The first problem with Sam was that every time I got even close to pondering the possibility of there perhaps being an “us,” he did something to freak me out. The second was how he refused to play by the rules. My rules.
“We agreed I’d be in charge. But I don’t feel like I’m in charge,” I panted, hitting the boxing bag thingy with my carefully wrapped hands. Liz and Ben had taken Gib out to see the latest kid’s movie. Even Adam had taken himself out for the night. We had the house to ourselves and Sam had decided we should spend our time in the gym. “If I chip a nail, I will not be happy.”
Standing behind the bag, Sam held it steady. “Your nails will be fine. Wouldn’t make much sense you being in charge during your self-defense classes though, would it?”
“’spose not.”
“Don’t pout. You can be in charge after.”
“I’m not pouting.” I half-heartedly flung my fists in a one-two type motion at the bag. “Will this be the same as when I was supposedly in charge, yet you dragged me out of my room to come do this?”
“I didn’t drag you out of your room. After all, it’s not like you were in there hiding from me, is it?”
“No,” I lied. “My arms are tired. My shoulders hurt too.”
“You’ve done very well.” He smiled, turning me around so he could massage my back. Something he was exceptionally good at. “What are the three attack points again?”
“Eyes, throat, and groin.”
“And what do you do with the handbag?”
“Let the mugger take it without a fight.”
“Good girl.”
With my back to him, he couldn’t see my scowl. “It wasn’t that I valued the handbag more than my life, you know. It’s just that it was mine. You have to fight to protect what’s yours in this world, or people will walk all over you.”
“Fair point.” Followed with silence.
“But?”
More silence. Then, “You ever read anything by Miyamoto Musashi?”
“Should I have?”
“Seventeenth century warrior poet. Samurai.”
“Oh, that Miyamoto Musashi. Sure, of course. I have his collected works upstairs in my suitcase.”
He ignored my sarcasm, and continued on with the massage. And, apparently, the history lesson. “There’s some debate about whether Musashi was the greatest swordsman of all time. But what nobody questions was his judgment. He studied his rivals for years, only challenging them when he was good and ready, and never letting his ambition cloud his choice. Because one wrong decision of opponent or timing and he would die.”
“There’s a lesson here, I just know it.”
“If one of the greatest warriors of all time needed to learn to pick his fights, then maybe you can too.”
I sighed. “Okay. Message received.” His thumbs dug into something particularly needy in my neck and I groaned in bliss. “Why couldn’t you have done this last night in the pool house?”
“Because you were drunk and needed to sleep it off.”
“That’s what irritates me the most about Adam opening his big mouth and telling them. It’s not even like anything happened afterwards,” I said. “There’s a reason why they call it a booty call instead of a spooning call, Sam.”
He chuckled, talented fingers moving down one of my arms, working the sore muscles. Of course, this necessitated him fitting his front to my back. Goosebumps raced up and down my spine at his nearness. If only his body against mine didn’t feel so good. Made holding out against him nearly impossible.
“Where’s all this tension coming from?” he asked, rubbing at my wrist before moving onto the palm of my hand, undoing the tape as he went. “Have a rough day, my love?”
“You’re going to insist on calling me that no matter how many times I ask you not to, aren’t you?”
“Sorry. It just slips out. Does it really bother you?”
I shrugged, unwilling or unable to answer. I didn’t know. His slick mouth teased my neck while he massaged my fingers before moving on to the other arm. Teeth nibbled at the sensitive lobes of my ear. It made me all tingly. “I’m sweaty.”
“I like you sweaty,” he said, voice lower than usual. The man was definitely turned on, as the hardening cock against my butt signalled. Made it impossible not to press back against him. His arm muscles flexed, holding me tighter while keeping up with the massage. No doubts regarding Sam’s ability to multi-task. “Sorry for holding out on you last night.”
“You and your annoying morals. Though it probably was the right thing to do given how drunk I was.” I sighed, reaching back to stroke my fingers over the stubble on the back of his shaved head. The thick muscles of his neck. Every chance I did some grabbing and kneading of my own. Honestly, my own body’s reaction to him was crazy. Already, my core ached with need as if I hadn’t had sex in ages.
“Still,” I said. “Maybe I should hold out on you just the same.”
“You don’t really want to do that, love.” His voice sounded far too confident. “We have far too much fun together when we play nicely.”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely. I like your sports bra.”
“It’s nothing special.”
“Maybe not,” he said. “But the woman in it is.”
“Smooth line, Sam. I’m impressed. Is there a lock on that door?”
