Chapter 22 #2
“I hope you don’t mind, but I kinda made myself at home while you were out cold.”
“You stayed?” I blink, trying to remember earlier, but the details are hazy.
“You asked me to.”
“I did?” He nods. “What time is it?”
“Just after midnight,” he replies, lifting his feet off the table and setting his mug down.
“You’ve slept for over fourteen hours.” He rises from the sofa and moves towards me, his cheeky expression replaced by one of concern.
“How long has it been since you slept properly? Because that went way beyond exhaustion. You were barely able to string a sentence together.”
“Charming,” I mutter. “Don’t you ever have days when you’re not your eloquent best?”
“All the time. I’m not exactly known for eloquence, but stop avoiding the question. How long has this been going on?”
I shrug. “A while.”
“Why didn’t you tell me it had got this bad?” He frowns.
“What was the point? There wasn’t anything you could do, and as much as I appreciate you staying, you’ve just spent months looking after your mother. I don’t expect you to play nursemaid to me too. I don’t need that.”
He stares at me contemplatively. “Tell me more about these dreams you mentioned.”
“They’re just bad dreams.” I shrug again. I really don’t want to go into the whole Cordelia used a demon to murder everyone over a hundred and fifty years ago spiel.
He scratches his jaw, which is now covered in a sexy stubble that I’m curious to feel against my face. Or, you know, any other part of my body.
“Do you think it’s a byproduct of being in London?” he asks.
“What?” I blink, tearing my gaze away from his shadowed jaw.
“You said it yourself. You grew up in a farmhouse surrounded by fields to make your empathic abilities more manageable. This is the first time you’ve lived in a huge, busy city for any length of time.
The psychic headaches could’ve been from you tuning into random emotional frequencies.
I read that empathy and telepathy can sometimes go hand in hand.
What if the dreams you’re picking up on aren’t yours but other people’s? ”
He really has no idea how close to the mark he is.
“I think it definitely has to do with me being in London.” It’s the truth. I just won’t share the most important details. “I need a drink. I’m really thirsty.”
Sam heads over to the kitchenette, taking down a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water. “Here, drink this. You’re probably dehydrated. I’ll put the kettle on and make you a cup of camomile tea.”
“You really have made yourself at home,” I say in amusement as I take the glass.
“I’m an ex-police detective and a current private investigator. Being incurably nosy is a prerequisite. But I promise I didn’t look at anything personal. Just had a nosy through your kitchen.”
I chug half the water down as he fills the kettle and switches it on.
“How’s your mum doing?” I lean back against the counter and set my glass down beside me.
“She’s good, recovered from the surgery well. She has her support group once a week and a councillor she can call if she needs to. I’m going to call to check in with her a couple of times a week. It’s a work in progress, but the good news is, Trev has once again become a permanent fixture.”
My eyes narrow in suspicion. “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” he says innocently, “but I may have planted a few seeds. Now we’ll see if they grow.”
“What seeds?”
“I might have pointed out a couple of things to Mam that she may have been a little oblivious to.”
“You really shouldn’t interfere,” I say softly.
It’s such a Sam thing to do though. Wanting to take care of everyone around him and make sure they’re happy.
“I would’ve thought you’d stay and see the new year in with your mum.”
He shakes his head. “She knew I wanted to come back to London and said she wanted to start the new year off as she means to go on. A fresh start. It’ll be a long road, but she’s off to a good start, and I admit, I feel better knowing she’s got Trev looking out for her.”
I nod. “You know, when you showed up this morning, I thought it might have been Danny and Tristan.”
“They’re at a murder mystery weekend at a very haunted hotel. Danny messaged me. The ghosts sound hilarious.”
“They’re at a murder mystery weekend at a haunted hotel? I thought it was supposed to be a romantic getaway?” I frown. “They have a very strange idea of relaxation.”
“I don’t think they knew it was haunted or that it was a murder mystery weekend.” Sam laughs. He steps in closer to me, ignoring the kettle that has just boiled. “You know, I like these pyjamas.” His gaze runs down my chest as it takes in the soft, clingy material covered in holly and mistletoe.
“A Yule gift from my dads,” I reply a little breathlessly, feeling my cock throb.
Poor thing. I’ve been so exhausted lately I’ve barely got a twitch out of it, but five minutes in Sam’s company and it’s ready to start saluting him.
“They think it’s funny.” I swallow as he presses closer still.
