Samson (The Boundarylands Omegaverse Book 3)

by Callie Rhodes

  "You thought I was with a prostitute?"

  Cassidy raised her head and looked him straight in the eye, her bold cornflower-blue gaze shaking Samson to his very core. She must have had more than a single shot of the rotgut Ty kept behind the bar to forget her well-practiced alpha protocol.

  "Why aren't you?" she asked huskily, not taking her eyes off him. There was more than simple curiosity in her voice. For the first time, he also heard hope.

  And want.

  So much want.

  His cock stirred at the delicious sound.

  Fuck.

  What was Ty thinking, giving her that whiskey? He had to know that someone so slight wouldn't be able to handle it.

  "Because that's not why I came here," he said honestly.

  Her nose crinkled, confusion in her eyes. Still, she didn't look away. "Then why did you come?"

  To see you. To catch your scent. To touch you, just for a second. Then go home and stroke myself raw at the memory of your face.

  Pathetic.

  There was no way in hell Samson was going to say any of those things, so instead, he changed the subject.

  "I've never seen you drink."

  Instantly, shame filled Cassidy's eyes, and she looked away. Tilting her head to the sky again, she spoke quickly. "Yeah, that was a mistake. Any chance you can forget about it?"

  No chance in hell. Samson had never seen her throw off the heavy weight of her professional persona before, not even for a moment. And the truth was that he liked who Cassidy was without it. She was much less self-conscious. Now she was bold enough to look directly into his eyes. Her voice had changed too, becoming languorous and sultry.

  "I won't tell your professor if that's what you're worried about," he said.

  The tension in her shoulders eased.

  "Thank you," Cassidy said. "It just sucks that I have to constantly be on my best behavior. I have to do twice as much work as everyone else and be twice as accurate, just to keep my place in a program that I've earned my way into. Meanwhile, Ian can run off in the middle of a research trip with a prostitute, and that's just fine."

  Samson crossed his arms over his chest, trying to quell his anger. So this was about that little shit that Cassidy had shown up with. The one who reeked of jealousy and contempt. If he was the reason Cassidy was upset, then Samson would be more than happy to correct his behavior.

  "Do you want me to find him and bring him back?" It would be easy enough. Even now, he could smell sour traces of the beta's spent lust in the wind.

  "God, no," Cassidy said. "This might be my only chance to get away from him all weekend."

  "Then what do you want?"

  Samson didn't need to see Cassidy's face or hear her words to know the answer.

  It was written all over her. In the way the smooth skin along the column of her neck heated and flushed. In the heady scent of desire pooling between her legs. In the way her knuckles went white from her tight grip on the wood rail in front of her.

  She wanted him.

  Cassidy was usually so guarded, so perfectly composed, that he'd never been able to completely see past her façade. Now, the whiskey had lowered her defenses, and Samson could see, smell, and feel inside her inner fortress for the first time.

  And what Samson found there made him harder than ever.

  This was more than just simple attraction. This was need. This was want. Hot, and primal, and urgent. This was a language that Samson understood perfectly.

  He stepped away from the wall, stopping just inches behind her. The heat of her body called out to him, pulling him in, but he resisted the urge to press himself against her.

  After all, he'd waited sixteen months for this moment. He was determined to stoke this fire until it roared.

  "Tell me," he said again.

  Goosebumps rose up along the column of her neck as she leaned back toward the sound of his voice.

  "I want…" Her voice trailed off, far away and dreamy. The muscles in Samson's jaw flexed at the sultry sound.

  A gust of biting winter wind whipped through the trees, stirring up dried leaves and reaching into their clothes. Cassidy shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, the icy blast shocking her out of her reverie. She stood straighter and ran an awkward hand over her flame-red bun, smoothing the loose strands.

  "I want you to answer some questions," she said quickly. She was all business suddenly, digging in her bag, intently avoiding his gaze. "I'm sorry. That was rude. What I mean is that I was hoping you wouldn't mind answering some questions."

