30. Samantha
Chapter thirty
Samantha
I wake up, sore and giddy. As expected, Stan isn’t in bed with me. I wouldn’t want Ruth walking in and finding us in bed, so that’s a good thing.
I check the time. It’s a few minutes past seven in the morning. Maybe Stan dropped Ruth off at school?
At the end of the bed, ripped jeans and a plain white tee paired with my long, caramel-colored cardigan are laid out. Stan clearly went to the guesthouse so I wouldn’t have to walk through the house wearing only his oversized T-shirt.
I get dressed and make my way downstairs. I hear voices. None are Stan’s.
In the kitchen, I see Ben, Gracie, and Ruth. Gracie’s making breakfast. Ben is helping Ruth, still in her pajamas, with what I assume is her homework.
“What the hell? This is a good morning, all right,” I say, drawing their attention to me.
“You slept over?” Ruth asks with an excited smile on her face.
More than slept.
“Yes, I did. Good morning, Ruthie, Ben, Gracie,” I greet with a wave as I make my way to the kitchen counter.
“Good morning, Sammie,” Gracie says. “You enjoyed your night?”
I don't like the coy smile attached to that question. The woman sees right through me .
I try to play it off. “Couldn’t sleep at first, but then I could. Where's Holt?”
“Here.” Ben raises his hand.
“I mean the one with the potty-mouth,” I correct.
This time, Ruth raises her hand. It’s funny and heartwarming that she sees herself as a Holt.
I chuckle. “The awkward, immature one with the potty mouth.”
“Oh, he’s at the office,” Ben says. “The kid was walking with a bounce and skip in his step and a stupid grin. Triggers my urge to ruin his day.”
“Mine, too.” I cross my arms. “How dare he have a good morning?”
“You two leave my baby alone,” Gracie says as she sets down breakfast. “He brought you green tea,” she tells me, handing me a cup of the brew.
Breakfast is bacon and eggs. She adds an extra bacon strip for Ruth, and the younger girl gets to work on her meal.
I hold the cup of tea, still piping hot. I take a generous sip that warms me up instantly.
“You guys are here early, though,” I say to Ben and Grace, then turn to Ruth. “And you’ll be late for school.”
“I wanted to give Stan some advice on the movie he's planning to work on,” Ben says.
“Oh, stop lying.” Gracie slaps the back of his head playfully. “He woke me up at 5 a.m. and said we need to come over. He felt bad for keeping Ruth up way past her bedtime.”
“Aww, you sweet thing,” Ruth coos at him, and the older man blushes.
Like father, like son.
“Hurry up and finish your breakfast so I can drop you off at school,” Ben says to Ruth with a failed attempt at sounding gruff.
It doesn’t work on any of us, and we just grin at him.
“Alright, Ben,” Ruth says, and resumes eating her breakfast .
Her grandfather looks at her, nervous yet proud. I remember how deflated Stan looked when he talked about Ruth going back to her mom.
And now I know it might even be harder on his parents. They didn’t get to know their granddaughter for long, and she'll be gone soon.
***
The muscles in Stan’s back flex and ripple as one toned shoulder moves up and down the wall with a roller in hand. His bare feet stand on a white cotton drop sheet, his jeans rolled up just enough to show the line of the tendons in his ankles.
Not the sight I thought I’d see when I stepped into his office.
He’s tossed his shirt over the back of his desk chair. His socks are stuffed into the boots that sit by one of the wheels. The desk is perfectly tidy. All proof of our moment yesterday has been erased. Unless you count the missing laptop.
It’s not like I expected him to leave the office messy, but something about how easily he made everything right again irritates me. Like nothing happened.
I prop myself on his desk with a cup of tea and wait for him to notice me.
Oh, boy, how he’s grown. From that skinny, wisecracking teen to a grown, muscular, still-wisecracking jerk who is giving me a strip tease without realizing it.
I watch the streaks of sweat on his back spread to the back of his jeans. He moves, and I see a flash of his crack.
Delicious.
Speaking of delicious, I empty the cup of tea. He still hasn’t noticed me. In fact, he starts to hum “Dancing Queen” by ABBA.
My irritation grows as I remember Ben mentioning Stan was in a good mood, coupled with how embarrassed I felt.
So I drop the teacup, and it shatters on the floor.
He starts and spins, clearly startled by the sound. A thin line of paint follows his arc and sprays across the floor.
“Samantha.” He scowls. “What the fuck? That was my favorite cup. ”
“Too bad,” I smile. “Good morning, boss.”
He lets out a beleaguered sigh, eyes tracing the paint splatter, but he says nothing about it.
“Thanks for the tea,” I grin.
Stan grumbles, “You’re welcome,” before turning back to the wall.
“Whatcha doin’?”
“Painting.”
I snort. “Oh my God? Do you know what you’re doing?”
“It’s a painting. I don’t have to be a pervert to know how to do it.”
“You are a pervert, though,” I add. “Making me sit on your face last night. Saying you don’t care if you die. Pervert.”
He stops painting, lets out a sigh, and continues.
“I woke up thinking about it. Got wet. If you were there, I’d have you be my chair again,” I continue. “But you weren’t, and if not for parents being there and no one to cover my mouth, I almost had to touch myself.”
He shudders, but then his shoulder rises and falls in a half-shrug. “I don’t know where we stand with everyone knowing or being public. Or whatever. Lucas is completely in the dark. And my parents showed up, and I… I’m trying to respect your wishes to keep things professional.”
I roll my eyes and drop my head back before making my way closer to him. “Stan, you’ve been after my ass for years. You fucked my brains out last night.” I smirk as I say the words, knowing they’ll get under his skin. I’m rewarded with a sour scowl from over his shoulder. “You really gonna get all respectful on me now? You already said you’ll tell Lucas.”
“It’s not like that…” he murmurs.
“It’s like what, then?” I approach him. “Put the roller down.”
He looks unsure, but he obeys and drops it.
“Am I just someone you’ve always wanted to fuck and get it over with?” I ask, my hand on his belt.
“Never,” he answers instantly, “I just… you've always seemed so beyond my reach…”
“From where I stand, I’m within reach,” I say as the buckle comes off and I go for his zipper.
“Sam… wait..”
“Wait?” The hum of his zipper going down accompanies his now heavy breathing. “You’ve waited for too long. Haven't you?”
His jeans fall to the floor, and I fall to my knees, right at his feet.
I lift my chin high to meet his gaze. So wild. So unusual. I can’t help but marvel at the way he looks towering over me, all man, radiating so much tension.
“We’re messy,” I continue. “And we challenge each other. And let’s be honest, who the hell else in the world would ever tolerate us? Keep up with us?”
My fingers wrap under the wide elastic of his boxers, and I tug roughly. His cock springs free right before me. Big and perfect and hard.
I lick my lips.
“What are you doing?”
His palm strokes the top of my head, and I grin up at him. “Giving you a blowjob, Mr. Holt.” My eyes drop to the head of his cock, mere inches from my lips.
“Yeah?”
Fuck, he’s so beautiful. I want to leave my mark all over him. I want him to play with me.
“Yeah,” I murmur, my breath becoming choppy. I crouch slightly to plant my hands in the paint, then I reach up and grip his thighs hard, leaving my handprints all over him.
Finally, I’ve made my mark on him.