“Every year they try to find the most ridiculous ones they can, thinking I won’t wear them. ”
“Joke’s on them, huh?” Sam’s mouth curves, and goddamn, that sexy little dimple in his cheek appears and I just want to lick it.
“They are very comfortable pyjamas.” My breathing picks up and I’m sure my pupils are dilating. “Stretchy.”
“Is that right?” He licks his lips. “And covered in mistletoe. Do pagans and Wiccans follow the same traditions when it comes to mistletoe?”
“And what tradition is that, then?” I whisper.
“That I should thoroughly kiss anything I find underneath it.”
Fuck.
My control snaps with an almost audible ping.
I throw my arms around his neck, my mouth crashing against his, all need and no finesse.
I’m not proud to admit I climb him like a bloody tree.
Although there’s not much difference in our height, he does seem to be much more muscular than I remember.
He has no trouble sliding his hands down and cupping my arse cheeks, lifting me against him and pressing me against the counter.
I let out an embarrassing moan as my hard cock grinds against his stomach, which somehow seems to be made of stone.
“Bed,” I manage to gasp out before our tongues tangle and I’m sinking deeper into our fevered kisses.
Sam doesn’t need telling twice. He hauls me through my flat and into the bedroom, where he lays me on my bed.
I tightly cling onto him so that he has no choice but to follow me.
I groan at the delicious weight of him pinning me down.
His hands slide under my shirt and up my torso, leaving fire in their wake.
Everywhere he touches me heightens my senses until I’m writhing against him, desperate for more—more kisses, more touch, more skin, just more.
I’m greedy for him. I want everything he’ll give me.
I’ve never in my life felt this intense need for another person. It’s not like I haven’t been attracted to men before, even if I haven’t had the urge to act on it, but with Sam…I can’t even begin to explain what I’m feeling.
I grab his T-shirt and yank it up his back. “Off,” I demand.
“I. Knew. You’d. Be. Just. Like. This,” Sam pants between kisses before pulling back briefly so I can pull the shirt over his head.
He leans over and flicks on the lamp on the bedside table, flooding the room with soft light.
“Like what?” I gasp as he moves back to me and begins to nip and suck at my neck.
“Wild. Untameable. Like holding fire with my bare hands.”
“Sam,” I cry out. I roll my hips against his, needing the friction and wanting fewer layers between us.
Straddling my legs, he sits up to give me enough space to lift so he can pull my shirt off too. My eyes trail down his torso, which is like a Greek masterpiece chiselled in marble and lightly dusted with dark hair that tapers down to an honest to god six-pack.
“Jesus Christ.” I inhale sharply. “I could scrub my pants clean on those things.”
“Jesus Christ?” He chuckles. “I didn’t think that was your religion.”
“It’s not, but that’s how much you’ve scrambled my brain.”
He draws me up into a seated position and grabs the hem of my shirt, pulling it up and over my head.
“Oh,” he breathes out as his heated gaze trails over my chest. I really don’t know what’s put that look on his face. I’m way too skinny, pale as milk, have no chest hair to speak of, and a whole ton of—
“Freckles,” Sam whispers reverently. “Fuck, they do go all the way down, don’t they?”
“You like my freckles?” I say in surprise. “But they’re ugly.”
“Are you kidding?” He pushes me back against the bed, bracing his weight on his hands as he hovers over me.
“These”—he presses a soft kiss to my collarbone, then follows the path of my freckles down my body—“are gorgeous. Every part of you is so fucking pretty, Prickles.” He pauses at my chest and sucks my nipples, one and then the other, until I’m an aching, throbbing, squirming mess.
“Sam, please,” I moan loudly, although I’m not quite sure what I’m begging for. He lets go of a nipple, leaving it wet and tingling, and continues his journey downwards, placing nips and kisses over my swathes of freckles.
My cock is so hard it hurts. I grab Sam and pull him up against me, taking his mouth and wrapping my legs around his waist so I can grind against his denim-covered dick. Fuck, the friction alone is enough to have my eyes rolling back in my head.
I reach down, easing the grip of my legs so I can push my hands between us and pop the buttons on his jeans as he devours my mouth. I slide my hand into his boxers and feel his groan into my mouth as I fist the long, hard length of him.
Oh my god.
For the first time in my life, I have a cock in my hand that doesn’t belong to me, and it’s so fucking sexy the way he’s rolling his hips and fucking himself into my grip. I honestly think that I’m so turned on I could come from that alone, but Sam has other ideas.