Page 21 of Surrender (Angels Halo MC Next Gen)

And I didn’t give a fuck.

Everything I’d done, thought—felt—where Samara Vitucci was concerned had already turned me into a man I no longer recognized. I refused to examine my actions.

My mental state.

But even if I paused to wonder if any of this was healthy, the truth was, I didn’t give a single fuck.

Exiting my truck, I slammed the door and jogged over to take the tote from her that held blueprints and sketches, all the exquisite designs her precious hands created. So much raw talent. Her brain was just as beautiful as the rest of her.

“I need a shower,” she said, sounding tired as we climbed the stairs together. “And a drink. Not necessarily in that order.”

I stopped outside her door. “I have whiskey, vodka, and beer. What would you like me to bring over?”

“Yes.”

Laughing, I dropped a kiss on her forehead. When I heard her breath hitch, it was all I could do not to back her up against the door and pound into her. But then I heard one of the tenants on the second floor. Shit, that guy paid his rent on time. I’d hate to have to kill him if he heard Samara coming. He was a nosy motherfucker, always leaving his living room window open so he could listen to everyone’s conversations when he was home.

“Go shower, baby girl,” I instructed. “I’ll grab a quick one at my place and be right back.”

“Or…” She twisted her fingers in my shirt, tugging me closer. “We could conserve water and shower together.”

My cock jerked at the offer. But as badly as I wanted to take her up on it, I knew shower sex was not how we were going to start off. “You aren’t ready for that yet, princess.”

Her bottom lip pouted out. “You don’t know what I’m ready for.”

Lowering my head, I skimmed my nose over her ear, keeping my voice low so only she could hear me. “I know you were tight as fuck when I stuffed two fingers inside you earlier, Sammy. And I don’t want to hurt you. I get you in the shower, and I’m going to destroy that sweet little pussy. Won’t be able to stop myself, baby girl.”

“Yes, please,” she whimpered.

“No. I’m not hurting my princess the first time.” Grasping her ass in one hand, I squeezed the perfect globe through her skirt. “Go shower.”

“But, Daddy,” she whined.

I pushed her back against the door, my cock already straining against the confines of my clothes. Her skirt was too tight for her to spread her legs wide enough so I could press directly into her clit, but that didn’t stop her from trying to writhe against me.

Pinning her in place with my lower half, I tipped her chin up. “Do not argue with me, Samara,” I snapped. “Take that sweet ass inside and be a good girl.”

“And if I don’t?” she sassed with a glare.

I stepped back and untangled her fingers from my shirt. “Then you will be going to bed without tasting Daddy’s cock tonight, baby girl. What’s it going to be?”

Taking the tote from me, she jerked her keys out of the bag and sullenly unlocked the door. Grinning, I watched her stomp toward the bathroom. Extracting the key after ensuring the lock was engaged, I took it with me. Fifteen minutes later, I used it to let myself inside.

Dropping the bottles of liquor on the kitchen counter, I opened the fridge and set the six-pack of bottled beer on the bottom shelf before grabbing two and crossing to the couch. Hearing Samara talking from the bedroom, I figured she was on the phone.

“You know what, I’m not even going to argue with you about this. We made a deal. You wouldn’t interfere if I fulfilled that favor for you.” There was a pause, and then she huffed. “That’s not my fault and definitely not my problem.”

Stepping out of the bedroom, she rolled her eyes when she saw me sitting on the couch, already drinking one of the beers. She walked into the kitchen, giving me time to eat up the sight of her wet hair hanging over one shoulder. Dressed in a cami and matching booty shorts that left half her ass cheeks sticking out, she looked so good, I sat back to enjoy the view.

“I have to go,” she said into the phone, grabbing a bag of pretzels from a cabinet. “Yeah, sure. I’d love to spend tomorrow night anticipating your call so you can bitch at me more, Mom. Really looking forward to it. Highlight of my goddamn day.”

Ending the call, she crossed to the couch and flopped down with one leg tucked under herself. Tossing her phone onto the end table, she tore open the bag of snacks and started crunching.

We sat in silence for a few minutes, me drinking my beer and her chomping angrily on the pretzels. “Want to talk about it?”

“About how my mother wants to control every aspect of my life? Nah, I’m good. Thanks.” She popped another into her mouth. “I have my own plans. Goals. Dreams. None of them come close to the life she expects me to live. I don’t want—” she waved her hand over her shoulder “—all of that bullshit. I don’t need, nor do I want, any of the Vitucci or Volkov drama. I just want to be me.”

“Tell me one of your goals or dreams,” I urged, wanting to distract her from whatever Anya had said to her.

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