Chapter Seven #4
what's going on, he's climbing over me and pressing hard kisses up
my spine, to my shoulder and neck.
"You are unbelievable," he
growls into my ear, before sucking gently on the sensitive skin of
my throat, licking a pattern that drives me crazy. "But I won't
last another second with you humming around my dick like
that."
I don't know why his words
make me even hotter, but they do.
"That's okay," I whisper,
my head falling sideways to give him more neck to suck. After all,
I wanted to taste him, and I was prepared for him to
finish.
He returns his mouth to my
ear, tonguing a ring around the outer lobe. I don't move, I just
sit there on my hands and knees panting, relishing the feel of the
large, hard planes of his body bracing mine, caging me in. I feel
small, vulnerable, desired, and absolutely cherished.
"I need-" Sam inhales
sharply, cutting off his own words, and then begins again.
"I want inside
you, baby," he whispers. It's as if his words have fingers of their
own, and they stroke me in all the right places. Who ever knew I
liked dirty talk? "Say no
and we can do what we were just doing," he
promises, "or we could stop."
"No," I say, frantic at
the thought of stopping now.
Sam stills
immediately.
"No, not
no… No, I don't want to stop," I
elaborate. I will die if he stops. I know it.
Sam's hand finds the
outside of my thigh, and slides upward until he reaches my hip,
increasing the pressure, his thumb stroking my backside, his mouth
returning to my ear.
"I want you so fucking
much, Ror. It's feels like it's been so much longer than it has."
His voice is almost sad, but it's barely discernible through it's
lust, and when his hand continues around and down between my
thighs, my mind shoots back to it's only current track.
"Say—"
"Yes." I don't know how I know it's
what he's going to ask me to say, but I do, and it's all I can
think to say anyway. That and…
"Please, Sam."
"Fuck," he growls softly,
and then his fingers double their efforts until my eyes roll back
and he has me moaning again. Sam traces me with himself, before he
positions to take me.
My body puts up no
resistance when he enters me despite his impressive size. But he's
had me more than ready for a while now, and I want him inside me so
badly I can think of nothing else.
"Yes," I say again, but
it's more moan than word, and as Sam fills me, his entire body
wraps around me. I push back against him, desperate for as many
square inches of his hot skin against mine as physically possible.
And he seems happy to accommodate me, holding his weight slightly
off of me with one hand as the other winds around my middle,
holding me flush against him.
I've never had sex this
way before. Robin had always seemed intent on holding me down on my
back, even in his car. I'd have thought that position would have
been more intimate. It sure was the other times I'd been with Sam
like that.
But there's something
about having him over me, behind me like this. About me getting on
my hands and knees for him. It's not just the vulnerability, the
trust I'm giving to him. It's him, too. The way he cherishes that
trust. The way he gives me these extra chances to stop it. The way
he asks out loud—how he demands an affirmative answer. The way he
never presumes anything. I mean he didn't even get into bed with me
at first for God's sake, I know
it.
And something tells me
it's not just because of my history. Perhaps he's extra cautious
with me, but I don't doubt for a second that this is just who he
is. Respectful, if not always gentle.
And thank God for that. He
does start out slowly, but not softly. He moves deep into me with
long drives, and stays as deep as he can for long moments before
repeating the motion all over again. His rhythm has me panting for
breath in minutes.
Sam brushes my hair over my
shoulder, exposing my neck to his mouth. He takes full advantage,
kissing and sucking and whispering to me about how incredible I
feel, taste, sound, and the wicked things he wants to do to me—that
he's already doing to me.
I react in a gasp or a
moan every time he whispers something new, and then he reacts in
response. It isn't long before he's thrusting hard and fast, and I
just keep begging him for more, and telling him
yes.
His hand slips down until
he's touching the place where he moves inside me, and vaguely I
think I'm chanting please, and Sam.
"Yes, baby. Let me feel
you."
I do.
I explode around him, him
deep inside me with his hand pressed to me, his body cloaking me
with the heat of our lovemaking.
"Oh God, Sam!" I cry out over and over as my
elbows give out, and he holds me up with one arm, still driving
into me, and my pleasure rolls on and on around him.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he
chants. "Fuck, Ror," and his rhythm speeds up even more before it becomes
erratic, and then he stills, as deep as he can get, and I feel him
shoot off inside me.
