Chapter 22
SAM
She keens when I suck her clit into my mouth, her nails digging into my scalp when I moan around her. Rosie rocks against me and I let go of her pants to grasp her hips again, holding her firmly in place while I work to unravel her.
I should have waited. Should have pulled her aside when we got back, but I don’t know how I’m expected to keep my hands to myself now that I’ve had a taste.
Like I told her, I generally have fantastic self-control but there’s something about her that seems to brush that aside.
Maybe it’s because I know our time is not infinite.
There’s only so much left with her, and then it’s done.
I go back to my life, and she goes back to hers.
So now I'm testing her, seeing how much I can squeeze out of the time we do have.
“Please,” she whispers. “Need,” she slurs. “Sam,” she begs, her hand in my hair pulling, and I’m not sure if she’s asking for me to make her come faster or if she needs more.
I reluctantly pull my mouth away and look up to find her blue eyes full of want.
“What do you need, beautiful?” I ask, dipping my head again to run my tongue through her heat.
She swallows and shakes her head.
“Tell me, Rosie.” I lick again. “Instruct me.”
I watch as her confidence builds; the woman who rode me and made me hold onto the bedframe while she took charge comes into view, and my cock throbs more with each passing second.
“Fuck me,” she says without a flicker of shyness. “Right here. Right now.”
I stand slowly, my knees protesting until I’ve reached my full height and I’m looking down at her.
She doesn’t break eye contact and doesn’t so much as blink when I lean forward and slip my middle finger into her. She fights the impulse to close her eyes and sink into my touch. Battles with herself not to ride my fingers as I add a second.
“I di—” Tires on gravel have me ripping my fingers from her and looking over my shoulder.
Through the sparse trees I see one of the staff in a golf cart, bumping along the trail, on their way to pick up an injured hiker.
“Sam.”
My name brings my attention back to her.
“It’s our ride.”
I don’t miss the look of disappointment that flashes across her face, and hope blooms in my chest. She wants this time with me too.
“We’ll have them drop us off at my cottage.” I reach down to pull her tights back up her legs, momentarily distracted by how her breath tickles my neck. “We’ll pick this up there.”
She nods and pushes off the tree, skirting around me and walking back to the path. “You better limp,” she calls back, tossing a wink over her shoulder.
The ride back to the cottage is a slow, bouncy affair.
The elongated golf cart was not made for traversing over thick roots and jagged rocks.
It is made for manicured fairways and asphalt paths.
I keep my hand firmly on Rosie’s thigh as we bounce along, as much to keep her on the bench as to maintain contact with her.
I’m still shocked my dramatics worked, although now I’m starting to wonder if my tactics were perhaps a bit too manipulative.
Her hand wraps around my upper arm as we hit another too-big bump and I look down in time to see her look away quickly, her jaw working as if she’s fighting a smile.
I want to wrap my arm around her, but I don’t want to let go of her thigh.
I’ve never seen Sophie’s Choice, but I have to imagine the choice was something like this.
Before the cart has even come to a complete stop, I’m stepping out and pulling Rosie along with me. With her hand firmly in mine, I pull her through the gate and up the path, calling out a hurried thank you as I rush to the front door.
“You’re not limping,” she hisses as I unlatch the door and push my way in. “They’ll kno—oh!” She giggles as I cup her ass and lift her, kicking the door shut in the process.
“I don’t care,” I admit, dropping my head to nibble at her collarbone. “I don’t fucking care, Rosie, because if I don’t get inside you in the next two minutes, I’m going to come in my pants, and I haven’t done that since I was eighteen.”
“Oh, well then, I guess we should get those shorts off,” she declares, wiggling out of my grasp and dropping to the ground, pulling my pants down in one smooth action.
My cock springs free, and she looks up at me all innocently before she starts to lower herself.
“No way,” I growl, hooking my hands under her armpits and keeping her on her feet. “I’m not fucking your mouth right now, Rosie. I’m fucking that gorgeous pussy, because that’s what you wanted in the forest, wasn’t it?”
She nods and backs toward the couch, pulling her shirt free as she goes, dropping it on the floor, and then doing the same with the sports bra.
Stepping forward, I remember too late that my pants are still around my ankles, and I stumble.
Thankfully my reflexes kick in before I fall, and I’m able to kick the fabric free.
I’m a goddamn stumbling mess around this woman and I don’t even have it in me to feel embarrassed.
Rosie’s giggle is like a wave crashing on the beach and pulling me to her. Fighting it seems fruitless.
I want to tell her to grab the doorframe and then pull her hips back into me. Want to demand she kneel on the couch, popping that beautiful ass up while she arches back. But the condoms are in the bedroom, so that’s where I direct her while I tear off my own shirt.
“Hands and knees on the bed,” I order while I eat up the space between me and my suitcase in two strides.
