Chapter Seven | Sam #2
"And you were so controlled, so determined not to let anyone in." He pulled back to look at me, his hands framing my face with unexpected tenderness. "But then I saw you with your hair down, laughing in that leaf pile, and I was done for."
I pulled my sweatshirt over my head, watched his eyes darken as he took me in. "Still want me?"
"Want you? Sam, I'm desperate for you."
We moved toward the bed, shedding the rest of our clothes as we went. His torso was all lean muscle, with a dusting of dark hair I immediately needed to touch. My hands mapped the planes of his chest, feeling his heart race under my palm.
When my bra came off, he made a sound that was almost pained. "You're so beautiful. Been driving me crazy for days, watching you coordinate this circus in your perfect little outfits, wondering what you looked like underneath."
"And?"
"Better than I imagined." He lowered his head, took one nipple into his mouth while his hand covered the other breast. The dual sensation made me arch against him, fingers tangling in his hair.
We fell onto the bed together in a fumble of eager hands and breathless laughter.
"Smooth," I teased.
"You try maintaining dignity while this desperate," he shot back.
Then he was over me, skin to skin, and the laughter died.
His weight felt perfect, grounding me even as every nerve ending sparked to life.
When he kissed me again, it was deeper, more intense, like he was trying to memorize the taste of me.
"Still sure?" he asked, fingers tracing my jaw.
Instead of answering, I wrapped my hand around him, watched his eyes roll back as I stroked once, twice.
"I'll take that as a yes," he groaned, then caught my wrist. "But ladies first."
He kissed his way down my body, taking his time, finding sensitive spots I didn't know existed. When he settled between my thighs, looking up at me with wicked intent, I nearly combusted from anticipation alone.
The first touch of his tongue made me cry out, hands fisting in the sheets. He was thorough, patient, learning what made me gasp, what made me shake, building me up until I was begging incoherently.
"That's it," he murmured against me. "Let go, Sam. Let me hear you."
When I shattered, it was with his name on my lips, pleasure sparking through every nerve ending as he worked me through it, drawing out every aftershock until I was boneless and gasping.
He kissed his way back up my body, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Still with me?"
"Barely." I pulled him down for a kiss, tasting myself on his tongue. "Your turn."
I pushed him onto his back, enjoyed the way his eyes went wide as I took my own journey down his body. When I took him in my mouth, his groan was gratifying. His fingers tangled in my hair, callused from years of knife work, gentle despite their strength.
"Sam—God—you don't have to—"
I pulled back just enough to say, "I want to," then took him deeper, using my hand to work what my mouth couldn't reach.
"Stop, stop," he gasped after a few minutes, pulling me up. "I need to be inside you. Please."
He rolled us over, settled between my thighs, and paused, holding my gaze as he pushed inside slowly, giving me time to adjust. The stretch was perfect, just the right side of too much, and when he was fully seated, we both stilled, panting.
"You okay?"
"More than okay." I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. "Move. Please."
He did, setting a rhythm that started slow and deep, building gradually as we found our pace together. His hands gripped mine above my head, fingers interlaced, as he drove into me with increasing urgency.
"Been wanting this," he panted against my neck. "Wanted you under me, around me, wanted to hear you say my name like that—"
"Gus—" I was close again, impossibly, the angle hitting just right.
"That's it. Come for me, Sam. Let me feel you."
When I fell apart the second time, he followed me over with a groan that vibrated through me, my name on his lips like a prayer.
After, we lay wrapped around each other, my head on his chest, his fingers combing through my hair. Neither of us mentioned tomorrow. Neither of us mentioned Sunday.
"The wedding," I said unnecessarily.
"Yeah." His arms tightened around me. "We should get up."
"Five more minutes." I pressed closer, threw my leg over his hip.
His hand immediately found my thigh, fingers tracing lazy patterns on my skin like he couldn't stop touching me. "You're not helping my self-control," he murmured against my neck.
He groaned. "You're going to be the death of me."
"But what a way to go."
He rolled me onto my back, kissing me slow and deep. "Tell me you're still sure."
"About this? About us?" I traced patterns on his chest. "I'm all in, Gus. No hesitation."
"Good." He caught my hand, brought it to his lips. "Because this changes everything."
"I know."
"What happens after the wedding?" he asked quietly.
"We'll figure it out." I kissed him, trying to convey everything I couldn't say yet. "We have to."
In ten hours, Raven would walk down that aisle and tomorrow I'd be packing my rental car for Denver. But right now, with morning light creeping through the curtains and Gus's heartbeat steady under my palm, none of that seemed to matter as much as this moment.
As much as him.
The question was whether I'd be brave enough to fight for what we'd found, or whether I'd let my carefully planned life pull me away from the best thing I'd never planned for.