  She pulled out a notebook, the same worn black one she always carried. She flipped to the back, then held it in front of her chest like a shield.

  Which was exactly what that damn notebook was. Cassidy was frantically trying to raise her defenses again. But something had changed, and the wall she put up wasn't as strong as before.

  "You want to ask me more interview questions?" Samson echoed, stepping a little closer.

  "Only if you don't mind."

  "Have I ever told you no?"

  "Thank you," Cassidy said nervously, her gaze everywhere but on him. "No one was able to give me much time tonight."

  "I promise not to stop until you're satisfied."

  Even in the moonlight, Samson could make out the blush that flooded her cheeks.

  "You're trying to embarrass me," she protested, as if naming her emotions would somehow lessen them.

  Samson shook his head. "No."

  He was trying to seduce her. To turn up the flame underneath all that simmering desire until her pot boiled over. Until she couldn't hold back anymore, and told him what she really wanted.

  "Good," she said firmly—though not firmly enough to cover the slight tremor in her voice. "Because it wouldn't work. I have too much riding on this research trip to be held back by shame."

  "Then ask me your questions, Dr. Carr."

  "Don't you want to go inside?" She looked longingly at the door. "It might be more comfortable."

  "No."

  Cassidy's eyes widened, and her breath caught as she looked down at her notes, as if hoping to find an antidote there to her own desire.

  "All right," she said, after taking a second to compose herself. "Then perhaps you'd like to take a few steps back, to give yourself some space."

  "Nope." Samson shook his head. "I'm right where I want to be."

  That wasn't entirely true—where he really wanted to be was buried between her thighs. Being this close to her heat and sweet, desire-filled scent, he doubted there was a force on Earth that could make him move away.

  "Or maybe—"

  "Ask me your questions, Cassidy."

  Her eyes flashed up, then darted away. She took a breath. Another. Then…

  "How do you make love to a beta?"

  Samson's blood surged. All it had taken were eight little words to make his cock harder than it had ever been before.

  "Is that what you asked Zeke and Troy?"

  The thought of Cassidy asking that question of another alpha made Samson angry beyond reason. Jealousy and possessiveness raged through his bloodstream. Suddenly, Samson wanted to find his alpha brothers and tear into them.

  "No." She shook her head as her gaze nervously flicked back and forth across the page. "I didn't have the chance to get to these questions with them."

  She was lying. Samson could hear it in her voice. Not about asking the questions, but about why she hadn't.

  Samson had a feeling there had been plenty of opportunity, but Cassidy just didn't want to ask them.

  Because she wanted to ask him.

  Samson's anger cooled at the realization, even as the fire in his blood grew hotter.

  "I take it you're not looking for an anatomy lesson," he said.

  "Well…" Cassidy worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Samson couldn't look away from that perfectly lush, pink mouth. "Actually, I kind of am."

  Samson cocked his head. "I had no idea you were so innocent."
/>   She flashed him a glare from underneath her lashes. "Now you are teasing me."

  True.

  "Then tell me exactly what you want to know," he relented.

  "Alpha and beta anatomy is…different," she began.

  "Not that different."

  Another glare. Damn, his little doctor had a fiery temper, something Samson had never realized before now.

  Because she'd been very careful not to show him, he realized. Probably out of fear that he would lash out at her as a result. As if every instinct in his body didn't demand that he protect her, no matter what.

  "Yes, but it's a matter of scale," she said. "Your body mass is approximately fifty percent larger than the average beta male. That would make your sexual organs…"

  Her words trailed off.

  "Fifty percent strikes me as an underestimate."

  She rolled her eyes. "Now, that one I have heard before."

  She had? Who'd said that to her? Some University beta boy no doubt, no bigger than a pup, who tried to talk his way into her bed.

  Somehow, Samson had the feeling that Cassidy had sent him away with his tail between his legs.

