Chapter 17
CHAPTER 17
Bree
I hope like hell his parents aren't here.
As I look at my reflection in the elevator's mirror, I know I'm taking a gamble. But at least I look like I come in peace. I chose a cozy sweater dress, some thick leggings, and high wedge boots. I pulled my hair into a loose, low ponytail and let my curly bangs frame my face. Pretty cute, pretty disarming. I'm definitely trying to look like I'm sorry.
But as I get closer to the top floor, I'm still not sure what I'll say. Where do I start? Tell him I lied about meeting another guy to catch him in a lie but that I'm sorry now after finding out his parents got out of jail and came over to antagonize him as soon as they could?
That's a bit of a mouthful.
But I don't have time to revise it.
The doors part and let me out. I take a deep breath as soon as I step into the room, trying to sniff out his parents. But it smells like it usually does. It smells like Sam. My gut twists with yearning, and I soften all over.
He's sitting heavily on the couch, apparently just staring off into space. I approach him cautiously, even though I know he expects me. I texted him on my way here for permission to come over. But he doesn't look up, even as I step closer.
It looks like he hasn't slept. Darkness rings his eyes, and his hair spills into his face as he looks down, staring through the floor.
The way he looks, it's breaking my heart.
"Sam," I whisper, unable to hold back from sinking into the couch next to him. "What happened?" I put my arms around his shoulders and burrow my face into his neck.
He doesn't move.
"Sam, have you slept?"
I'm off the couch before he can answer—if he was planning on answering—and tug gently on his hand, willing him to stand up.
"Come on, let's go up to bed. Let's lie down for a little while. You look like you're about to pass out."
He lets me pull him out of the living room and up the stairs, not really making eye contact and still not uttering a sound. I'm filled with worry as we make our way to the bedroom. Whatever happened, he doesn't want to tell me, and it's scaring me. I just want to hear his voice again. I want to know he wants me here, as selfish as that is right now.
"Here, into bed. Have you had water?"
I look around the room. Not a bottle or a glass in sight, so I go get some water from downstairs, moving quickly and with purpose. I don't smell alcohol on him, but I just know he hasn't been taking care of himself. When I get back to his room, I hand him the glass of water. He doesn't take it at first. I keep my arm extended, nudging him gently until he finally takes it. Once he starts drinking, he doesn't stop.
That's what I thought.
I set the empty glass on the nightstand, and after I take off my boots, I climb into bed with him, my hand immediately beginning to smooth his hair.
All I want to do is make it all better somehow.
"Sam," I whisper, stroking his hair. I'm not talking to him. I don't want him to answer. His name just slips out of my mouth, sadly. "Oh Sam…"
"I don't need that."
I flinch beside him. His voice is like ice.
"Then tell me what you need," I plead. "Tell me what happened."
"I don't need you to feel sorry for me."
I feel him slipping further away from me. Without thinking, I rush against him, burying my face against his neck again. My arms wrap around his back, rubbing up and down, willing him to come back.
"I'm sorry," I murmur, my lips working against his skin. He twitches in my hold, but I don't let him go. I keep saying it. "I'm sorry, Sam. I'm so sorry."
"Bree."
I hear his voice distantly, but a desperation is raging in my chest. I wriggle closer to him, pulling him tighter against me, burrowing my face into his hair, his scent, against his skin.
"Bree, what are you?—"
"Let me make it better," I whisper. "Give me a chance. Let me make you feel better, okay?"
Then I find his mouth with mine, silencing him. I know this is what I need to do. I want him to feel my emotions. I can't just use my words, not now.
His lips come alive against me, his body stirring toward mine. I feel his hands on my back, and as my passion leaks into the kiss, my tongue seeking his, seeking the taste of him, he starts to awaken to me.
To this moment.
I'm dragging him here with me, where nothing else matters.
Sam's hands start to roam my body, his tongue tangling with mine. With a muffled moan, I push him onto his back and climb on him, not wanting for a second to be separate from him. Our breath mingles as we pause for a moment, forehead to forehead, and finally, he looks into my eyes.
My heart squeezes.
Sam is soft with emotion, with need. There's so much unspoken there, and he looks like he's about to say something. I cover his lips with mine, relishing the softness of him.
"Don't," I whisper after a few moments. "Not now. Just let me take control."
As I deepen the kiss, I cup his face, then sink my fingers into his hair. I let my body melt on top of him, my softness molding to the cold hardness of him, and he comes around, like he's remembering he's a person, not a robot. He runs his hands up my thighs, over my ass, and up to my back, then he's hugging me tightly, groaning slightly into our kiss.
Yes, this is the Sam I know.
My heart swells, almost to the point of making me cry. I didn't realize I missed him this badly—needed him this badly.