When I turn back to the bed, she’s done as I’ve instructed, her knees spread, eyes peeking over her shoulder, inviting me over.
I get myself covered and then go to her, trying to calm down in the process. I’m so close I could go off the second I slide the tip of my cock into her and that would be nearly as embarrassing as coming in my pants at eighteen.
She gives her ass a little wiggle, and I run my hands over each cheek before digging my fingers into her soft flesh and spreading her more. There’s a sharp intake of breath, and I think she assumes I’m up to something else. If we had forever, maybe, but right now I only have one thing on my mind.
I keep my left hand firmly on her ass while I give myself a couple pumps with my right, lining up with her and pushing in in one fluid motion.
“Yes!” She moans, turning three letters into twenty as she pushes her ass back, demanding more than I have to give.
“What do you want?” I ask, my attention on the way her lower back arches. “Make your demands, Rosie,” I tell her, squeezing her hips and holding her in place when she starts to rock forward.
“I already told you what to do, Sammy.” She smirks back at me as if challenging me to defy her. Challenging me to ask her to tell me again. Challenging me to admit that I hate being called Sammy but that she can call me anything she wants and I’ll answer to it.
“How?” I ask without moving. She wants me to fuck her, but I want to know how.
“I don’t care as long as you do it.”
The answer is almost too open-ended because I am indecisive about how I want to go about this.
I want to fuck her hard enough that anyone within ten miles will know what we’re doing.
But I want to take my time bringing her to the edge while I fuck her slowly, her pussy squeezing my cock until I have no choice but to finish fast and hard.
I want to flip her over so I can watch her come undone because I know that’s a view I could never get sick of.
I want to fuck her bare and fill her with me, mark her as mine. I want too many things I can’t have.
“Sam,” her voice is quiet, a light tap against my psyche, pulling me out of my decision spiral. “Please.”
I pull out and slam back in without another thought, watching her head fall back and her eyes roll back, smiling to myself for getting that kind of reaction from her.
Rosie is wearing a green blouse with white polka dots and a pair of tight navy pants when she walks into the courtyard, chatting animatedly with one of Sarah’s bridesmaids.
My attempt to look away as they cross to the bar and order a drink, fails.
Pierre is telling us a story from his last game of the season, but everyone sounds like they’re in the distance.
Rosie’s cries are still the loudest thing in my mind.
I can still smell her, and the whisky in my glass hasn’t done a thing to wash the taste of her from my mouth.
She looks over, catches my eye, and smiles quickly before looking away again.
I’m fairly certain everyone is aware of what we’ve been up to. Not a single person who was on the hike has commented on my lack of a limp. Shocking really, considering how these guys like to take the piss out of anyone at any opportunity.
“Mommy!” Maggi cries, running out of the estate and straight into Rosie’s outstretched arms.
They share a private moment that ends with Maggi giggling like mad and dropping her Nessie stuffie. I want to jump out of my seat and rescue it, but Thomas is there a second later.
Rosie greets her in-laws with kisses on the cheek without letting go of her daughter, and I watch as they engage like the perfect little family.
Maggi whispers something to her mother, and then Rosie is pointing at me. Maggi wiggles out of her arms and takes off at a run in my direction.
I’m up on my feet and catching her a moment later when she launches herself into my arms.
“Your Highness,” I say once she’s settled in my arms.
“Prince!” she squeals. “Guess what?”
“What?”
She cups her hands around my ear and whispers. “I found the folk.”
“No way,” I gasp.
Maggi raises her finger to her lips and motions for me to be quiet. “It’s a secret.”
“Oh, well, in that case.” I mime zipping my mouth shut.
“Mommy doesn’t know.”
I look over to where Rosie is still standing with Thomas and Martha. There’s a slight thrill in sharing this harmless secret she’s not in on. Like I’ve been welcomed into some club.
And goddammit to my utter shock and amazement, I want to be in this little club.
Rosie walks over, a glass of dark red wine held gracefully in her right hand as she reaches out and tucks a lock of hair behind Maggi’s ear.
“What are you two being all secretive about?” she asks, eyeing us suspiciously.
I look at Maggi with wide eyes, letting her take the lead on this answer because I’m not sure I’ll be able to lie to her mother.
She shakes her head and wiggles out of my grasp, running through the hedge gate in the direction of where her grandparents went.
I watch her go, avoiding Rosie’s scrutinizing gaze.
“She’s a character,” I say, taking a long pull of my drink, hoping Rosie doesn’t ask me any questions. It’s a silly secret, and clearly there are no folk to be found, but it feels important to keep this one.
She hums into her glass as she takes a sip, no longer looking at me. “She’s obsessed with other people right now,” she says thoughtfully. “It’s weird not being the centre of her world. I’d gotten so used to being…it.”
I want to tell her she can be the centre of mine right now. I’m more than happy to centre her. It feels good, even if it’s only for a little while, which may be why it feels good. This thing has an end date.