  "The point," she continued doggedly, "is that beta female anatomy is designed to only accommodate beta male genitalia."

  Samson laughed. "Who the hell told you that?"

  Her brows knit in confusion. "Every medical doctor I've ever spoken to."

  "Well, they were either idiots or lying to you."

  "So, you're saying that beta women are easily able to accept an alpha's…larger girth."

  Samson shrugged. "Nicky and her girls wouldn't be here every Friday night otherwise."

  "Yes," Cassidy conceded without looking up. "But they're prostitutes."

  "What difference does that make?"

  "They've had plenty of practice. They know how to prepare themselves. They've conditioned and adapted their musculature to accommodate the larger mass."

  "You make it sound like an ordeal."

  "Not at all," Cassidy clarified. "They are professionals who are trained for specific clients who present specific demands. For instance, tonight Hannah told me that an average session with one of her alpha clients lasts five hours."

  "And?" Samson didn't understand the point she was making. "How long does sex with a beta male last?"

  Her brows arched. "Significantly less time."

  "And that satisfies you?" he asked incredulously.

  Cassidy shrugged, reddening. "Sometimes."

  Samson snorted. "And yet you still believe those guys when they say that beta women were designed to pleasure them alone."

  Cassidy's gaze froze on the paper in front of her, her shoulders tightening.

  "I thought I was the one doing the interviewing," she said, the barest hint of that temper showing again.

  Samson could tell that he wasn't the one she was mad at. Her anger was caused by a society that told her what she could and couldn't do. What she could and couldn't want. What she could and couldn't have.

  "You're right," Samson said, leaning against one of the rough-hewn posts, only inches away from her. "So tell me again. What do you really want to know?"

  Chapter Four

  This wasn't like any interview Cassidy had ever conducted before.

  Her subject was standing far too close, his gaze too intense, his words laced with provocative layers of meaning.

  The whiskey she'd downed wasn't helping either. Thought it wasn't so much clouding her thoughts as stripping away her inhibitions.

  Cassidy knew that if Samson didn't change the tone of the conversation immediately, it was up to her to do so. The trouble was that she didn't want to.

  She had no desire to retreat from the protective warmth that radiated off his body. No desire to rebuild the wall of professionalism that had begun to crumble.

  Cassidy cleared her throat and scanned her notes, flipping the pages of her notebook. There was nothing there to guide her out of the dangerous thicket she'd allowed herself to be drawn into. Besides, she knew the questions she wanted answered by heart, the information no beta researcher had managed to gather before.

  It was just too hard to look Samson in the eye when she asked.

  No, that wasn't true. It wasn't hard at all.

  It was far too easy.

  And that was the problem. It was too easy to listen to Samson confirm that making love to him would take hours. Hours of blistering pleasure that would make Cassidy forget herself entirely, wiping her worries away for a blissful night--her tenuous situation at the university, Ian's undermining and hostility, the constant frustrations of a society with rigid rules about what she could and couldn't do.

  But she had come here to do a job, and she was not about to leave without accomplishing it. She took a deep breath and attempted to steady herself, keeping her eyes down as she proceeded with more detailed and specific questions.

  "Beta women don't produce as much natural lubrication as omegas. Do you find this problematic?"

  "You're talking about slick." The way he lingered on that last word sent a rush of warmth down Cassidy's spine.

  "I'd rather use the official terminology," she said shakily.

  "And I'd rather call things what they are," he retorted. "But no. I've never thought of slick as a problem. I enjoy the hell out of it."

  "But I'm talking about the lack of it," Cassidy pressed. "Doesn't that make it difficult to make everything…you know…fit?"

  "Is that the official terminology?"

  Heat flooded Cassidy's cheeks. Of course it wasn't, and she had no excuse for straying from her carefully composed script. Why the hell had she had those drinks? These questions were hard enough to get through with her intellect and professional distance unimpaired. But the whiskey had muddied everything.

