EIGHT
SAM
The house is quiet when I get home an hour later, which makes sense considering Eli is with my parents.
But it’s a special kind of quiet. Peaceful. One I’ve always been able to feel in this little house.
It’s the reason I wouldn’t trade this little slice of calm outside the city for any other place in the world.
Despite the long drive, the sun has barely risen, its weak morning rays piercing the sparse clouds, the light still pale.
It was this pale when I left Devon’s office, too.
Devon. The name pulses inside me as I drop everything—my bag, my jacket, my keys—as soon as I’m past the doorway.
Everything but his shirt. My fingers clench around the light-blue material, and the urge to bring it to my nose, to smell our combined scents and drown in the memory of last night is so strong that my hands shake when I set it aside, draping it over the back of a chair.
A shuddery exhale leaves me as I turn around without a second look, and make my way to the bathroom, shedding clothes as I go.
The hot shower spray hits the tiles, and for a moment, I just watch it, standing right outside, hesitating.
God, this is ridiculous. I’m so filthy right now, it’s not even funny. I have cum and slick smeared all over me, my chest is sticky from my milk, my whole body is covered in dried sweat, and all I can think about is that…
That I don’t want to wash any of it off.
I can still feel every single one of his gentle kisses on my belly, every one of his reverent touches and possessive grips on my skin.
I can still feel the way he sucked on my nipples as he pumped me full of him, and I swear, a shiver of pleasure courses through me just remembering it. Just remembering the kiss that came after.
How is it possible that it’s only been a little over an hour since I was in his arms, my fingers in his hair, my heart beating against his?
And why does it feel like I never left those arms, like I’m still in that office, tangled up with him, breathing in cedarwood and bergamot?
The water feels both wonderful and awful when I step into the shower, my face heating at all the places on and in my body that tingle when I touch them to clean myself.
My skin is pink all over when I climb out, my muscles loose and relaxed.
I throw on a pair of boxer-briefs, and a long T-shirt I used to wear all the time when I was pregnant.
It’s basically a dress on me now, but it feels so damn comfortable.
I towel my hair dry as I patter barefoot to the kitchen, picking up the clothes I left behind, and plugging in my phone to charge.
Knowing it’s way too early to pick up Eli yet since Dad will probably karate-chop me if I show up at this hour, I make some coffee. My stomach growls loudly when I open the fridge, and I realize I haven’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday.
We never ate anything. We finished work, and then—
And then for a few hours, he made me forget the world existed, the only hunger I felt being the one he sated.
I shake my head, trying to stave off the stupid wistfulness that threatens to take over, and get busy with preparing a breakfast sandwich instead.
This is good. What happened last night is a good thing. It’s clear there was some lingering, unresolved thing between us, and now it’s… resolved.
“Let me touch you again. Let me feel you one more time.”
My neck flames as I remember his whispered words against my nape.
He wanted me. I can still feel how much he wanted me.
Shit.
I’m almost aggressive with the bread, egg, ham, and cheese in the small skillet, like the sandwich happily sizzling inside has personally offended me.
It’s all good. One could say last night needed to happen so I can move forward. So, there’s absolutely no point thinking about it anymore.
It felt amazing. Like coming home after a long time of wandering aimlessly.
But it’s done now, and I can leave this behind me.
My mind drifts to Eli, and hopeless, aching longing tears through me.
I can’t—I can’t tell Devon about him. He never asked for something like this. It would just complicate his life, and I don’t… I don’t want him to feel like he has to choose us.
Him. Like he has to choose him, Eli. Just Eli.
I sigh.
No, it’s better this wa—
My phone pings from where it’s charging on the kitchen counter, and I frown at the sound as I turn off the stove, plating the sandwich.
Are my folks up? I mean, Pops could be, since he was used to waking up early for construction work, but he’s been sleeping in more after Dad threatened to eviscerate him if he woke him up too early again. Only Eli gets a free pass at this point.
My heart skips wildly when I see Devon’s name on the screen.
Devon: You owe the company a new office lamp.
A new office lamp?
What—
A slow smile spreads on my lips, a small giggle slipping out as I take my phone and my breakfast outside, and sit on the wooden porch swing, wrapping myself with a soft quilt blanket.
Me: The broken lamp is my fault?
Sure, my legs were shaking when he kissed me, but I had no way of knowing where I was going to land when he lifted me on his desk.
Devon: Of course it is. How am I supposed to work now without my favorite lamp?
He’s teasing me. He doesn’t want things to be awkward between us so he’s being his usual, playful self. To show me that nothing has changed?
I’m getting ready to text him back, when another message comes in, and my breath stutters.
Devon: Okay, I don’t give a shit about the lamp. I just wanted to make sure you got home alright.
I stare at the words, letting them sink in, letting them fill me with a warmth I only ever feel around him.
He was worried about me.
My toes curl under the quilt.
God, why does the thought of him worrying about me make all the places in my body he touched throb like a phantom echo?
Me: I did. In fact, I’m having breakfast right now.
I have no idea why I tell him this small detail, why I snap a picture of my view, of my front yard bathed in morning light, patches of tall grass swaying in the light breeze, tiny white flowers sprinkled here and there. Why I send it to him.
Except I do know.
I do know why I tell him what I’m doing, why I’m showing him what I’m seeing.
I just want to share it with him. Just that.
It’s no big deal.
Devon: Is this your view right now?
Me: It is. Do you like it?
Fuck, why does it matter if he likes it?
Why do I want him to like it?
