Chapter 16 #2
“A nest.” He pulled away from me—I immediately missed his warmth—and sat up. “That’s it. I’ve had it.”
“What are you doing?”
“I am done being cockblocked by a cat.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. In the faint light, I could see the outline of his body—the broad shoulders, the narrow waist, the pajama pants riding low on his hips. “I love her. She’s a wonderful matchmaker. But she has got to go.”
He scooped Purrsephone up from her blanket throne. She made a noise of protest—an indignant mrrrp that conveyed deep offense—but Samuel was unmoved.
“You’ve done your job,” he told her, carrying her to the bedroom door. “You got us together. Now let us enjoy the fruits of your labor.”
He deposited her in the hallway and closed the door firmly behind her.
From the other side, I heard an outraged yowl.
“She’s going to hate us,” I said.
“She’ll get over it.” Samuel gathered the abandoned blankets from the end of the bed and tossed them back onto the mattress. Then he climbed back in, but instead of returning to his side, he positioned himself directly over me, his weight braced on his forearms, his face inches from mine. “Hi.”
“Hi.” My voice came out breathier than intended.
“So.” His eyes searched my face in the darkness. “No more interruptions.”
“No more interruptions.”
“And we’re both awake.”
“Very awake.”
“I have a question.” He lowered his head, brushed his lips against the corner of my mouth. “What was in that notebook you didn’t want me to see?”
Heat flooded my face. “Nothing.”
“Liar.” He kissed my jaw. “You turned the color of a tomato when I picked it up.”
“It’s just lists. I told you.”
“Lists about what?” His mouth moved to my neck, and I tilted my head to give him better access. “Things you need from the store? Books you want to read?”
“Something like that.”
“Hmm.” He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. “I think you’re lying. I think it was something much more interesting than groceries.”
“And what if it were?”
“Then I’d want to know what was on it.” His hand slid under my shirt, palm flat against my stomach, and I shivered. “Every. Single. Item.”
“Maybe I’ll show you someday.”
“Maybe you could show me now.”
I pulled him down and kissed him instead of answering.
This time, there was no hesitation. We’d been building up to this moment for days, and now the dam had finally broken.
Samuel kissed me like he was drowning and I was air.
His hands were everywhere, pushing my shirt up and over my head, sliding down my sides, gripping my hips with a possessiveness that made me gasp.
“Off,” I managed, tugging at his pajama pants. “These need to be off.”
“Yours first.”
We stripped each other with more enthusiasm than grace, kicking off fabric until there was nothing between us but skin and heat and want.
When Samuel pressed the full length of his body against mine, I made a sound I’d never made before—something raw and needy that should have been embarrassing but wasn’t.
“God,” he breathed against my mouth. “Farley. You feel—”
“I know.” I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, feeling him hard and hot against me.
Samuel rocked against me, slow and deliberate, and pleasure sparked up my spine.
His mouth found my collarbone, my chest, that spot on my ribs that made me writhe.
He learned me—every gasp, every shiver, every place that made my hips jerk—and he used that knowledge ruthlessly.
“I want—” I started, then stopped, suddenly uncertain.
Samuel’s hands stilled on my ribs, his breath warm against my skin. “Tell me.” His voice was rough, but his touch was gentle, tracing circles on my hip like he was coaxing the words out of me. “Whatever it is, I want it too.”
I swallowed. The truth was, I didn’t know how to ask for what I wanted—not really. Ollie had always made me feel like my desires were inconvenient, like I was too much or not enough. But Samuel was looking at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
“I want you to touch me,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “Everywhere. Like you can’t get enough.”
Samuel’s eyes darkened. “Oh, Farley.” He kissed me again, slow and deep, his tongue sliding against mine like he were savoring me. “I want nothing more than to touch you.” His hand drifted lower, fingers teasing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. “But first—”
He shifted down my body, his mouth leaving a trail of fire along my chest, my stomach, the sharp V of my hips. When he reached the waistband of my briefs, he hooked his fingers under the fabric and looked up at me, his gaze burning. “Can I?”
I nodded, my breath hitching. “Please.”
He pulled them off in one smooth motion, tossing them aside before settling between my legs. The first touch of his mouth was almost too much—warm, wet, perfect. I arched off the bed with a gasp, my fingers tangling in his hair. “Samuel—”
He hummed against me, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through my spine. His hands gripped my thighs while he licked around my balls, like he had all the time in the world. Like he wanted to memorize the way I tasted, the way I sounded.
It was nothing like Ollie. Ollie had always rushed, like he was checking a box, and he couldn’t wait to be done. Samuel? Samuel was worshipping me.
The thought sent a sharp pang through my chest, followed by a wave of heat. I tugged at his hair, my voice breaking. “I need — I need you to—”
Samuel pulled back just enough to smirk up at me, his lips glistening. “Need me to what?”
“Stop teasing.”
He chuckled, low and dark, and the sound went straight to my cock. “But you taste so good.” He licked a slow stripe up my length, and I whimpered. “And you’re so responsive.” His fingers teased my entrance, just the lightest pressure, and my hips jerked. “I could do this all night.”
“Samuel.” My voice was wrecked. “If you don’t—”
“Shhh.” He kissed the inside of my thigh, then pushed himself up onto his knees. “I’ve got you.” His hands slid under my hips, lifting me slightly, and then—
Oh.
