Chapter 19 Sam
SAM
Softly at first, then deeper, my mouth claims hers. She tastes sweet—warm, addictive—and I lose myself in it. Every one of her sighs pulls me further under. How she could ever see anything less than beautiful in herself is fucking crazy.
She’s perfect.
Every curve, every sound, every breath.
With her clothes scattered on the floor, she lies on my bed, bared to me, her dark eyes soft and inviting.
Threading my hand through her hair, I cradle her head as my lips trail down her neck.
Her skin is smooth and impossibly soft, her pulse quick beneath my mouth.
She tastes like chocolate. Fucking delicious.
I sweep the pad of my thumb over her pert brown nipple, and like a chain reaction, she releases a sigh in complete surrender.
My mouth latches on to her breast and my teeth nibble on her distended bud while my hand pleasures the other nipple.
She’s wildly vocal in expressing her enjoyment with whimpers and moans that drive me crazy. I want to be inside of her.
My hands and her body converse in a language of their own. My touch expresses how divine she is, every curve, every scar, every inch of her perfect, made for me. My fingers tell her how much and how deeply I see her beauty, inside and out.
She’s so responsive. Arching, writhing, whimpering as she gives herself to me, completely trusting.
Skimming my hand down between her legs, I graze her sex. Fuck. She wants this. She wants me. Lightly rubbing her clit, my fingers are coated in her slickness. She pleasurably squirms and sighs. Increasing the pace of my ministrations with the pad of my thumb, my finger dips to tease her opening.
“Sam.” My name is a plea on her lips.
Gradually, I insert one finger, leisurely pumping in and out, adding another while my thumb circles her tight bundle of nerves. Olivia cries out, tensing. Her knees shake and her hands tremble, digging into my shoulders.
As she climaxes, her eyes hold mine. She clenches, hot and snug around my fingers.
“I need you now, mon trésor. Are you ready, Livvy?”
She nods, eyes piercing and needy as I open the foil packet and roll the condom on. She licks her lips as our gazes meet, and I smile devilishly. My girl likes what she sees.
I wrap my arms around her slender body, and she fits perfectly. Made for me. My mouth devours hers once more. When she willingly opens for me, I nestle myself between her legs as she arches and bucks, sliding her hot core impatiently along my hard-as-steel dick. We both groan.
“Easy, Livvy. Wait.”
“I want you, Sam. Now.” She declares her eagerness with her smoldering eyes and intense pants. My tongue flicks over the bud of her nipple and she moans, “Yes. Sam.”
With her encouragement, I push inside her, torturously slow, inch by inch.
With a fervent cry, her eyes close, mouth open, back curving, breasts shoved closer to my face.
Beautiful. The urge to impale her, hard, balls-deep into her sex is excruciatingly overwhelming, but I want this to be as good for her as it is for me.
I hold still and give her time to adjust to my girth. Her grip loosens as I bury myself deep within her. Fuck. She’s perfect. Wet, hot, and tight. Nirvana.
We easily find our rhythm in long, hard pushes and slow, teasing pulls as I caress, stroke, and kiss every inch of her body.
“Oh, my God. Sam. Yes, oh my, yes,” Olivia cries. Her incessant, pleasurable pleas are an invitation to lose control as she pulses around me, my need for her so fierce I want to stay inside her forever.
I rub her sensitive spot to match our rocking and her eyes fly open, chocolate pools of desire nailing me.
“Mon trésor.” My treasure.
“Sam. Oh God. Don’t stop.”
“You like that, Livvy?”
“Oh… yes.”
Together, we tense, eyes locked. With blinding ecstasy, our bodies soar and shatter. An eruption of bliss cascades over us.
Fucking phenomenal.
As we come down, I hurriedly get up to remove the condom and return, gently collapsing on top of her small frame. I need to touch her, feel her. Swiftly rolling until I’m on my back, I take her with me.
Olivia curls against me, her head resting on my chest, her breathing slow and even. I must doze off, because when my eyes open, the light in the room has shifted, muted, gold around the edges.
Something soft brushes my arm. Her fingertip. She’s tracing one of my tattoos, slow and lazy, like she’s memorizing it.
“Sorry,” she murmurs, her voice husky. “Did I wake you?”
“Nah.” I press a kiss to her forehead, my lips catching on a strand of her hair. “Could wake up like this every day.”
She smiles, still half-asleep, her hand wandering over my chest, pausing on the ink along my ribs. “Tell me about these,” she says quietly.
I grin a little. “What do you want to know?”
She taps the cabbage. “This one. What’s the story? And I’m guessing there’s a connection to Mon Petit Chou.”
Smart woman. Always paying attention.
“Yeah.” I catch her hand and kiss the back of it before threading our fingers together. “My grand-mère used to call me mon petit chou—means ‘my little cabbage.’”
I let out a soft laugh. “Sounds weird in English, I know, but in French it’s sweet.
As I’ve already told you, my grandparents raised me for a time after my mom died.
I got the tattoo after my eighteenth birthday, and when I opened my first restaurant, I named it for her.
It was my way of keeping her with me. She’d be proud, I think.
She always said I had good hands for the kitchen. ”
Olivia pushes up on her elbow, eyes warm and full. Then she leans in, kissing my neck, my jaw, then lower, her lips brushing over the ink. “I love that,” she whispers. “Mon petit chou. It’s beautiful. They must’ve loved you so much.”
“They did.”
“It must’ve been hard…losing them so young.”
“Yeah.” My throat tightens for a second. “It was. But I got lucky with Bas. If I hadn’t met him, I’d probably be in a lot worse shape. Maybe even dead. He gave me something to fight for again.”
Her eyes soften, and she whispers, “I can’t wait to meet him.”
