Rita, Sam's girlfriend

"Who am I?" I asked. I'm sure from my voice he could know who I was, but it was like he was unsure and wanted to be sure about it.

"I'm Candice, I have seven brothers, and the oldest is a CEO named Samson, the second is Theodore, Joshua, Richard, Derick, William and David. Rings a bell?" I gushed as I watched him walk up to me.

He nodded, standing a few inches away from me, "Okay," he muttered, his tone still the same, but his disbelief wasn't there anymore. "So, where were you all these five years?" he went straight to the point.

Should I lie?

"I needed space," I answered, half-truth of what I don't want to tell him, or anyone.

"From who?" he fired again. My lips parted, but no words came out, so I decided to brush this under the rug. Leave this for another day.

"Forget that, aren't you going to give me anything?" I muttered, closing the space between us, hugging him tightly like it would be my last. "I've missed you so much," my voice sounded muffled because my head was on his chest. He placed his hand on my back. "I missed you, too," he replied, rubbing my back in circular motions.

Little did I know that someone was already in the room watching the scene unfold. She looked at them with shock, disbelief, anger and jealousy.

"Samson!" she flared, both Sam's and my head snapped to where the voice came from, a frown settling on his face almost immediately.

Rita dashed towards us, her hand wrapped around my arm, ripping me away from Sam. Standing between the two of us, her back facing me. 

I don't recognise her, though.

"are you cheating on me?" she started, "that too with a worthless slut?"

And it snapped, I spun her around so she could face me, "Excuse me? who do you think you're calling a slut?" she stared at me with evny, jealousy, anger, hatred, her eyes scanning me from head to toe like I was dirt. 

"Why are you here? Are you third wheeling, or do you just want to ruin my relationship?" she fumed, looking at me with disgust. "Just get out." 

I sighed, not wanting to argue or make enemies, taking my phone from the desk, but before I could move, I was pinned between Sam and the table.

"If you move an inch, you wouldn't like what I would do to you." his voice was low, deep, raspy and dangerous. His face was only a mere inch away from mine. I gulped, nodding a little and glanced at the girl; her eyes were red from anger.

"Sit," he demanded, and I obeyed immediately, sitting on one of the visitors' chairs. He turned back to his 'girlfriend,' "You may leave, Rita, I don't need anything from you."

'Rita' Sam's girlfriend? Rita from high school or another Rita? I'm so confused.

"what?" rita sounded disappointed, pure disbelief in her tone. "you are asking me to leave because of her? are you fucking crazy?" her voice rose.

Samson sighed, walking over to his side of the table and pressing a button, "Come to my office now." he didn't need to say who he spoke to over the phone. It was already clear that he had called security.

He walked, standing in front of Rita again, "Take the remaining respect you have and leave." he spoke dryly, "I have a lot of things to finish." he added, walking over to his seat once again, taking his seat and focusing on his computer, like nothing happened.

Rita fumed, her face turning red with anger. "I won't forget this," she muttered, and did the unexpected: she took the cup of hot coffee I had got for Sam and poured it on me, the hot liquid soaking my top and burning my skin.

She huffed, turning on her heels and leaving the office, mumbling words only she could hear. her heels clicking with each step she takes.

I hissed in pain, standing up as quickly as possible, heading to the bathroom. I jabbed the door open and rushed to the sink, turning on the tap and splashing the cool water over my coffee-stained top.

Samson rushed to the bathroom almost immediately. "Are you okay?" he rushed to my side, opening the cabinet and bringing out a first aid kit.

The burn had subsided already, but my chest stings. "I'm alright," I murmured, "what's wrong with her though, doesn't she know you have a sister?" I deadpanned, leaning above the sink, my palms resting on either side of the counter.

"She does," he replied, "she doesn't like her, she doesn't like you," he added, opening the kit and taking out a burn cream. "Take it off," he muttered, grabbing a small towel from one of the top cabinets.

"What?" I asked, confusion written all over my face. "Your top," he replied. I paused, letting his words register in my mind.

"huh?" I exclaimed, he stood straight, looking me in the eye, "Take off your top so I can apply the cream," he deadpanned, rolling his sleeves to his elbows.

I hesitated for a brief minute, then I remembered those times in the past where I would get injured in different parts of my body, my waist, my thighs, my chest, everywhere, I didn't hesitate so why now.

"Okay," I murmured. I dropped the straps of my suspender shorts, my entire body tensing as I raised my hands to the hem of the top, peeling it off my skin and hissing as the fabric made contact with my skin.

I was too busy in my world that I hadn't noticed Sam's change in demeanour. his eyes locking with the outline of my chest, the black bra clinging to my boobs, my boobs almost spilling out of the bra, leaving little to the imagination.

Sam cursed internally, his blood boiling at the sight before him, his little friend that had barely responded to any girl, barely responded to Rita, woke up, it responded, straining in his pants, his body heating up very quickly.

"I'm not taking off anything else," I muttered, snapping Sam out of his daze as I tossed the material on the counter.

he cleared his throat, taking the towel, "Sit on the counter," he ordered, and I obeyed, carrying myself up and sitting comfortably on the counter.

He brought the towel to my chest, cleaning from my neck to the top of my bra, his expression unreadable, but his body was visibly tensed. Luckily, my bra wasn't caught in the liquid, so I was grateful. he dried my neck, my cleavage, the top of my boobs and in between.

It all made me feel weirded out, but he is my brother, am I right? I have nothing to fear.

After drying my now pinkish-looking chest, he twisted open the burn cream, spurting the lotion in his palms, rubbing them together and applying it to my chest. His hand was cold, and it felt nice and weird at the same time. I brushed it off immediately.

He finally retracted his hands, washing his hands and drying them with the towel he used to dry my chest. our eyes avoiding each other as if we made eye contact, we would lose it.

We heard a knock from his office. "I'll be back," he murmured, his voice hoarse and strained, walking out of the bathroom only to return a few minutes later with a bag.

"What's in the bag?" I asked, sliding down from the counter, my tits bouncing with every movements I make.

"Clothes," he answered bluntly, "change," he muttered, placing the bag on the countertop and walking out of the bathroom, closing the door before leaving.

I changed into the new clothes he got me, a pair of black denim shorts and a big black T-shirt, perfectly made for me, like he knows my body more than I do.

****

After changing into newer clothes, I walked out of the bathroom, my eyes meeting Sam, already in his suit, standing where I had seen him when I stepped into the room.

He looked drop-dead gorgeous, beautiful; no compliments could describe him. I wonder how he got an aggressive and hot-headed girlfriend like Rita. 

I chuckled inwardly as I recalled my last days in high school, when she asked me to hook her up with him, but I refused. I sighed, walking further, my boots thudding softly on the tiled floor.

"I'm ready." I muttered, grabbing my phone from the table, my nails clicking on the glass table as I picked it up.

he spun around, walking to the table and grabbing his car keys, "lets go," he murmured and started walking towards the door.

"where?" I asked but got nothing, no response, not even a glance, nothing. 'damn, he's real cold. where did he get this character from though?' I thought as I rushed behind him, trying to match his pace.