Chapter 19
BLYTHE
I miss his weight the minute he’s off of me, and a chill pebbles my exposed skin, leading me to reach for a blanket.
Only, I suddenly wonder if I should be putting my clothes back on and heading for the golf cart.
It’s not that I have to be in my room in case Maggi needs me in the morning.
I know she’s more than fine with her grandparents.
But I’m not sure Sam is expecting to share his bed for what remains of the night.
I slide out of bed, my body already sore from our activities. Muscle memory no longer a thing after two years of celibacy.
“Where are you going?” Sam asks, and I look over my shoulder to where he’s standing in the bathroom doorway, the soft light of the moon illuminating his ridiculous body. Seriously, what the hell? I’m no anatomy expert, but I’m pretty sure that he has muscles where muscles don’t exist.
“I was…” My eyes lock onto that V thing people always talk about but I’ve never seen in real life.
He probably assumes I’m staring at his dick.
“I was going to head back to the estate,” I say dumbly, eyes still glued to his body.
What the hell is it called? Orion’s Belt?
No. Apollo’s Bow? That doesn’t seem right either.
Whatever the name, it’s apparently not mythical.
I am actively avoiding looking at his face because I’m afraid of what I’ll see there. And in all honesty, I don’t want to see joy or sadness about me running away. I don’t want him to be happy about it or sad about it. I need him to be indifferent about all of this. One of us has to be.
His muscles contract as he steps forward, and my breath catches. I suddenly feel like prey, but I don’t want to fight or take off in flight. I want to be caught, held, and buried beneath all that hard musc—Adonis. Adonis something that’s what it’s called.
“Is that what you want to do?” he asks, taking my chin in his hand and tilting my head back so I’m forced to look at his face.
I may actually swoon at the action. A man has never grasped my chin like this, and I suddenly get why it’s a thing in romance novels.
His eyes are nearly black in the dim light of the cottage, but I can see them searching mine.
“Please stay,” he whispers. “If you want to.”
I stare back, wanting to ask if that’s what he wants, but then my brain translates every little thing happening right now. The way he’s holding my face, the way he said, “Please stay.” The second part of what he said was giving me the choice, making it clear he’s not going to make me do anything.
“Okay,” I reply, and he drops his hand to the bed, his left landing on my other side as he bends to kiss me.
Yes, okay, staying was a good choice, I think, as the kiss heats, his right arm wrapping around me, hauling me back, while he climbs onto the bed, covering my body with his again. Giving me the weight I had been missing only minutes ago.
It has been so long since I woke up in the arms of someone else, and it takes a minute to orient myself with where I am and who the arm wrapped around my waist belongs to. There’s a split second of hope that it’s Eric, but then my memory kicks in. It’s never going to be him again.
People have talked about the first everything being hard. The first Christmas, birthday, and all those expected milestones.
I’m positive I built up the intimate moments into something they didn’t end up being.
Maybe because sleeping with Sam didn’t feel like I was trying to get something over with.
It was something I wanted, not something I needed to get through.
Not to say I’m not relieved. But I’m relieved that I was able to enjoy myself.
Ecstatic that I was able to be fully present.
Sam’s fingers dance across my stomach, and a sleepy laugh slips from me.
A warm puff of air hits my shoulder as he chuckles against my skin.
Fuck, that feels nice.
“Ticklish, Rosie?” he asks, his lips skating across my skin.
“Apparently.” I roll onto my side so I’m facing him.
The eyes that turned nearly black last night are back to their gentle brown, crinkling at the corners as he smiles sleepily at me.
“Morning,” he rasps, hand coming to rest on my cheek, thumb brushing lightly across my skin, chasing away the slight chill in the air. There’s something comforting about how gentle this obscenely powerful-looking man is.
I don’t bother hiding my smile when it makes an appearance. I don’t want him misinterpreting how I’m feeling in this moment.
“Good morning,” I whisper.
Sam tucks my hair behind my ear, and his forehead pinches in a blink-and-you’d-mis- it moment.
“What?” I ask.
“I didn’t think you could get more beautiful,” he muses. “But I was wrong.”
I feel his words, the sincerity of them, the power of them as they ping-pong in my brain.
“It’s the Highlands,” I say, deflecting the compliment because it’ll be easier to walk away from this if I don’t let myself get caught up in the flattery.
“Nah,” he refutes. “The Highlands don’t hold a candle to you.”
“You’re still remembering the dress from yesterday then,” I chance.
“I’m still remembering you from the plane,” he counters as his hand trails down my back and over my ass, pulling me tighter against him so I can feel every inch of his hard body. “Don’t argue with me, Rosie. I know what I see and I have twenty-twenty vision.”
That’s probably for the best, I think as I wrap my right leg around his thigh and roll my hips, pulling a hiss from him as I grind along his length. Sam in glasses would be cataclysmic in the most spectacular way.
“Stop trying to change the subject, beautiful,” he warns, gripping my waist and holding me still. “Admit I’m right and I’ll give you what you want,” he teases.
What I want, eh? What is that exactly?
“I’m bad with compliments,” I admit, dipping my chin only to have Sam gently guide it back up.
“Maybe you’re simply out of practice?” he suggests.
He’s probably right. Eric wasn’t shy about complimenting me, and after the first few months together, I stopped blushing and shying away from them. I accepted them as fact and not as a courtesy.
He’s definitely right. I am probably out of practice.
I shrug. “Acceptance muscles have atrophied, I guess.”
