Chapter Six

Meg woke with a start. She sat up. Shit, she was still in Sam’s room. She was no expert, but ‘fuck buddies’ fucked, they didn’t sleep together. She must have nodded off in his arms after he carried her back to bed and pulled the blankets over them. He’d said he wanted to help her warm up, like she hadn’t been hot enough all ready. The last she remembered was his warm breath on her neck and his arm holding her tight against him as he spooned around her.

Thank heavens he wasn’t in the room, she had a chance to tug on her sweats and make her escape. Not that she could avoid him forever, but a few hours to get her shit together and work out what had happened last night would be good.

Crawling out of his bed, she realized she ached in places that had never ached before, well, at least not in such a good way. The sex had been mind blowing. Now she had to deal with the humiliation and knowledge his fingers, tongue, and everything else had been places she normally kept taped off with danger signs that read, approach with caution, blubber on display. He’d seen her in all her wobbly glory, and yet he had valiantly soldiered on. She should put his name up for an award. Presented to Sam Stephens for services rendered in the face of mountainous fat in an ongoing quest for Maggie Riley’s missing libido.

Trackie dacks, t-shirt, and sweatshirt on, she shoved her bra and panties in her pockets and prepared to make a run for it. He must be having a shower. She would hide out in her room. When he was safely ensconced back in his own room, she’d lock herself in the bathroom until he went out. Assuming he did go out. He didn’t work on Saturdays as a rule. Hell, If he stayed home she’d be locked in the bathroom all day.

She opened the door and fled blindly through it, bouncing off a damp and extremely toned body. Sam managed to maintain his footing but she toppled backwards, grabbing frantically at anything to save herself from landing on her recently bruised arse. Her fingers closed around something soft which did nothing to break her fall. With a loud—humph—she landed squarely on her butt in the middle of the hallway. She glanced at what she held in her hand. Fuck, fuck, fuck! She’d grabbed Sam’s bath towel.

He squatted in front of her and, despite her best intentions not to look, her gaze dropped to the limp penis and pendulous testicles dangling between his thighs. Even flaccid, his dick was awe inspiring, and she’d had every hard inch of him inside of her.

“If you want to see me naked you only need to ask, baby. I’ve got nothing to hide.” His tone teased.

Her face heated as a crimson tide reached her scalp. This was so not happening. Her eyes were beyond her control, she didn’t want to watch but she couldn’t look away. As she continued to gaze at his dick, it lengthened and thickened. Oh heavens, he was getting an erection right there in front of her.

Before she realized her lips had parted, a voice squeaked, “Oh fuck, you’re getting hard.”

Sam’s deep throaty laughter filled the hallway. “You’re staring at him. He’s an exhibitionist and loves female attention. Now was that ‘oh fuck’ an exclamation of wonder at his beauty or an invitation?”

She shook her head madly. “Neither.”

He held out his hand and she shoved the towel at him, refusing his help as she struggled to her feet. Willpower had never been one of her strong points, as evidenced by her expanding waistline, but she fought valiantly not to notice his dick now stuck out at a ninety-degree angle from his body.

His chuckles followed her all the way to the bathroom. She slammed the door shut, slid the bolt, and leaned against the wall trying to make her heart stop racing. All her ice cream munching and lack of exercise must be catching up with her—she was having a coronary. At least if she died now she would go happy in the knowledge that sex was better than any flavor made by Ben & Jerry.

She turned on the taps, stripped off, and climbed under the stream of hot water. Soap in hand, she scrubbed vigorously at her body before massaging a huge dollop of shampoo through her hair. Finally clean, and the water now running cold, she knew she couldn’t hide forever. Taps turned off, she stepped into the steamy bathroom. In her haste to get away from Sam, she had failed to bring a towel or her robe with her. Her day was going from bad to worse. She had three options. One, put her dirty clothes on without drying herself. Two, dry herself as best she could with the hand towel and hope it was big enough to cover the vital bits. Or three, run wet and naked to her room hoping Sam had gone out or was still getting dressed.

The idea of putting on dirty clothes didn’t appeal. She lifted the hand towel off the rail and dabbed ineffectually at her body and hair. Now it was cold and wet, she didn’t plan to wrap it around herself, not that it would cover much anyway. Maybe she should risk peeking out to see if the coast was clear.

*

Sam still had a grin on his face as he tugged his t-shirt over his head. The water had stopped in the shower a few moments earlier but he hadn’t heard the bathroom door open. Picking up his dirty clothes, he tossed them in the laundry hamper on his way out the door. Despite her double orgasm the night before she had lost none of her discomfort about seeing his body. If his progress wasn’t for naught, he needed her to accept what they had done had given them both pleasure.

Taking up position across from the bathroom door, he leaned his butt against the wall and folded his arms. With nowhere to go, he could wait all day for her to come out.

He heard her draw the bolt back and watched as the door opened a crack. Two deep blue eyes peered at him and she squealed with fright. Before she had a chance to react, he shoved it wider, putting his foot in the door.

“Sam, bugger off. I don’t want to see you.”

“Are you sure?” He couldn’t resist grinning at her and raising an eyebrow.

She groaned. “Oh, I can’t deal with this while I’m dripping and naked. I forgot to bring my robe and towel in with me. I can’t come out unless you go away.”

She had given a little. Now he guessed it was his turn. “How about I go and get your robe and towel? But, you have to promise as soon as you’re dressed you will come to the kitchen and have a coffee with me. We need to talk about what happened last night.”

When she nodded, he pulled his foot free and disappeared into her bedroom. Funny, she had been in his room dozens of times but he had never ventured into her personal sanctuary. Pink flowery wallpaper adorned the walls, thick cream carpet covered the floor, and her large double bed was covered in a cream and pink quilt. A pair of Winnie-The-Pooh PJs lay folded on the bottom of the bed; her pink fluffy slippers tossed in the corner. Romance novels and empty chocolate wrappers littered her bedside table. So, that’s how she dealt with sleeping alone. He was tempted to poke around and see what else he could find but he didn’t want to leave her waiting and risk her getting more annoyed.

He found her towel and robe hanging on the back of the door. Grabbing them both, he crossed the hall and tapped on the bathroom door. It opened a crack and her arm and hand appeared. She grabbed her things but he kept a hold of them.

“Kitchen in five minutes or I’ll drag you there dressed or not, deal?”

She tugged at her towel and robe. “Deal. Now fuck off.”