Devon: It’s beautiful.
I hide the stupid smile in my quilt, as if there’s anyone around to see it, my phone pinging with another message.
Devon: Certainly better than my own.
A picture of his desk follows. The same desk he was kissing me senseless on a few hours ago. The same desk I was leaning against as he slowly stripped me of everything but his shirt.
Damn it, Sam. Snap out of it.
Me: Don’t tell me you actually made your own coffee.
Devon: Hey, I can make my own coffee.
Devon: It just tastes better when you make it.
It’s just a simple comment. A simple, wonderful comment.
But it makes me ache. It makes my stupid heart flutter so damn hard that I feel light-headed.
I burrow under the thin blanket, my fingers fisting the soft material.
It’s okay. It’s normal to feel this way.
It’s normal for my emotions to be all over the place. He kissed me until I fell asleep, he made me feel cherished and special in a matter of hours. Wanted. Desired. Worshipped.
I felt worshipped in his hands, and it was… inebriating. Addictive.
So, excuse me if the memory of his every touch, of his every claiming, bruising grip still makes me tremble, if I want to melt in his warmth that still lingers beneath my skin for just a little bit longer.
It’s not a switch I can just flip. But I will. I have to.
Just not now. Not today.
Me: I’ll make it for you tomorrow.
Devon: Yeah. Tomorrow, Sam.
Tomorrow. It can wait until tomorrow.
My coffee is no longer hot when I bring it to my lips, but I don’t mind. I sip from my mug, and munch on my breakfast sandwich slowly, my eyes following the lazy movement of the greenery around me, my mind filled with the image of piercing gray-blue gazes, devilish grins, and strong arms.
I’m still smiling when I go over to my parents’ place to pick up Eli.
Something that, of course, doesn’t go unnoticed.
“What’s going on?”
I look up from Eli, who’s happily gulped down half a bottle of milk already, and who doesn’t seem like he’s stopping any time soon, and meet my dad’s gaze on the opposite couch.
“What do you mean?” I blink at him when he eyes me suspiciously.
“You’re smiling,” he says almost accusatorily, and I chuckle.
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“No, not a bad thing. It’s a strange thing, however, when you’ve basically just pulled an all-nighter at work, and you’ve barely had any sleep.”
It takes everything in me to maintain a neutral expression, shrugging even as I feel his dark eyes seeing right through me.
“I’m just happy to have the day off with Eli.”
“Mhm.” He nods. “Courtesy of your boss, right? What’s his name again?”
Am I sweating? It feels like it.
“Uh, yes. Devon—I mean, Mr. Kingston gave me the day off since we worked until very late to finish up an important presentation.” We worked late, and long, and hard. Fuck, I can still feel how hard we worked.
Damn it. Nope. Not thinking about it with my child and dad in the same room.
I pretend I see none of the amusement dancing in Dad’s eyes.
“Well, that was nice of him.”
“Yeah.” I swallow hard, glancing down at Eli again, my mind full of Devon.
Of the look he gave me when I kissed his warm, scruffy cheek.
Of the way he looked when I left him—tousled dark hair, rumpled shirt, bearing our night on his skin.
Of his concern for my well-being in his text.
It all makes my chest ache. “Yeah, it was really nice of him,” I murmur softly.
Silence follows my words, Dad’s gaze unwavering when I meet his eyes again.
“You like him.” Not a question, but a statement.
One that I can’t bring myself to refute.
“Of course I like him. He’s kind, and he always treats me really well.”
It doesn’t even scratch the surface of what I feel, because ‘like’ is too weak a word to describe what every moment spent around him does to me.
And I know Dad doesn’t miss the faint sadness tinging my tone as he peers steadily at me.
“Sweetie…” He starts, but I shake my head with a smile.
“Everything’s alright, Dad. Don’t worry about it.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but sighs anyway.
“Okay. Because you know what will happen if anyone hurts you.”
“You’ll sic Pops on them?”
“Exactly.”
I chuckle then, and he does too, his expression softening as it always does when he thinks about him.
They bicker all the time like cats and dogs, but I’ve never seen two people more fiercely caring and protective of each other than them.
They were my rock when I found out about Eli. They still are.
“Where is Pops anyway?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, but his eyes are sparkling when he speaks.
“In his workshop at the back, tinkering with something that will turn into another ridiculously pretty thing, which then I will want to actually put somewhere inside the house where there’s hardly any space left. It’s all his fault for being so good with his hands,” he grumbles with a subtle blush.
I grin as I set the milk bottle down, and hold Eli upright, over my shoulder.
“Do you guys have any plans for today since you’re off baby-sitting duty?”
Dad nods with a vaguely dreamy look on his face.
“He said he’s taking me somewhere but won’t tell me where. Impossible man.” He shakes his head, but he can’t hide his smile.
And a tiny twist of longing curls deep into my chest as my thoughts drift to someone they shouldn’t. Someone I left only hours ago. Someone I already miss terribly.
It’s probably the reason why I hold my baby extra long during the rest of the day, after I leave my folks; walking with him in my arms outside, chuckling at how extremely impressed he seems at a huge leaf I wave in front of his chubby little face.
I only set him down to clean around the house for a while, and cook some food for later.
By the time it’s afternoon, I’m on the porch swing again, humming and rocking us both gently, Eli dozing in the crook of my arm while I read a chapter from the romantic suspense novel perched on my bent knee.
And if I happen to read the same paragraph over and over because my thoughts travel to an office far from here, that’s my secret to keep.