Chapter 9 #2
“Cats too, actually.” My smile fades a little. “Never had one until a few months ago. She kind of found me.”
I pause, rake in hand.
“She was mine. Completely. And then when my ex moved out, he took her with him. ”
Sam stops mid-motion, shovel held loosely at his side. “He took your cat?”
I nod. “I was at work. Didn’t even know he was packing up to leave. Came home and everything was gone. Including Fluffy.”
He winces. “Ouch.”
“Yeah. I still check shelters sometimes. Just in case she ends up somewhere.”
He watches me for a moment, eyes darker now. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
There’s a quiet beat between us that’s weighty, but not uncomfortable.
Then he asks, casual on the surface but with an unmistakable thread of intensity beneath it, “Recent ex?”
I smirk. “Basically a memory now.”
That makes him smile, a little slower, a little deeper.
“Good,” he says, and his voice is low, sure. “Would hate to think I’m competing with someone.”
I raise an eyebrow, playful. “Oh, so you’re competing now?”
His grin widens. “I don’t have to. I’ve got a shovel, charm, and barn cats on my side.”
I laugh, the sound echoing in the quiet space between us.
“Fair point.”
Sam leans a little on his shovel, casual, but his eyes are anything but.
“My turn,” he says. “Are you single, Charlie?”
Something flutters in my chest—light and sharp all at once.
“Yeah,” I say, holding his gaze. “Are you?”
“Very much so. ”
Somehow we’ve drifted closer. Not enough to touch. Not quite. But every breath I take brings me closer to brushing his chest, and he doesn't move away.
“Good to know,” I murmur. “I’d hate to have to fight someone for you.”
He whistles low. “A woman after my heart.”
His voice is playful, but there’s heat behind it. Weight. A slow burn I feel all the way down. We’re close now. So close. When I exhale, my chest brushes his. His gaze drops to my mouth, just briefly.
“Next question,” I say, my tone feather-light, but we both feel the shift.
His brows lift slightly, intrigued. “Hit me.”
“When’s the last time you had sex?”
That gets him. His eyebrows shoot up like I’ve tossed cold water straight down his shirt. But the corner of his mouth curves, slowly.
“With myself or someone else?” he counters, his voice going rough.
“Both,” I say, not flinching.
His eyes darken. His head dips just a little closer, and his voice turns to gravel. “Been a while since I’ve been with a woman.”
I don’t speak, but something must show on my face because he keeps going.
“But myself?” His lips twitch. “This morning.”
Oh.
Heat curls deep in my belly, winding lower with every breath.
“In the cold shower?” I ask.
“In the cold shower,” he confirms.
There’s a tension between us so thick it’s almost physical, and the air feels electric like all it would take is one word, one touch, to tip everything over the edge.
He leans just the slightest bit closer. “Your turn, Charlie.”
My pulse drums in my neck. My fingers tighten around the rake I’m still holding because, if I don’t hold on to something, I might grab him instead.
I tilt my head, eyes locked with his. “Last night.”
His brows lift slightly. Not with judgment. Just interest.
I go on, voice low. “I couldn’t sleep. Too wired. Too many thoughts.” I pause, let that hang between us like a dare. “So I touched myself.”
It’s partly true. While I didn’t actually touch myself, I had so many naughty thoughts running through my head about Sam that my panties stood no chance.
His jaw tightens, just slightly. His eyes flick to my mouth again before returning to mine, darker now. Hungry.
“Were you thinking about me?” he asks, almost in a whisper.
I smile, slow and sure. “What do you think?”
He exhales, but it sounds more like a growl, like he’s trying to rein something in and barely managing it.
“Jesus, Charlie.”
“You said it was my turn,” I remind him, eyes dancing.
He steps forward again. His body brushes against mine, chest to chest, heat to heat. My back presses against the edge of the stall door, heart pounding. And I can feel just how much he wants me.
“Keep talkin’ like that,” he murmurs, his lips inches from mine, “and I’m not gonna make it to the next question.”
My voice drops. “Maybe that’s the point.”
His hand lifts, fingers trailing from my hip up to my jaw, and suddenly I’m not breathing. Not thinking. Just burning .
“Last chance to stop me,” he says.
I shake my head, whispering, “Don’t you dare.”
And then he kisses me.
This time, it’s not sweet.
It’s all heat and want igniting in one heartbeat. His hands slide into my hair, mouth devouring mine, like he’s been starving and I’m the only thing that can satisfy.
I arch into him, one hand gripping the front of his shirt, the other sliding under the hem to feel skin—hot, solid, alive.
There’s straw underfoot, the sharp smell of hay and leather in the air, but all I can feel is him. All I can think is yes .
And we haven’t even made it to the next question.
When we finally break apart, we’re both panting.
His forehead rests against mine, and I can feel his breath ghost across my lips. His hands are still on either side of me, like he’s giving me space, even now. But that restraint? It's fraying.
“Next question,” I murmur, voice rough around the edges.
He huffs out a laugh, low and shaky. “You’re relentless.”
“You like it.”
He doesn’t deny it.
So I go for it. “Where do you like to be touched first?”
His inhale is sharp, eyes snapping to mine.
“Fuck, Charlie.” His voice is wrecked. “You’re not holding back at all, are you?”
I shake my head slowly, a smile tugging at my lips. “Not even a little.”
His hand lifts. One finger trailing from my jaw, down the column of my throat, pausing at the base. “My neck,” he says, voice deep. “Right here. Back of it, especially. ”
I don't hesitate. I slide my hand behind his neck, fingers weaving through his hair, nails lightly grazing the skin there.
He shudders.
“That bad?” I tease.
“That good,” he rasps. His lips are at my ear now. “Now it’s your turn.”
“For what?”
“Same question.” His breath is hot against my skin. “Where do you like to be touched first?”
I swallow, pulse racing. I want to be coy, but the truth hums beneath my skin, begging to be spoken.
“My thighs,” I whisper. “When someone’s hand just barely grazes the inside.”
His groan is pure sin.
“Charlie…”
Then his hand slides down slow and intentional until it brushes the outside of my hip, then lower, fingertips tracing the hem of my borrowed coat.
“Like this?” he murmurs.
“Closer,” I whisper.
His fingers move inward, brushing the seam of my jeans just above my inner thigh, and my breath catches.
“Like this?” he asks again, rougher this time.
I nod, lips parted.
And just like that, we’re one more question away from losing ourselves in the middle of a barn.
His hand inches higher, sliding between my thighs just enough to make me gasp. The layers of denim and winter don’t dull the effect. If anything, they make it worse because I can feel the promise beneath the touch. The precision. The restraint.
“You like that?” he murmurs against my jaw .
I can barely form the word. “Yes.”
His lips find mine again, hungrier now and more insistent. The kiss deepens, pulling me under like a riptide. My hands are under his shirt, tracing muscle, mapping heat. He groans into my mouth, hips pressing forward just enough to make me feel how far gone he is.
And God, I want more. I want his hand beneath my clothes, on my skin. I want?—
Bang.
A stall door slams somewhere in the barn. We jump apart like we’ve been caught doing something illegal, breathing hard, eyes wide.
Phern’s voice echoes through the barn. “A beam just fell back here. I don’t like the way this looks.”
I blink, trying to remember how to stand and breathe. Sam steps back, dragging a hand through his hair, eyes still dark, voice still rough.
“Rain check?” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along my cheek.
I nod, breathless. “Hell yes.”
He gives me one last heated look. Then we both stumble out of the stall like nothing happened. But we both know the truth. Everything just did.
And how I want so much more.