greedily gaze ricochets around the buffet of masculinity in front of me, finally alighting on the one thing I shouldn’t be looking at.

Dear God, you could injure yourself on that thing.

He’s massive. Not just long, although he’s certainly that, but he’s thick. And pierced. So many piercings. I don’t know whether to salivate or cry.

His thighs are like fucking tree trunks, and his cock is like a branch.

Eyes on his face, I order myself, as my gaze reluctantly leaves the impressive member to track back to his face.

Then my mouth comes back online. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I, erm. I’m turning around. Not looking. Eyes elsewhere. Feel free to continue getting dressed.”