Chapter 29 #2
He leads me deeper into the softly lit space at the back of the bus, our fingers still laced. The world outside fades away. There’s no flashing lights and no screaming fans. Just the quiet hum of the bus’s idling engine and the pounding of my heart in my chest.
The private lounge is cozy, lined with dark leather and warm lighting. Sam turns, facing me, eyes roaming over my face like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he blinks too long.
“I still can’t believe you’re real,” he says, voice low and husky. “I’ve been dreaming about this moment since the day you left.”
I step into him, sliding my hands up his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat under my palms. “Well, I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
His mouth captures mine again, this time slower. Deeper. Like he’s trying to memorize the taste of me. My hands wind into his shirt, clutching the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded. He breaks the kiss just long enough to lean his forehead against mine.
“You’re wearing the boots,” he murmurs, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.
“I am. Wait till you see what’s under the dress.”
His hands slip to my waist, pulling me flush against him. “You’re gonna kill me, darlin’.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I breathe, brushing my lips along his jaw.
His breath catches. “I just got you back, Charlie. And I’m not wasting a second of it.”
He guides me down to the plush couch, pulling me into his lap with practiced ease. My knees bracket his hips as he holds me there, one hand on my lower back, the other threading into my hair. The way he looks at me in that moment makes something ache sweetly in my chest.
“I wrote a hundred songs about losing you. Missing you. Loving you,” he says quietly, his lips brushing mine, voice rough with something more than desire. “But I think I’m finally ready to write one about forever.”
My breath catches. I kiss him again, slow and certain, and this time it’s more than just passion. It’s full of promise. Of second chances. Of something that feels a lot like forever.
His hands find my hips, sliding beneath the hem of my dress with reverence and hunger. The calloused pads of his fingers skim over my thighs, up, until they brush the lace between my legs. I moan into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his kiss.
“Darlin’,” he groans, voice strained, “I’m trying to be a gentleman, but it’s real hard right now.”
I shift my hips, grinding softly against the ridge of him beneath me. “I can tell.”
He lets out a low, helpless laugh against my lips, and we share a smile that’s breathless and warm until it turns molten all over again.
His mouth moves down the side of my neck, slow and open, while his fingers tease at the edge of my panties, and I arch into him, completely undone by the way he touches me like I’m I’m his.
“God, Charlie,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth back to mine. “I missed this. Missed you.”
“Then don’t stop.”
And he doesn’t.
Not until I’m gasping his name like a prayer, just like the lyrics of every song he’s ever written for me.
Sam’s hands slide up my thighs, rough palms against smooth skin, the friction delicious. I shiver, not from the cool air of the bus but from the heat building between us. His mouth moves from mine to the line of my jaw, then down the curve of my throat, pausing just above the neckline of my dress .
“You have no idea how many nights I dreamed of this,” he murmurs, voice thick with want.
I arch toward him, hands fisting in his shirt. “Show me.”
He does.
Slowly, carefully, he slides the straps of my dress down my shoulders, his knuckles brushing against skin like he’s worshiping every inch. The dress pools at my waist, and his breath hitches as he drinks me.
“You’re more beautiful than I remembered,” he says, almost like it hurts.
I cup his face, guiding his gaze back to mine. “I’m here, Sam.”
His mouth crashes against mine again, the kiss deep and consuming.
One of his hands slides behind my back, lifting me as he carries me to the small bed at the rear of the bus.
We collapse together in a tangle of limbs and laughter, the kind that fades into sighs and soft moans as his mouth trails down my chest.
I tug his shirt over his head, running my hands over the lean strength of his torso, reacquainting myself with every muscle and scar. My fingertips linger on a faint line just above his ribs, and his breath hitches.
He groans when I rake my nails lightly down his stomach, his whole body taut with restraint. The kind that feels like it’s about to snap.
“I’ve missed the way you touch me,” he whispers, lips brushing over the swell of my breast, sending a shiver spiraling through me. “Missed everything about you.”
My head falls back with a gasp as his mouth moves lower, kissing, tasting, marking his trail like he’s starving and I’m his salvation. One of his hands slides behind my neck, fingers threading into my hair, anchoring me to this moment. To him .
“Tell me what you want, Charlie,” he rasps, voice dark and broken open with need.
“You,” I whisper, trembling. “All of you.”
His grin is slow, crooked, and devastating. It’s the kind of smile that says I’m in trouble and I’ll love every second.
“Then that’s what you’ll get.”
In one smooth motion, he slips the pink dress over my hips and off, tossing it aside like it’s never coming back. I lie beneath him in nothing but lace and nerves and love so deep it’s terrifying. But then he leans in again, kissing me with hunger, and the fear quiets.
“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse as he presses kisses along my collarbone. “You don’t know what seeing you again is doing to me.”
I arch into him, breath catching when his palm cups between my thighs through the lace. “I think I have an idea,” I breathe, eyes locked on his.
He dips his head, his tongue finding the sensitive spot just below my ear, and whispers, “I’m going to take my time with you, Charlie. Make up for every second we lost.”
He doesn’t rush.
Everything Sam does is worshipful as if he’s relearning every curve, every sound I make, every breath I take. His hands move with a devotion that nearly undoes me, like I’m something fragile he’s afraid to break and something sacred he refuses to let go.
He removes my panties with care, trailing his fingers along the backs of my thighs as he kisses down my stomach. The way he looks up at me before he settles between my legs—like I’m his entire world—has tears prickling at the corners of my eyes.
“Eyes on me, darlin’,” he murmurs.
And I do. I keep my gaze locked to his as he worships me with his mouth, slow and steady, building the kind of pressure that steals all coherent thought. My hands grip the sheets, my back arches, and my voice breaks on his name.
When I come undone, it’s with a sob that catches in my throat. He doesn’t let me go far. He crawls back up my body, gathering me in his arms, whispering soft things against my lips. Things like mine and I love you and never again.
When I pull him closer, guiding him between my legs, it’s not just out of need but longing. For connection. For healing. For a future I’ve been aching for since the day I left.
He slides into me with a groan, forehead pressed to mine. We move slowly at first. Just the quiet sounds of our breathing, the creak of the bus, the wet press of skin on skin.
But the pace builds more desperate as days and weeks and months of longing combust all at once.
We fall together, again and again, murmuring each other’s names like prayers. And afterward, when we’re tangled in the sheets, breathless and spent, he holds me like he never plans to let go.
I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart.
“Good?” he asks quietly, his fingers brushing my back.
“I’m good,” I whisper. “And I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
His arms tighten around me, and I know he feels it too.