Love and Neckties (Rockland Falls Book 4)

by Lacey Black

When I glance behind me, I find a couple of guys smiling over their beer bottles, watching my celebratory victory dance. “Those guys?”

  “Jesus, Freedom, keep it down. They’ll hear you.”

  Shrugging, I turn back to my machine. “So what? It’s not like I’m going home with any of them. I’m married, remember?” I say, my voice dripping with sugar.

  Samuel clears his throat. “Trust me, I remember.”

  My heart stops in my chest, and my eyes turn back to his. “You do?”

  “Well, no. I don’t remember remember, but I do recall the fact we…got married,” he replies, the last two words barely audible.

  “We did,” I tell him proudly, slapping him on the chest. And to really annoy him, I reach up and straighten his impeccable tie. No, it doesn’t need adjusting, but for some reason, I seem to really like touching it. “Come on, Sammy. Let’s win some cash,” I state, taking another of my boob bills and placing it in the machine next to mine. “Mama needs some new shoes.”

  Samuel seems lost, like he doesn’t know what to do. Or he doesn’t want to touch it. Either way, I offer, “Need some help?” as I push the button on my own machine.

  “No, I know what to do,” he says with another long glance down at the buttons. Finally, after what feels like a decade of waiting, Samuel takes a seat on the stool and pushes the button.

  “You know, Sammy, I was thinking, when we get back to our room, I’m going to give you a massage.”

  He’s silent, so when I press my button for another round, I turn his way. He’s pale in color, yet his cheeks are flushed with red. He also looks to be sweating a little as he reaches up and loosens his necktie.

  “You okay? You’re not having a stroke, are you? Because I gotta be honest, I haven’t renewed my CPR card since high school. We had to take the classes as part of Home Ec junior year, but I let mine lapse, so if you need CPR, I’m going to have to get one of those dudes over there to do it,” I tell him, throwing my thumb over my shoulder to the small group of admirers.

  “I’m not having a stroke,” he assures me, his voice deep and crackly.

  “Heart attack? Do you have a heart condition?”

  He sighs. “No, Freedom, my heart is fine.”

  I win a few more pennies and take another spin at my machine. “Well, I know it’s not ED. My vajayjay felt like it was plundered by a Buick this morning when I woke up.”

  Samuel chokes on air. “Jesus, Freedom!”

  “What? It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “I’m not ashamed,” he says, pressing the button and spending another handful of pennies on the slot machine.

  “Good, because I was seven shades of sore this morning. I’m not exactly sure what all we did, but we did it well, Sammy,” I say, as I place the max bet and push the button. The moment the numbers spin and fall in line, the sirens start to go off and the word winner flashes across the screen. “Holy shitballs, Sammy! I think I just won!”

  “Seriously?” he asks, standing directly beside me and glancing over my shoulder. I can smell his cologne. It does things to me. He gasps. “You won over four thousand dollars.”

  “Shut. Up!” I look at the screen, and indeed, it says I won four thousand three hundred and two dollars. “Holy shitballs!” I throw my arms around him and squeal, not even caring it’s directly into his ears. “We won!”

  When he sets me back down on my feet, he’s grinning from ear to ear. “We didn’t win anything. That’s all you, Freedom.”

  A few people come over and congratulate me, including those three lurkers at the end of the row. “Hey, congrats,” one says, eyeing Samuel, while the other two blatantly stare at my boobs.

  “Thanks! I’m Karen, and this is my male submissive, Jose.”

  All eyes are on me.

  “What?” Samuel whispers, a tad on the harsh side.

  “I’ve been thinking of making it a party while in Vegas. You boys interested in joining us?” I take a step toward the first wide-eyed guy and pat his cheek. “Have you ever worn a ball gag before?”

  “We better get going,” one says, practically dragging his friend away from us.

  The moment they’re gone, I burst into a fit of laughter. “That was fun.”

  “What is wrong with you?” he asks, pulling at his collar, as I press the cash out button.

  “Nothing a good flogging wouldn’t fix,” I tell him as I take the paper ticket. When I turn back to face him, he’s pale again and looks like he might actually vomit. “What?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I never joke about flogging, Sammy. Come on, let’s go cash this baby in!”