Oh. My. God.
He took me deep, all the way to the back of his throat, and I saw stars. My fingers scrambled for purchase on the sheets, my back arching as he swallowed my entire cock, his tongue working magic. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. I was going to—
“Samuel, I’m about to—”
He pulled off with a wet pop, his lips swollen, his eyes heavy-lidded. “Not yet.” He crawled up my body, kissing me hard, letting me taste myself on his tongue. “I want you to come with me inside you.”
My brain short-circuited.
“You. Inside me.” The words came out rough, barely above a whisper. “I want all of you. Samuel.”
His breath stuttered. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve been sure for days. I’ve been going out of my mind being sure.”
“Do you have—”
“Bathroom. Under the sink.”
Samuel pulled back, a grin spreading across his face. “Under the sink?”
“I must have packed them without thinking when I left New York.” My face was burning again. “I wanted to be prepared. Just in case.”
“You brought condoms ‘just in case.’”
“Are you going to mock me, or are you going to get them?”
“Both. I’m absolutely going to do both.” But he was already climbing off the bed, disappearing into the bathroom. I heard him rummaging under the sink, a quiet laugh, and then he was back, dropping a box of condoms and a bottle of lube onto the bed beside me.
“You really were prepared,” he said, settling back between my thighs.
“I’m a planner. It’s what I do.”
“Farley Davenport.” He kissed me, soft and sweet, at odds with the urgency of moments before. “You’re full of surprises.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet.”
What followed was slow and intense and nothing like I expected.
Samuel took his time, stretching me open with careful fingers, watching my face for every reaction, adjusting his angle until he found the spot that made me cry out.
He was patient and thorough and devastatingly attentive, and by the time he finally rolled on a condom and positioned himself, I was shaking with need.
“Ready?” he asked, voice strained with the effort of holding back.
“If you don’t get inside me in the next three seconds, I’m going to lose my mind.”
He laughed, breathless and wanting, and pushed in.
The stretch was exquisite. Overwhelming. Samuel paused, giving me time to adjust, his forehead pressed against mine, both of us breathing hard. I could feel him trembling with the effort of staying still.
“Okay?” he managed.
“More than okay.” I shifted my hips experimentally, and we both groaned. “Move. Please. I need you to move.”
It started slow—long, deep strokes that had me gripping his shoulders, gasping with every thrust. But the pace built quickly, urgency taking over, and soon we were moving together in a rhythm that was primal and desperate and perfect.
Samuel’s hand found mine, lacing our fingers together, pinning my hand to the pillow beside my head.
“Look at me,” he said, and I did—met his eyes in the darkness, saw myself reflected there, saw everything I was feeling mirrored back at me.
This wasn’t just sex. This wasn’t just two people scratching an itch.
This was something else. Something bigger. Something that terrified me and thrilled me in equal measure.
“Samuel—” I gasped, not sure what I wanted to say, just needing to say his name.
“I know.” He kissed me, swallowing whatever else I might have said. “I know, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
Sweetheart. The word cracked something open in my chest.
His free hand wrapped around me, stroking in time with his thrusts, and the dual sensation pushed me over the edge.
I came with his name on my lips, pleasure crashing through me in waves, and felt him follow moments later—his rhythm stuttering, his body tensing, a groan ripped from somewhere deep in his chest.
We lay there afterward, tangled together, breathing hard, neither of us willing to move. Samuel was still inside me, softening now, and I didn’t want him to pull out. Wanted to stay connected for as long as possible.
“That was...” he started.
“Yeah.”
“I mean, I’ve had sex before, but that was...”
“Yeah.”
He laughed, the sound reverberating through both of us. “I’m usually more articulate than this.”
“I’m usually more everything than this.” I ran my fingers through his hair, damp with sweat. “You broke my brain.”
“Excellent.” He pressed a kiss to my shoulder. “That was the goal.”
He eventually pulled away to deal with the condom, returning with a warm washcloth that he used to clean us both with a tenderness that made my chest ache. Then he climbed back into bed, pulled the blankets over us—the ones Purrsephone had stolen, now reclaimed—and gathered me against his chest.
From outside the door, I heard an indignant meow.
“She’s still mad,” Samuel said.
“She can be mad. It was worth it.”
“Yeah?” I could hear the smile in his voice. “Worth the feline wrath?”
“Worth everything.”
The words hung in the air between us, heavier than I’d intended. Worth the risk and the fear. Worth the inevitable complications of falling for someone whose life was thousands of miles away from mine.
Falling.
The word echoed in my mind, and I realized with sudden, startling clarity that it was true. I was falling for Samuel Bennett. Not just attracted to him, not just enjoying his company, not just appreciating the way he looked in yoga pants.
Falling. Present tense. Active. Ongoing.
Maybe already fallen.
It should have terrified me. A month ago—a week ago—it would have. But lying here in the aftermath, with Samuel’s heartbeat steady against my back and his arm warm around my waist, all I felt was a quiet sort of peace.
I’d figure out the rest tomorrow. The logistics, the geography, the impossible question of how to build something real with someone who lived on the other side of the country.
Tonight, I just wanted to be here. In this bed. With this man. In this moment, that felt, against all odds, like exactly where I was supposed to be.
“Farley?” Samuel’s voice was drowsy, already half-asleep.
“Hmm?”
“I’m glad Purrsephone stole the blankets.”