“Brilliant minds think alike. I locked it when we came in.” He kissed a line down the side of my neck, his hand slipping beneath the waistband of my shorts. While his fingers might have been thick, they certainly were dexterous. First he cupped my mound, petting those lips lightly. “You have such a sweet cunt, love. How lucky am I to be the man who gets to play with it?”
I smiled. “Sweet? How would you know? You’ve never even tasted it.”
“Now that’s a very good point.”
Strong arms lifted me, laying me on a bench press or whatever you call those things. My shorts and underwear were whisked down my legs. Only sneakers are kind of a pain in the ass to get clothes over. So they needed to go too. With an impatient growly noise, Sam dealt with them and the socks, and then the clothes. All of it was thrown haphazardly over his shoulder. I’d never seen a man in such a hurry to get at me. In the end, all I still wore was the bra. He knelt at the end of the bench, parted my legs with his hands, and stopped.
Just fucking stopped.
“What are you doing?” I asked, craning my neck to see.
“I don’t want to rush this.”
“Well, I do.”
“Shh, relax.” Hands stroked the outside of my thighs, placing my legs gently over his big shoulders. And all the while, he stared at my vagina like he was transfixed or something. “You’re so beautiful, Martha. Every part of you. I want you to feel cherished.”
Huh. “Thank you.”
He kissed the inside of my thigh. Yet went no closer.
“Can you take a photo with your cell later and cherish that instead?”
“What a lovely idea. I’ll do that too.”
I groaned. “Sam…”
With a quick grin, he dipped his head and licked up my center. Christ. My back bowed, eyelids fluttering closed. I’d already been wet when he started touching me. Now I was drenched. Fingers dug into my flesh, holding my legs apart for him to feed. Because the man ate me like he was starving. There could be no other description. Some guys just gave you a lick or two then moved on to the fucking segment of the evening as if they’d ticked the good guy head box and had earned their reward. But not so with Sam. He licked and stroked and generally drove me out of my mind. If his whole upper body wound up covered in my juices, I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised.
The man obviously loved going down on a woman.
Well, this woman, at least.
His tongue dragged, dug, circled, and swirled over and around the pertinent parts of my anatomy. As if he needed to learn me inside and out for some later test. Without a doubt, he’d have passed with flying colors. The first orgasm hit me hard and had me shaking from top to toe. The second swept through me like a wave of ecstasy. Forget massages for total body and muscle relaxation. Unless they were massages done by Sam’s tongue to my pussy. Sign me up for one of those suckers any day.
“And you’re especially beautiful,” he said with a smile, wiping off his face with a hand, “right after you’ve come.”
I lay on the bench, still twitching, watching as he took off his shirt and shorts. Such a sight to see. The rock-hard length of his cock pointed straight at the ceiling. And I wanted it, I really did. But there was just one small problem. “I’m not sure I can move.”
“Let me help.” He lifted me off the bench so carefully, wrapping my legs around him seemed only polite. “Is the wall all right with you? The bench is the wrong height and the flooring’s a bit rough in here. Wouldn’t want you to get carpet burn on your soft skin.”
“The wall is fine.”
“Excellent.”
With my spine pressed to the cool flat surface, he reached between us, positioning the broad, blunt head of his cock at my entrance. There was less wriggling this time on account of me being so wet. In he pushed, slowly lowering me onto him. God, the feeling of fullness, the stretch of him inside me. Twenty-four hours was far too long to go without. I pressed my lips against his, kissing him deep and hungry. No need for messing around. No worrying about if he wanted me plastered all sweaty against his skin.
Sam knew me and wanted me. How much was honestly a little scary.
Hips flexing, he fucked himself into me time and again. Each measured perfect thrust stealing my breath and blowing my mind. His fingers tightened on my ass, digging in to hold me in place. The man steadily nailed me to the damn wall. Only he kept subtly, slightly shifting his position, searching for something. I didn’t realize what until he hit something inside my pussy that made my whole body clench.
“There we go,” he said.
“Christ. That’s why they call them drill sergeants, huh?”
“Don’t be silly.” He grinned. “That’s the army, love. I’m navy.”
Then he set about fucking me into oblivion. Over and over, he hit that one perfect place, sending me higher with each stroke. I clung to him, struggling for breath, body and heart turned inside out. As for my mind, it was total mush. Faster and harder, he fucked me against the wall, hammering my g-spot. Not stopping until I came again, shouting out a name. Someone’s name. Let’s not get into it. It didn’t matter. His hips ground against me, burying his dick deep as he came with a grunt. Yes. For all his honeyed words and carrying on, he’d come grunting at me. Pure romance.
This was why people shouldn’t get carried away with emotions etcetera. Even if the sex happened to be insanely good. Hormones can make you do stupid things like yelling out names of people you should probably only be friends with. Like, fuck buddies at best. Because once you start getting carried away, things get complicated. When you’re all wound up and feeling a million things including horribly exposed.