He grins back. “I’m happy to go through some drills with you, get those muscles warmed up.” His cock slides against me, and I release a low, stuttering breath, willing him to give me what I need.
“Please,” I plead.
“Please what, Rosie?” he asks so innocently I’d smack him if my hands weren’t content resting on his pecs.
“Give me what I want.”
He shakes his head. “I need explicit directions. Commands. Demands. Instructions.” He highlights each word with a rock against me.
“Sam, I want you to get a condom and fuck me until I forget my damn name.”
He’s off the bed in a blink of an eye, digging through his bag.
It’s while I’m watching him roll the condom on that my bladder chooses to remind me that I have not taken care of something yet this morning, and I’m suddenly very self-conscious about being like, I’m sorry, I need to put a pin in this, but if I don’t pee now, it’s going to be weird for the both of us.
“What?” he asks when he’s climbing back onto the bed, his face pinched in concern.
“I have to, um… pee.”
“Why are you worried about that? Everybody pees.” He grins, gesturing to the bathroom. “I’ll make sure to be extra ready when you come back,” he assures me, lying back on the bed and stroking himself.
I can’t seem to look away, so I back into the extremely posh bathroom off the bedroom, eyes on where his hand grips his erection. Goddamn.
Once I’ve taken care of nature's call, I squirt some of his toothpaste directly into my mouth and look at my reflection as I swish the paste around.
Considering how little sleep I’ve gotten, I look surprisingly refreshed.
Leaning forward, I scrutinize myself, trying to see what Eric and now Sam see.
I like my eyes—always have. My hair, well, that took years to fall in love with, even if Anne of Green Gables was my favourite book growing up.
I have the skin of someone who avoids the sun, mainly because I crisp up real quick, even with sunscreen on.
I haven’t looked at myself through someone else’s gaze in so long I had forgotten all the things I’d grown to like about myself, so focused on Maggi that I didn’t bother focusing on me.
I spit, take a deep breath, and head back into the bedroom.
I don’t walk back to the bed—I prowl. Each step purposeful as I make my way to Sam, who has indeed kept himself ready.
“Fuck,” he breathes out as his eyes speed around my nakedness. I fight the instinct to cover up. Push myself to keep up the predatory approach.
Just before I reach the bed I stop. “Like what you see?” I flirt, my hands wrapping around my hips as I stand there feeling powerful.
“Like doesn’t seem like a big enough word,” he drawls. “How do you want me?” he asks, and his words from earlier come back about what he needs.
“Hands at your sides,” I tell him, a bit more timidly than I intend. I can’t help it though, I’ve never been the dominant one in a relationship.
He ignores the way my voice wavers and does as he’s told.
I continue forward until I’m climbing back onto the bed, slipping one leg over him. When his hands rise to rest on my thighs, I tsk.
“Leave—grab the headboard,” I instruct when I see the spindles, and he stretches his arms over his head, his big hands wrapping around the delicate wood, and I wonder if they’ll survive this little experiment.
The tattoo on his left forearm dances while he adjusts his grip and I’m distracted momentarily from what I was going to do.
I slide back a bit, not giving either of us what we want yet. Leaning forward, I drag my tongue across his right nipple before closing my lips around it.
“Holy shit,” he grits out as I suck. “Goddamn.”
I pull off with a sloppy pop and move to the other one, getting nearly an identical reaction out of him. I move down, alternating between his right and left side, until I get to the deep V. His cock jumps when I trace a finger through the crevice leading to where he’s hard and ready.
“This is ridiculous,” I say in wonder.
“Please,” he begs, and I look up to see his body straining, knuckles nearly white from gripping the spindles so hard.
I want those hands on me pretty badly, but I also want to see how well he listens.
I scoot forward and take him in hand, watching his expression carefully as I line us up and sink halfway down before rising again until only the tip of him is inside me.
I stay like that, appreciating how his grip tightens further, knuckles now fully white.
So much power there, and I’m in control of it.
I sink halfway again and repeat until I get impatient and lower myself so there isn’t even a millimetre between us.
His hips begin to rise, and I shake my head. “Don’t move, handsome.” He grins when I call him handsome and slowly lowers his body. “Good boy,” I purr, leaning back to rest my hands on his thighs as I begin a steady pace of rising and falling, watching him fight the orders on every upstroke.
Sam’s eyes grow wide when I bring my right hand to my lips and draw two fingers into my mouth before reaching between my legs.
His lips part, and a barely there whimper reaches my ears as I apply pressure to my clit while I continue to ride him.
The spindles whine in his grip, and I’m torn between wanting to see him destroy this bed so he can get to me and not wanting him to damage someone else’s property.
My inner people pleaser wins. “Touch me, Sam.”
It’s like watching a horse break through the starting gate; his hands are on me so fast I don’t have time to feel them before our chests are pressed together and his lips are on mine. He grinds up into me, his pelvis taking over for my fingers, which he guides to his mouth while I watch in awe.
I had no idea that fingers could be erogenous zones, but the sensation of his tongue has me reevaluating things.
His hands have my hips in a vise grip, holding me so hard against him I imagine there’s no way to see where he ends and I begin. He directs me, working with the natural rhythm of my body.
“Fuck, I’m so close,” he says against my neck, his teeth scraping over the sensitive skin between my neck and shoulder. “Tell me you’re close,” he begs.
I tell him by absolutely shattering, causing a chain reaction as his arms wrap around my body so tightly I’m worried he’s about to cut off my air supply or pulverize my bones. Death by orgasmic bear hug.