  Well, the whiskey and the presence of Samson's body just inches away.

  A rush of anger overcame her self-doubt, and she glared up at him.

  "Stop teasing me!"

  The instant her words were out, Cassidy regretted them. She'd never lashed out at an alpha before. No beta dared to. At least no one who lived to tell the tale.

  She dropped her gaze back down as apologies tumbled out of her mouth.

  "I'm so sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to tell you what to do. I—"

  Samson cupped his palm against her cheek, his huge hand cradling her entire face, from the tip of her chin to the top of her head. It took every ounce of professionalism Cassidy had not to lean into his touch.

  "I will never hurt you," Samson said gravely. "And I would kill anyone who laid a finger on you."

  Cassidy found that hard to believe. There was only one person an alpha could make that promise to—his omega.

  And she sure as hell wasn't that.

  But it was also true that alphas didn't lie. Being so large and powerful, they didn't have to.

  "Thank you," she said, trying to control the emotion in her voice.

  "I can't speak for others," Samson continued, letting his hand drop away, "but I've never been with a woman who didn't become aroused enough to take me inside her."

  Lucky fucking women.

  Cassidy flushed with shame at the thought. She scribbled some useless notes in her notebook...as if she was ever going to forget a single word Samson said tonight.

  "Tell me more," she found herself saying.

  "You want to know how I make women wet?" Humor laced Samson's words, but other emotions lay beneath it. Deeper, hungrier emotions.

  Another flash of shame, and another flurry of scribbles.

  "I'm interested in the details of intimate interactions between alphas and betas," she tried, without looking up.

  "You make it sound so clinical."

  "That's because it is," Cassidy said. "In terms of my research, at least."

  Samson let out a low, rumbling laugh that made it clear that he didn't believe her.

  "Well, since it's for research, I should be thorough, shouldn't I?"

&n
bsp; "I would appreciate you being as thorough and precise as possible." Cassidy winced at her stilted tone.

  But Samson didn't seem to notice. "Let's say I was standing in front of a beta woman I wanted. I'd have already caught her scent, so I'd know that she wanted me back, but just to be sure, I'd lean in closer and look directly in her eyes."

  Cassidy froze as Samson leaned closer. She couldn't even pretend to write. His chest was just a whisper away from hers now. His face directly above hers. His warm, sweet breath tickling her ear and the side of her jaw.

  "And even though women often smell warm and alluring," Samson continued, "desire would have changed her scent, deepening it, giving it heat and spice. Complexity. Letting me know exactly what she needed."

  "Samson—" Cassidy started, but he cut her off, touching his index finger to her lips.

  "We haven't even gotten to the part where she starts calling out my name yet."

  Cassidy could barely breathe. Samson's fingertip felt rough and sure against her mouth, and she had to fight an urge to open her lips and draw it inside.

  "Then, I'd start to touch her." Samson traced his finger along her skin as he spoke. "Her lips. Her neck. The curve of her shoulder. And the whole time, I'd be watching her reactions. I'd be able to tell by the way she shivered that she liked it when I caressed her neck. I'd know by her scent that she'd shiver even more if I kissed her there."

  Oh God.

  "That her slick would start to flow if I flicked just under her ear with my tongue."

  He bent forward, his jaw scraping against the hollow of her neck, causing exquisite sensations to race through her body. They only multiplied when his tongue stroked lightly against her.

  This couldn't be happening. Cassidy was gripping her pencil so tightly that it snapped in half and fell to the ground. She couldn't resist the effects of Samson's words, his touch.

  But though he lifted his head to watch her again, he didn't stop.

  "Her response would let me know that the betas she'd been with before didn't know or care how to make her wet. They hadn't cared about her slick at all except for the way it warmed their cocks. So, I'd need to tell her that the scent of it pooling between her legs was driving me mad. Making me harder than I've ever been."