I grin, brushing a thumb along her bare hip. “Oh, you will. Tomorrow, actually. I’m spending the day with him and Alec. Since you surprised me, you’re coming too.”
Her eyes widen, then she laughs, light and genuine. “You planned that well, didn’t you?”
“Not really.” I squeeze her ass playfully before giving a soft swat. She squeals and smacks my chest, giggling, the sound like sunlight in the room.
“Enough, Monsieur Beaulieu.” She sparkles when she teases. “Tell me about this one.”
She touches the words inked along my ribs, tracing the letters like they’re something sacred. Her voice is quiet when she asks, “What does it mean?”
“Mais les yeux sont aveugles. Il faut chercher avec le c?ur.” Naturally, the French rolls easily off my tongue.
She looks up at me, waiting, expectant.
“It means, ‘But the eyes are blind. One must look with the heart.’”
Her lips part. “The Little Prince.”
I nod. “Yeah. Le Petit Prince. My grand-père and I used to read it together. When I was little, he’d read it to me.
Later, when I was a little older and could, I’d read it to him.
Though there were words I would still need his help with.
” A smile springs to my lips at the memory.
“We must’ve gone through the book a hundred times. ”
She smiles softly. “I love that story. I’ve read it to my kids so many times I can almost recite it.”
I chuckle. “You probably could. There are a lot of great lines in there. But this one. It stuck.” I pause, tracing the edge of the blanket with my thumb, searching for the right words.
“I guess because it’s true. The world shows you what it wants you to see.
But it’s not always what’s real. You have to look deeper.
Past the surface. Past the scars. That’s where the good stuff is. ”
Her gaze finds mine again, deep and steady. “That’s how you live,” she says quietly. “You see with your heart.”
I shrug, though the truth of it hits somewhere low in my chest. “Maybe. Or maybe I just learned not to trust my eyes.”
She smiles, but it’s soft, a little sad. Then she curls back into me, her fingers still tracing the words along my ribs like she’s trying to memorize them.
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like my past is something to hide.
Her touch drifts lower, brushing over the snake winding around my forearm, its scales tangled with dark petals.
“And this one?” she asks. “The snake and the flowers?”
I catch her hand, holding it still against my skin. “That is a long story. One I’ll tell you later.”
“Later?” she presses, eyebrow arched.
“Yeah.” I glance at the clock on the wall. “Because if we don’t get moving, we’re going to be late—"
“What? Late?” Wariness creeps in around the edges of her soft voice.
She clutches the sheet to her chest as I stand, stretching before heading toward the bathroom. “Yeah,” I say over my shoulder. “We need to shower and get moving. We’re having dinner with the Thibaults.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, her expression shifts, just a flicker, but I catch it. Her mouth dips, her eyes narrowing before she smooths her features into something neutral. If I hadn’t been looking, I’d have missed it.
She doesn’t have to say a thing. She’s not a fan of Yasmine Thibault. Can’t blame her. Truth is, neither am I.
Still, I keep my tone light as I turn on the shower. “It’s just dinner. Business.” And I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince her or myself.
I know exactly what Yasmine wants, and it’s not a partnership deal. She’s been circling for a while, smiling too wide, leaning too close. I’ve made it clear I’m not interested, but she doesn’t take hints easily.
Maybe I should’ve drawn a harder line, especially now.
It’d probably make Olivia feel better if I did.
Hell, it’d make me feel better. But Yasmine’s a necessary evil for the moment.
Her father’s investment could open doors for my next restaurant project, and until I know which way that deal’s going, I have to play nice.
I catch Olivia watching me as I step into the bathroom doorway. There’s something in her look—curiosity, maybe a touch of disappointment—but she doesn’t voice it.
Part of me wishes she would. At least then I’d know where I stand.
Instead, I just give her a crooked grin. “Don’t worry, mon petit chou. It’s business, not pleasure.”
Her brow arches slightly, her lips pressing together like she’s weighing whether to believe me. “I didn’t say anything.”
“No. You didn’t have to.”
I turn on the shower, hot water steaming the room, and I let it swallow me.
“Do I have to come?” She rises from the bed, clutching the sheet like armor.
“Yeah, you do. If I could cancel, I would. But I can’t. They know I’m scouting Toronto and Vancouver and want to hear which way I’m leaning.”
She slips her shirt over her head, still holding the sheet against her body like she’s modest all of a sudden. The move shouldn’t be sexy, but somehow it is. She walks toward me, a faint crease between her brows.
“Which way are you leaning? Do you know?” She bites her bottom lip, teeth sinking into the soft pink flesh.
For a second, I forget what city we’re talking about. Hell, I forget what planet I’m on. All I can think about is her mouth. How good it feels. How much I want it again.
Later. Definitely later.
“Yeah.” I pull her close, her chest pressing against mine. “And I think you already know my preference.”
Before she can reply, I catch her mouth in a quick, deep kiss, my hand sliding into her hair. I nibble at her lower lip, tugging just enough to make her sigh against me. The sound shoots straight to my cock.
“Damn,” I murmur against her mouth. “I wish we could skip dinner.”
She laughs, heady and balmy against my skin. “I’m okay with that.”
“Uh-uh, nice try. Come on.” I step back with a grin. “Let’s shower. But you’ll have to behave yourself, Ms. Cassidy. Keep those hands to yourself.”
Her laughter bubbles past her lips, light and melodic. “Right. I have to behave? That’s rich.” Her eyes twinkle with mischief. “You’re on, mister. You so much as touch me, and I get to order for you tonight.”
I groan, already knowing this is a terrible idea, yet unable to resist her. “Deal.”
And, of course, I lose. Or maybe not—it depends on how I look at it. There’s no way I can keep my hands off her—naked, wet, and looking like every damn thing I’ve ever wanted.
Before we even make it out the door, there is no doubt in my mind. Dinner is a lost cause.