  Samuel cashes out his machine and hands me the ticket. I put a dollar in and am getting twenty-four cents back. As we make our way to the cashier counter, his warm hand wraps around mine, and I have to fight a smile.

  In line, he turns and asks, “Are you sure you’re done? Don’t you want to try to win more?”

  I shake my head right away. “Hell no. I’m good. I never win, so I don’t want to risk losing it all, thinking I can add to it. I put a five in the machine, prepared to lose it. Why risk all the money I just won?” I ask.

  When I turn, he looks like he’s considering my words. “I guess I just assume most people would want to win even more.”

  We step forward in line. “Well, I’m not most people, Sammy.”

  He sighs. “I definitely agree with you there.”

  ***

  After a slight detour around the area, we make our way back to the hotel. We step inside the cool air-conditioning and find Jensen and Kathryn exiting the coffee shop.

  “Hey, I thought you guys turned in hours ago,” Samuel says.

  “We did, but then decided to walk around for a bit. We caught one of the Bellagio fountain shows. Have you seen it?” Kathryn asks, her eyes bright with enjoyment.

  “Yeah, a bit ago. Then we went to the casino and won some cashola,” I say.

  Jensen looks shocked, his gaze sweeping between Samuel and myself. “You?” he asks, pointing to his big brother. “Went to a casino? Willingly?”

  “Of course,” Samuel replies, straightening that necktie.

  “And now we’re headed up to my room so I can give ol’ Sammy a massage,” I announce, instantly sensing the onslaught of tension rolling off him.

  “A massage?” Jensen asks, completely stunned. “As in, you’re letting her put her hands on you?”

  Samuel looks like he’s going to faint. “We’re not… It’s not like that. No massage.”

  “He’s tense. He needs a good old-fashioned rubdown,” I tell the youngest Grayson male, while patting the oldest one on the chest.

  “I think he’s definitely in need of a rubdown,” Jensen says, unable to contain his grin.

  “We’ll leave you to it,” Kathryn adds, pulling her fiancé toward the bank of elevators. We all say our goodbyes and head to the coffee shop.

  “Coffee? This late at night?” he asks when I get in line behind another couple.

  “No coffee for me. I’m getting a green tea chai,” I tell him before placing my order. “Do you want anything?”

  “No, thank you.”

  With my drink in hand, we head to the elevators. Samuel is doing his best to keep his distance, but he hasn’t taken off the way I’d expect him to. I figured at first opportunity, he’d head to his own room, leaving me standing in the coffee shop. But he hasn’t. He’s stayed by my side, even if he’s not really sure why.

  We get off on our floor and head toward our rooms. I start digging in my cleavage until I free my plastic keycard. “Seriously, I can’t believe you do that.”

  “What?” I ask, glancing down at the card in my hand.

  “Keep stuff…there.”

  I shrug. “Where else am I going to keep it? It’s not like I have pockets on this dress,” I tell him as we approach his door.

  He stops in front of it and turns my way. He seems to be struggling with what he’s trying to say.
Samuel opens his mouth before shutting it quickly. When he opens it again, his eyes meet mine and he swallows hard. “You looked very nice today, Freedom.”

  I have no idea why, but I start to blush. Sure, I’ve had compliments before, but rarely from Samuel. He keeps his thoughts guarded close, like state secrets. “Why, thank you, kind sir.”

  “Well, good night.”

  I reach for his hand and place mine on his as he goes to swipe the card over the lock. A jolt of electricity sweeps through my blood, and if the way he gasps and jerks against my touch is any indication, I’d say he feels it too.

  “Don’t think you’re getting out of the massage,” I tell him, sipping my chai.

  Samuel sighs loudly. “It’s late, Freedom. That’s not necessary.”

  Shrugging, I tell him, “Maybe not, but it’s happening. I’m going to head over to my room and change out of this thing.” I pull on the skirt of my dress. “I’ll grab my oils and come back to your room.”

  “You’re serious?” he asks, shocked, yet intrigued.

  “As limp dick on your wedding night. Well, not our wedding night.” I wink at him.

