Chapter 31 Blythe
BLYTHE
“Babe, stop apologizing.” Sam squeezes my hand as he navigates the tight bends of the road to the cottage. “It didn’t hurt that much, I swear. I’m just sorry we got interrupted, again.”
His speech is somewhat impaired from the trauma I inflicted on his tongue, but at least he’s no longer bleeding.
I know he’s in pain though because keeps subtly shifting his jaw.
I suggested that we go to the hospital, but he reminded me we aren’t really near one, and he’d know if it was broken.
He’s seen enough of them in his playing days.
My big tough man. No, not mine. He’s just a big, tough man. Big, tough, sexy man who makes me feel like I’m being worshipped and I thanked him by destroying his face.
“Rosie, stop it,” he chastises. “I can feel those gorgeous blues on me. Stop worrying.”
Stop worrying, he says, like it’s something I can turn on and off on a whim.
“I still think we should have someone check it out.” I pout.
He spares me a quick glance, and I can tell by his smirk he’s about to be a smartass. “Oh yeah? And what should I tell them when they ask how it happened? Well, doctor, I had my face buried in the most heavenly pussy I’ve ever seen, and th—”
“Oh god, stop!” I groan, burying my face in my hands.
“Why? It’s the truth,” he teases. “Worth a broken face.”
“Sam.” I glare at him, and I know he knows I am because he readjusts his jaw again.
“I’ll make you pay when I catch you, Rosie, don’t worry,” he says without taking his eyes off the road, and everything in my body heats despite the lingering worry.
“I count on it,” I reply, settling further into my seat and trying to appear more relaxed than I am.
There’s a light drizzle by the time we get back and Sam suggests watching a movie. The options are limited, but we settle on Jumanji because neither of us has seen it since we were kids.
“He’s the only celebrity I’ve ever felt sad over,” Sam says when Robin Williams appears on the screen in all his long-haired and fur-covered glory.
“He was probably the first one I felt sad over. I was sad when Betty died too, but less so as she was up there.”
“Seemed like a good egg,” he ponders as his fingers play with the hem of my shirt.
Sleeping with Sam seems like a cakewalk compared to this. I may have missed sex, but it’s these quiet, cuddly moments that have me trying to focus on anything other than how good it feels to just be held while watching a movie.
Sam’s thumb brushes my cheek, and a second later the screen freezes.
“Talk to me,” he murmurs, his thumb still resting on my skin, and I realize I’m crying.
I don’t know how honest to get with how I’m feeling at the minute.
Hey, thanks for the great sex, but it turns out this is what I needed most. It seems preposterous. And I’m scared to open up in this way. Terrified to admit out loud what I’m realizing. Annoyed that this is a very temporary situation because it’s comfortable in this little bubble.
I keep my attention on the screen as I open my mouth and unfiltered thoughts spill out.
“I’ve missed having someone to cuddle with while watching a movie.
I’ve missed watching movies with anything other than cartoons or talking animals.
I’ve missed having someone to kiss and then laugh with, and it wasn’t until you came along.
I hadn’t clocked missing any of this until you.
And…” It’s not real? You’ll be leaving too, and then I’ll be alone again.
“I’ve just missed it. That’s all.” I tip my head up so he can see me and offer a soft smile.
His gaze trails across my face as if looking for more, searching for the truth that I refuse to vocalize.
When his lips part I brace myself for his response.
Except his mouth closes, as if he’s decided against words and instead he leans down, and kisses my forehead.
The movie comes back to life while his arm tightens around me, his fingers brushing over my arm, drawing unrecognizable patterns.
I want to know what he was going to say but maybe it’s for the best that he decided not to say it.
Maybe it’s for the best that we seem to have that in common.
Not long after our little break, we’re both cackling while Robin runs through his home yelling about being back home.
“Hmm.” The sound vibrates through Sam’s chest and I begin to sit up, only to have him wrap his arms around me and shift so we’re both horizontal. “That’s better.” He sighs, tucking my head under his chin.
“So,” I say against his chest. “Is exhibitionism your kink?”
His chest bounces as he laughs. “No. But you may be,” he muses as he plays with my hair.
“I may be a kink for you?”
“Sure, why not?” I feel him shrug.
“Cop out. Attraction can’t be a kink.”
“Why not?”
“Kinks are… nonconformist. Attraction is pretty standard. But…” I suddenly can’t remember any kinks beyond primal.
“Autoex-whatever?”
“Yes, exactly.”
His fingers tap along my back as he thinks, and I’m stuck between wanting him to say something and being worried it’ll be something I have no interest in exploring.
Aside from the primal thing, nothing else has really got me going.
And who knows if primal play actually would or if I’ll decide real quick that it’s not actually something I’m into?
“I was blindfolded once,” he says after a long silence. “I didn’t hate it.”
“What did you not hate about it?”