“You shouted my name,” he said almost wonderingly. The idiot.
“Should I have shouted someone else’s?” And while my lungs and heart might have been scrambling to catch up, my body was rigid, unyielding. “Put me down.”
Prudently, yet tenderly, he did so. “Martha, what are you thinking about?”
“Why do you always ask me that after sex?” I snapped, gathering up my clothing. “It’s unnecessary. The whole point of sex is not to think.”
For a moment, there was silence.
“What?” I snapped again.
“Is this about you saying my name?”
“No.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“So it’s about intimacy in general, then?”
I cringed. “Seriously?”
God knows where my panties had gone. Doubtless the completely wrong person would find them tomorrow and I’d be in for another round of humiliation. I pulled on the shorts then got busy collecting the shoes and socks. I could walk back to my room barefoot. It wasn’t like it’d matter.
Meanwhile, he just stood there bare-ass naked, arms crossed, watching me.
“What?” I asked, getting down on my hands and knees to try and find the fucking underwear. Shit. They’d disappeared. And he’d been totally right about the rough flooring. My back or hands and knees would have been shredded. Of course his being right and caring about me only made things worse. “Are you going to get dressed? And why are you giving me that look?”
“What look am I giving you exactly?”
“Blank face, but pissed-off eyes. It’s the one you use when you’re angry, but pretending as if you’re trying to hide it.”
“Well, Martha,” he said, pausing to pick up his shorts and pull them on, “I was giving you that particular look because we just had great sex, and before I can even catch my breath, you’re suddenly being a raging bitch. What I’m wondering is, why?”
“Why you’re bothering with me or why I’m being a bitch?” I asked, rising back to my feet. “Because I have a well-known reputation for being a bitch so I don’t see that stopping anytime soon. As for the other, there’s a very simple answer. We can just stop. We’ve had a few good fucks. Might as well end it while we’re ahead, right?”
He just blinked.
“What? What is it now?”
“Are you honestly that afraid of feeling something for me?”
I set my jaw, but it didn’t help. Neither did staring at the stupid floor.
“C’mon,” he said, voice softer. “Look at me.”
Surly as shit, I did so. God knows why.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
My shoulders slumped. “I can’t find my panties.”
He exhaled and looked around, inspecting the room. Next he crossed over to a collection of dumbbells and hooked my black thong with his index finger. Trust him to find them immediately. I held out my hand to take them, but he drew me in close.
“What else is wrong?” he asked.
And the words were there, but actually speaking them…
Arms wrapped around me, holding me carefully. Like I was delicate and might break. Like I had cracks in me already. “You can tell me, love. It’s okay.”
My throat tightened, eyes hurting. “The last time I was doing stupid things like yelling people’s names out during sex and getting all overemotional, everything went wrong. I made it go wrong.”
“You and Dave?”
I nodded, cheek pressed against his chest.
“That was a long time ago,” he said. “I think you’re a bit wiser now, don’t you?”
“No.”
He rubbed my back, kissing the top of my head. God, he was so good at this stuff and I was so not. My arms clung to him. “Martha, no matter whose fault it was, I know you got hurt last time. And I can tell you for a fact that I’m not going to hurt you. That is not going to happen. But only you can decide if I’m worth the risk.”
“I don’t want to hurt you either.” I hated the thought. He was such a good man. And this was all getting so complicated so quickly.
“Then don’t,” he said. “It’s that simple.”
I sniffled, taking a deep breath. “Honestly, Sam. It’s barely been twenty-four hours. How could things possibly get this difficult in such a short amount of time? It’s crazy.”
Without a word, he picked me up, sitting me on his lap on the bench. “Not really. I think we’ve been dancing around each other for a long time. By the time we finally got together, it was bound to be…well...”
“I guess so.”
“A bit more complicated then you intended, hmm?”
“You could say that.”
“Do you really want to just stop?”
“No.” I leaned my head against his shoulder, getting comfortable. Not hiding. Something other than that.
“All right then.”
“All right then,” I mimicked in a deep voice. “You’re so full of shit, pretending to go along with everything. ‘You’re in charge, Martha.’ ‘Whatever you say, Martha.’”
“I’m your servant in all things, love,” he said, the smile obvious in his voice. “I just try to help you along occasionally is all.”
“Yeah, right.” I sighed. “I’m not just using you for sex. I don’t know what it is, but…anyway.”
“Well, I’m certainly glad to hear you can admit it. Even if you are describing us as but anyway.”
“Shut up,” I grumbled.
He just laughed. Bastard.