  “Jesus,” he grumbles, rubbing his forehead.

  “I’ll be back in ten, Sammy,” I holler, as I head farther down the hall to my room. Inside, I sip my chai and throw on a pair of yoga pants and tank top. Usually, my go-to is a comfortable skirt, but since it’s close to bedtime, I’d rather wear the comfy pants. I pull my long hair up in a high ponytail and grab my small bottle of massage oil from my luggage. I usually take it everywhere with me, just in case.

  With my oil and chai in hand, I slip my keycard into my waistband and head to Samuel’s room. I knock quietly and am surprised when he opens the door almost immediately. I’d honestly expected him to ignore the knock and keep me locked out. But he doesn’t.

  He looks nervous as he opens the door wider for me to enter. I can’t help but notice he’s still wearing his suit, though he did shed the jacket. “I wasn’t sure what to wear,” he confesses, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “Something comfy,” I reply, setting my cup on the desk. When I turn around, he’s staring at my ass. “My eyes are up here, Sammy.”

  “Oh!” he stammers, glancing up and then looking away. “I was just checking out your…pants. I’ve never seen you in anything but a skirt.”

  I shrug. “It’s almost beddy-bye, so I wanted to be comfy.” I take a few steps until I’m standing in front of him. Reaching up, I take that soft silk in my hand and carefully loosen the tie. Another flashback hits me in that moment. Me loosening his necktie just before I crush my lips to his. His hands grip my ass and pull me tightly against him, the hardness of his erection pressed between our bodies.

  “You okay?” he asks with a choking sound that catches my attention.

  “Oh. Yeah,” I assure him. When I glance at my hand, I see his tie clenched in my grip, my other hand resting on his pec. Desire swirls in my gut as I gaze up at those blue-green eyes. “I’m good.” Clearing my throat, I say, “Let’s get you undressed.”

  Samuel’s eyes widen. “Undressed?”

  “Well, not naked, but close. I have to be able to rub your skin. Why don’t you strip down to your undershirt and briefs?” I glance at the bed. The big, king-sized bed with the perfectly smoothed bedding, all tucked corners and all. It’s very Samuel-like.

  And I’d love nothing more than to mess them up.

  “I’ll grab the extra blanket from the closet and use it to protect the bed. This way, we don’t get the bedding all messy.”

  He swallows again, looking both incredibly uncomfortable and incredibly aroused. My inner Goddess preens. “Messy?”

  “You know, in case we accidentally have a squirter.” Of course, I absolutely mean my oil bottle. Sometimes, I get a little carried away and have squirted warm oil where I don’t want it, but I’m not about to tell him that. The look on his face confirms his mind is in the gutter. He’s probably trying to figure out if I’m the squirter or if he is.

  “Go ahead and strip down to the tighty-whities and undershirt, Sammy. I’m going to warm up the oil in the bathroom sink.”

  I leave the door cracked open and listen for his movements. It’s silent for several long seconds. Hell, those seconds turn into minutes. Finally, when I start to think he’s not going to get ready, I hear him kick off his shoes, followed by the releasing of his belt buckle. Smiling, I make sure the oil is to the perfect temperature before returning to the bedroom part of the hotel room. I’m not fully prepared for the picture of Samuel sitting on the edge of the bed. Stopping in my tracks, I take in the man before me. His arms are defined, which I already knew, considering he was able to hold me up against the shower wall early this morning. The blanket is draped over his crotch, but I already know what he’s hiding underneath it. My lady bits start to tingle in anticipation.

  Down, girl, down.

  “All right, let’s get you relaxed,” I state as I set the oil down on the end table.

  “I’m not sure that’s possible,” he whispers, most likely to himself.

  “Do you have your phone?”

  He points to his pants, which are folded on the chair. Lying on top of them is his cell phone. “Why do you need it?” he questions.

  “I need to set the mood,” I tell him as I type in numbers to unlock his device.

  “Uhh, how do you know what my code is?”

  Turning, I give him a coy grin. “You seem like a birthdate kinda guy, Sammy.”

  He huffs. “Remind me to change that.”