More silence, more finger taps.
“I don’t know. It heightened other things, I guess. I was more aware of…”
“Of what?” I push up on my elbow and manage to contain a laugh when I see how red he is, his eyes fixed on my neck. “More aware of what?” I ask quietly, tipping his chin so he has to look at my face.
“What felt good.”
“Anything else?” I probe.
“Well, it’s probably apparent that I don’t hate being told what to do. Kind of goes hand in hand with not being able to see the other person. I don’t believe it’s something I’d be into with just anyone, though,” he admits.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’d have to trust the other person. Is trust a kink?” He grins.
“I strongly believe it’s required for many to explore kinks.
I mean, like I mentioned earlier, I wouldn’t be turned on if some random person was chasing me.
I need to know deep down that no matter what, I’ll be in safe hands.
And that makes absolute sense if you can’t see what the other person is doing when you’re at your most vulnerable.
But trust itself isn’t a kink, that I’m aware of anyway. ”
His response comes in the form of a deep rumbling that rises from his stomach, breaking the tension that has grown thicker as we talked.
“Will you trust me to make dinner?” he asks.
“Yeah, I can definitely manage that.”
Watching Sam put on a brave face as he chews only fuels the guilt I feel for kneeing him in the jaw.
He insists he’s fine, but it’s so obvious that he’s in pain.
I’d be annoyed with him if I thought it was him trying to act tough, but I have a feeling it has more to do with not wanting to make me feel bad. Too late, Sammy, I feel terrible.
“Good thing there’s nothing hard in this,” I say, gesturing at the cottage pie I still have on my plate.
I can see him trying to come up with some bullshit excuse, and I decide to give him the same look I give Maggi when she is trying to trick me.
He sighs, his hand coming up to rub his jaw, wincing and giving up the game. “Yeah, I’m glad we decided on this tonight and not steak.”
“Was that so hard?”
“Was what so hard?” He stares back, his gaze so damn intense I can feel my face heat, but I force myself not to look away. I refuse to play chicken with this man.
“Admitting that you’re in pain.”
Nodding, he sets his fork down. “It was actually, but not because I think I’m too tough,” he admits. “I—”
“Didn’t want me to feel bad,” I state matter-of-factly. “I’m going to feel bad, Sam. Whether you admit it or not. And I’m a mom—my bullshitometer is incredible.”
“Do you miss Maggi?” he asks, changing the subject. I could tell him off for it but I also like that he’s asking about her.
“I do. Last week was a good trial run, but I’m only on day two of however many, and I’m already excited to see her.”
“Do you want to end this early?”
Not even a little bit, I think, setting down my fork and leaning my chin on my clasped hands.
“When I was nine, I had my first sleepover. We watched The Sandlot, got to make our own sundaes, and ate way too many all dressed chips, and then when it was time to go to sleep, I suddenly couldn’t stop thinking of being home.
I made it until one a.m. before I called my mom to come get me.
It took four more attempts before I made it through the night at a friend’s house.
” I pick my fork back up and spear a carrot.
“So no, I don’t want to end this early, because I don’t want it to take four more times before I’m able to be away from my daughter.
Besides, I know she’s having the best time with Martha and Thomas.
They’re far more imaginative than I am, and Maggi needs that. ”
We spend the rest of our meal sneaking looks at one another, like at every other meal.
The silence stretching between us without ever becoming awkward.
It’s something my sister says is a sign of compatibility.
Not that I can imagine her knowing that.
Her husband has never met a silence he didn’t insist on filling.
I choke on a mouthful of mashed potatoes and ground beef, trying not to laugh at my inner thoughts that were meant to be innocent but absolutely sound dirty, and Sam jumps out of his chair, ready to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre.
Batting him away, I cough, freeing the food from my airway. Once I’ve taken care of that, it only allows me to laugh harder. The fact that I’m laughing at nothing in Sam’s eyes doesn’t manage to help me contain it. Probably another sign of comfort or compatibility.
I’m absolutely lost in a fit of giggles when I realize that Sam is laughing too. Eric used to do that. He did it the night we met. He mentioned it in his vows.
“They say laughter is contagious, and I don’t know who they are, but I never knew what it meant until I met you.
I fell in love with your laugh before I had a chance to stop myself.
You laughed, and I thought, ‘Bloody hell, I’m done for.
’ Turns out a laugh can be a gateway to falling completely in love with someone.
I am so happy I get to spend the rest of my life laughing with you, my love. ”
Strong arms wrap around me, Eric’s voice and smile fading rapidly with the contact until I’m back at the table sobbing in Sam’s arms. There’s a sudden urge to pull away, to put space between myself and Sam.
But I fight it, leaning harder into the part that feels good.
This long buried need to let someone hold me when something inside hurts instead of pushing away and pretending I’m fine.
It turns out that I’m no better at admitting when I’m in pain.