I pull back and tear off my sweater dress, quickly feeling Sam's touch on my stomach. His fingers dip into the waist of my leggings, and together, we work them off, taking my panties along, too. But I don't let him touch me like he wants to. When he reaches between my legs, his fingers curling upward in anticipation of touching my heat, I swat his hand away.
We're going at my pace. I'm having him my way. Because we've come too close to veering off track, to moving away from each other.
I watch him drink in the hunger in my expression as I work his sweats and boxers off, exposing his thick, wanting dick. He twitches before I can get my hands on him, before I can straddle him and position him at my dripping entrance.
Sam's lips part, but I put a finger to his mouth, keeping him silent. I'm afraid of what he'll say, how he might bring this moment to a halt. I don't care about all the bullshit waiting for us on the other side of this. I just want to feel him buried inside me, deep. I want to feel that connection we have. I want to feel him losing himself in me, just like I'll lose myself to him.
I don't tear my eyes away from him as I inch his dick in. I let him see the pleasure register in my face, ripple through my body. He's parting my walls slowly, digging into my pussy, and I'm sucking him in, taking him to the base. He's so fucking hard, and I feel every inch filling me up, stretching me out.
Sam reaches for me, and I drop down, pressing our chests together as I fall into his kiss. My hips start a slow grind, massaging my clit against him. I moan into his mouth, loving the feeling of being full of him while stimulating that sensitive bud. The pleasure is too sweet. But Sam quickly snaps me out of it. He starts to thrust, sliding in and out, and the friction in my tight hole starts to make me weak.
I respond to his thrusts, and together, we let our passion flow, the intensity of our kiss matching our grinding hips. We don't part, we don't slow down. We only pull each other closer, grind harder, silently scream that this is what we needed, this and nothing else.
Soon, my lips stop working, my mouth reduced to a slack hole that only permits hard, fast breaths. I shut my eyes and lose myself, just like I wanted, to the frenzy of Sam. His fingers dig into my ass, willing me to fuck him harder, and I do, slamming my ass down on him. Our sweat mingles as we get closer, grunting, panting, moaning together, encouraging the other to come. He presses his forehead to mine, just as my pussy starts to clench.
"I'm—"
"Me too, don't stop," I beg, my thighs aching from riding him.
I can't stop, either. I'm too close, and I want to erupt all over him, at the same moment that he busts in me.
"Come in me," I whimper. "Fill me, Sam, fill me up."
Sam bucks his hips hard, coming with a hard grunt. His last powerful thrusts send me over the edge, too, and I come to a shuddering halt atop him, my pussy spasming in waves of intense pleasure. My body suddenly spent, I rest my head heavily on his chest. His heart is hammering fast, just like mine.
So I listen until it calms down, feeling like I can't move.
I don't want to, either.
In the afterglow that settles around us, my mind and heart latch onto something hopeful, something nearly impossible. And even though I have no business entertaining it, I let it wrap warmly around me, just like Sam's arms.
We can work this out, if we wanted to. And I know I do.
Vrrm-vrrm. Vrrm-vrrm.
Vrrm-vrrm. Vrrm-vrrm.
"What?!" I call out into the dark, annoyed to be ripped out of sleep.
The room spins as I open my eyes. I must have been sleeping hard. I look around the bed, take in the small room, the patch of light on the ceiling from the street light outside.
I'm in my own room, that's right. Sam isn't here. I left him at his penthouse—he said he had some things to take care of but that he would be in touch with me soon. And we'd be able to talk.
He kissed me goodbye, sweetly. I still remember how his lips felt.
Vrrm-vrrm. Vrrm-vrrm.
Right, that's what woke me up.
I slap around my bed until I find my phone, first squinting at the time because I know damn well it's too fucking late to get my phone blown up like this. 4:30 a.m. I frown and unlock it, already unwilling to forgive whoever it is.
"Danica… shit, Danica!"
I forgot to text her back yesterday. The thing with Sam took over my mind completely. I forgot to talk to him about his parents. But at the same time, the timing seemed bad.
I groan and sit up straight, pulling myself out of sleep. She's sent me several texts. My heart starts racing—am I fired? I read through them quickly until I get the gist, and something cold and sick settles in my stomach.
There's no way I'm reading this right.
I read them again, slowly, distantly trying to figure out if I'm dreaming or not at the same time.
Danica isn't mad at me for not texting her back about the story. In fact, it's a good thing that I didn't because a new story just dropped, a better one, better than anything I would have come up with.
A billionaire's parents were just found dead in a hotel. Danica wants me to start writing the story immediately, as soon as I see her message.
Vrrm-vrrm. Vrrm-vrrm.
Her next message almost makes me drop the phone as it starts vibrating in my hand. It's the casual way she brings up the billionaire's name, like my world hasn't just fallen apart.
Know anything about Sam Green?