So, this is one of my favorite parts of the book. I so love writing the male Point of View (POV). There's a certain freedom to it that I enjoy .
Christ, he was a sick fuck.
Sam rubbed his hand over the rough stubble on his jaw, the raspy sound loud in the quiet room. Carla, Carrie, or whatever the hell her name was, had left. Hell, she hadn’t been able to get away fast enough once she’d figured it out. He could still smell the unmistakable scent of sex. It was thick and heavy in the air and wafted up from the ruined sheets he was lying on every time he moved. It’d been good—hard, fast and impersonal, just how he liked it. Okay, so it’d gone to crap at the end, but he’d gotten his rocks off and had no complaints in that regard. She’d been gorgeous and built, with a tongue that was more talented than most and a way of moving her hips when she rode him that had almost blown the top of his head off. So what was his problem and what the fuck was he doing? He shouldn’t still want to, shouldn’t need to—