Sam lets me slide
face-first down onto the mattress, and comes down with me, but
catches most of his own weight on his other hand. He starts
pressing soft, breathy kisses between my shoulder blades, and I
revel in the feel of his stubble against my over-sensitized skin.
He rolls off of me and takes my hand to pull me toward him until
we're lying on our backs side by side, still catching our
breath.
That was the most intense
experience of my life. I didn't think it could get much better than
the first time we were together, or the couple of times after that.
But each time I feel even less self conscious, and Sam has this
insane way of making me forget everything other than my need for
him, and God, the
way he delivers... every girl should know how this feels. Though
the thought of him ever being with another girl sends nausea
churning in my gut.
I shake my head to rid it
of these covetous thoughts. They have no place here. We are not
together, we are friends. Friends who just had the most incredibly
intense sex imaginable. Is this what being friends with benefits is? Because
that sure was one hell of a benefit.
I stretch my overworked
muscles and sigh in satisfaction. Sam rolls onto his side until
he's gazing down at me. His fingers creep up my side, and lightly
stroke my stomach, tracing around my navel.
"You're so incredibly
beautiful," he whispers, and I watch his gaze lazily sweep over my
body.
I take in his muscled
form, the light sheen of sweat that speaks of the exertion that
brought me to such ecstasy. I'll live my life knowing there will
never be anyone else for me, even if I can't have him for more than
an afternoon. He doesn't know the power he has. And I have to keep
it that way, otherwise my plan will all be for nothing. If he knows
how I feel, he will push, and I will cave. And then he will be
right back in the line of fire, risking his future, freedom, and
life for the crime of caring for me.
"So are you," I tell him
honestly, and he smirks.
"Guys aren't beautiful,"
he replies.
I caress his stubbled jaw,
trace the outline of the perfect structure of his cheekbones with
the pad of my thumb, and he turns into my palm. "This one is," I
breathe.
Sam presses a soft kiss to
the skin of my palm, and I push my hand into his hair, brushing
through his disheveled locks until I'm playing with the short hair
at his nape, running my fingers over the soft skin on the back of
his neck.
"You better stop that
unless you're ready for round two," he warns playfully.
My gaze shoots to his, and
I realize he meant it as a threat, not the promise I'd heard. Sam
chuckles when he registers my interest in what I'd obviously
thought was a proposition, and he shakes his head in faux
reprimand.
We watch each other for
several long moments. I take in every plane and contour of his
perfect face, not sure if and when I'll have it so close to mine
again. He is positively riveting and I wish with everything I have
that I could read his mind right now.
Sam leans over me, brushing
the hair from my forehead, his knuckles lingering softly over my
cheek. "You know this isn't why I brought you here, right? I didn't
plan that. It wasn't—"
"I know, Sam," I cut him
off. How he can possibly worry that I might think he plotted to get
me into bed—well, like this
anyway—I can't imagine. I know him better than
that. He knows I
know him better than that.
Sam's lips twist up into a
small smile of contentment, and it makes everything right in my
heart.
"I know you didn't plan
that," I assure him. "I know why you brought me here. And I know
you were hesitant to even climb into bed with me. I know you saved
me from that nightmare… I know you, Sam."
His small smile grows with
my words, and it's another heady feeling—to be the source of his
joy.
"I know you'd never
pressure me for anything, Sam. You saw how tired I was and brought
me home so I could get some sleep. You always look out for me.
You're a good friend."
I swear Sam flinches, but
I'm sure I must have imagined it. But he blinks away from my gaze,
and retracts his hand from my cheek. I can see him turning
something over in his head, and I'm in some semblance of shock,
confused as to how words I'd meant to reassure him were obviously
taken differently than intended.
"Friend," he repeats
quietly. He turns the word over in his mouth, and even I can taste
the bitterness of it on his tongue.
Sam sits up, his eyes
locked on some random focal point on the far wall, and I clutch the
bed sheet to my chest, sensing the sudden change in atmosphere
strip away that freedom I'd felt only seconds earlier and shrouding
it in shame.
Sam exhales, and I watch
his contentment desert him along with his breath.
"Friend?" he repeats again, this time
a question.
"I..." I don't know what
to say. I can't think of a damn thing I could say that will revert us back
to the happy, playful people we were only moments
before.