  Shrugging, I find the site I’m looking for and press play. Soft, meditation music filters from the phone, intending to soothe and relax. “Suit yourself. Now, lie on your stomach, but stay down toward the foot of the bed.”

  He does as instructed. “Are you okay with me getting oil on your shirt?” I ask, pouring a bit of warm lavender-scented oil into my palm.

  Instead of saying words, Samuel pushes up on his arms and somehow, pulls his shirt up and over his neck. My girly bits weep with joy at first glance of his back. The scratch marks are still there, red and angry down his back, but that’s not what has my attention. The subtle bumps and divots of that muscular plane has my undivided attention. My fingers practically tingle in anticipation.

  “Ready?”

  “I guess,” he says, resting his forehead into the blanket.

  The moment my hands touch his skin, he goes completely rigid and an expletive slips from his lips. “What?” I ask, my hands still on his back, shocks of electricity jolting my entire body.

  “Nothing,” he mumbles as he tries to relax.

  I take a few deep, calming breaths and let the music wash through me. It’s difficult, considering my hands are all over the sexiest man alive. I use my thumb and gently dig into the tense muscles until they let go and he relaxes even more. I work over his back and neck, my firm fingers working their magic on his tight, corded muscles.

  My hands move to his lower back. I press into his pelvis, pushing and pulling to work on his hips. He moans in pleasure as I press my thumbs into the globes of his ass like it’s my job. Really, I just want to get my hands on his ass once more. I move down his legs, massaging his thighs and calves, every stroke of my hands bringing me more pleasure than if I were receiving the massage. By this point, I’m so worked up I could come just by grazing my crotch against the bed.

  When I finish his legs and arms, I take a step back. “Okay, you can turn over.”

  “Uhh, no, that’s okay,” he replies.

  “Come on, Sammy, don’t be silly. I always massage the front too.”

  “Really, Freedom. I’m fine.” His voice is clipped, as if he were in pain.

  “Did I hurt you? Did I use too much pressure? Sometimes I forget—”

  He grabs my hand and cuts off my words. “You didn’t hurt me. I just…I don’t think I can turn over right now.”

  “Why not?” I ask, completely freaking out that I’ve somehow hurt him
with my deep tissue massage. I mean, I sometimes get a little aggressive as I’m working over the muscles, but he didn’t really act like it was hurting him. “I’m sorry if it was too much pressure—”

  “Freedom.” His voice cuts me off and his eyes meet mine. “I’m having a little problem. Down there.”

  It takes a few seconds, but the lightbulb finally clicks on. I glance down, even though he’s still on his stomach and I can’t see anything. “Oh!”

  “Yeah, oh,” he grumbles. “You had your hands all over me,” he says, in a weak defense.

  “Well, I never shortchange anyone on a massage, so flip over. It’s not like I haven’t seen it before.”

  He groans. “No, Freedom, I think the massage is over.”

  “It’s not. Stop being a baby. I can handle a hard-on.”

  “I’m sure you can, but I’d rather you not handle my hard-on.”

  “Why not? You don’t think I can take it?” I ask, placing my hands on my hips.

  “That’s not what I meant.” He scrubs his hands over his face. “Hell, I don’t even know what I meant.”

  “Turn over, Grayson. I insist.”

  With another huff and a few more curse words I rarely hear him say, he finally rolls over. My eyes zero in on that dick like I’m a missile and it’s my target.

  “Stop staring.”

  “I can’t help it. It’s…impressive.”

  I grin as he groans. “Let’s call it a night.”

  “Are you kidding? We’re just getting started,” I tell him as I grab my oil, lube up my hands, and place my hands on his chest, my eyes locked on that hard cock the whole time.

  Chapter Eleven

  Samuel

  I can feel her eyes on me. Or, on my groin. In fact, I’m pretty sure the wetness that just hit my shoulder is drool from her lip. I’m trying everything I can to get my erection to subside, but nothing is working. Not with her hands on me. Not with her eyes devouring me as if I were her last meal. Not with her pussy framed in black leggings right by my head.

  It’s heaven.

  It’s hell.

  It’s my reality, both all wrapped up in one petite little woman with the ability to set my blood on fire with desire and my head spinning with aggravation at the exact same time.