1. He’s All Wrong for Me It’s Perfect #2
But it flipped a switch for me. Because it was then I realized that all these barriers: the opposing lifestyles, geography, and my personal knowledge of just what could happen when I got entangled with the wrong kind of person, all of it was the perfect, infallible safety net.
I could do this. I wanted to do this, and I would.
“Okay, so, what about what I want?” I asked.
He pulled back, inspecting me. I think he felt the change. His lips quirked.
I think he liked what he saw.
“Well.” His hands glided lower, lifting one of my legs up around his side. “Now we’re asking the real questions.” His right hand slid under my thigh, his fingers under my skirt grazing dangerously close to the place I was already wet for him.
My one knee holding me up was wobbly, my balance completely at risk, like I’d stepped onto loose marbles.
Sam was of average height. I’d be surprised if he was much more than six feet.
But his hands felt massive as he steadied me.
Capable as he lowered my leg and then slid up my thigh, making my skirt lift. “You’re so fucking soft, Ellie.”
His other hand joined him in this trip up the sides of my bare hips, his thumbs circling the very edges of my pelvis.
I could hardly breathe.
“I can’t stop touching you,” he husked.
For the first time since he’d stepped into this room, his words sounded less like teasing me. More like he’d said them to himself.
Good, I thought. Don’t ever stop.
For a moment, we were both silent, the only sound in the room our breathing as his hands journeyed up my sides, my skirt dropping back into place.
I tipped my head back as he reached my ribs, giving in to the exploration of his fingers and thumbs. I melted into his touch, which felt more and more now like an expedition; like he wanted to tattoo little flags all over me, saying mine, mine, mine.
When he pulled back, his eyes were dark, his pupils wide. He held my gaze as his thumbs brushed the underside of my breasts. Higher still, just barely grazing under my nipples.
The sound I made as I felt them tighten without even having been touched should have been humiliating.
But a hum of appreciation sounded deep in his throat. A reactive sound.
“You feel so fucking good, Ellie.” His voice was heavy now, the rough pluck of the thickest string on a bass. “And I haven’t even kissed you yet.”
I felt boneless. Liquid where there should be form.
“Then you better kiss me,” I breathed. I opened my mouth, shameless in my want now.
Sam’s eyes were serious as he followed the flick of my tongue across my lips.
His left hand rose to cup the back of my neck, his fingers sliding through the curls at the base of my skull.
I kept my hair in a bob that made my hair a little wild.
I liked it, and maybe he did too, because he made another low sound as he gripped my strands between his fingers, tilting my head farther back.
His other hand, which had splayed over my collarbone, rose up my throat to my jaw.
He pressed his thumb onto my chin, parting my lips.
Still, he didn’t kiss me. It was like he was entranced.
But it was killing me. “Please,” I breathed, rocking my hips into him. I felt his hardness against my belly, and that did it. My patience was suddenly gone.
“Fine,” I said. I rose up on my toes, making his hand on my face drop to my throat. And without further preamble, I pressed my lips against his.
I’d expected the kiss to feel good. Kissing after some anticipation always felt good. But I didn’t expect this.
When his lips met mine I felt—genuinely and from experience—like I was being electrocuted. Only without the pain. There was that same paralyzation; that same feeling like my body had been taken over, a high-voltage hum filling all my senses as I melted against him.
For a moment, Sam was still. Surprised, maybe, at me having thrown myself at him.
But then he was on me, his mouth strong and firm as he took over. Our tongues met and another electrical jolt shot through me. I was desperate. Greedy. Pressing my body up against his. Grinding against the hardness between us like a wanton—
“Christ, Ellie,” he breathed against my lips as he broke the kiss.
“Sorry,” I said.
Now it was his turn to grip my jaw. “Sorry? Fuck no.” His eyes on mine were like a drug. All the teasing from a moment ago was gone. His pupils had grown so wide his irises were the thinnest ring of blue flame.
“You’re so hot. I’m so fucking lucky. But we’re going to need to go slower or this’ll be over before it starts.”
I laughed, despite the heat coursing through me. “Okay.”
We backed up, both breathing hard.
“Okay,” I said again, thinking. “Sit over there.”
Sam lifted a brow, but his lips went up too. He dropped into the chair in the corner, gripping the armrests like he was buckling in for a ride.
I was going to give him one.
I smoothed my hair back, walking first over to the minibar for some liquid courage.
I hadn’t had a drink since before we started talking downstairs.
One more wouldn’t hurt. I cracked open a tiny bottle of whiskey.
When I tilted it toward him, he shook his head.
I tossed it back myself, feeling the burn of the liquor down my throat.
I reveled for a brief moment in the instant muscle-melting sensation it gave me.
A plan came into shape in my mind. A thrill went through me just thinking about it. Okay, then.
I reached up and released the top button on my linen blouse.
“Ellie.” Sam’s eyes darkened. He shifted in his seat.
“Sam.” I smiled, a little tipsy with the knowledge that I, too, held some power here. Maybe only a fraction of what he did, seeing as I was the one who hadn’t been touched in a year.
Still, it was something. I undid another button.
“What are you doing, Ms. James?” I was surprised he’d remembered my last name. His voice was playful, but his chest rose with a breath. Then another. I was definitely doing something to him.
“I’m taking off my clothes,” I said, knowing I was being pedantic.
“Should I?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No. I’m going to get naked, and you’re going to watch. With no touching until I tell you to.”
“Fuck me.”
“If you’re lucky, I might.” Damn, that whiskey really did the trick.
Sam went limp in the chair, flopping his head back. “Shit.”
I paused. “What?”
“I was worried, before, about going too fast. But coming in my pants would be much worse.”
I held back a laugh. “So you don’t want me to take this off?” I undid another button, high on his eagerness.
“No.” He sat back up again, eyes trained on my hands. “Hell no. I’m just warning you. This could get ugly. For me. And you looking at me.”
I didn’t know I could laugh this much while also being this turned on. I took a step toward him, my buttons now low enough to reveal the lace of my bra. Thank God it was a nicer one—black lace, see-through cups.
Sam let out a groan, drawing his hand down between his legs. “You look like the kind of woman I fantasized about when I was a teenager.”
“You fantasized about middle-aged moms?” I reached up to cup my breasts.
Sam’s eyes went liquid. “You’re 35.”
“Pretty close.”
“All the neighborhood boys were obsessed with this one lady on the block, she had these huge—”
He cleared his throat.
I’d come up in front of him, and now I pressed his legs together; wedged my knees on either side of him. “Sam,” I said, my lace-sheathed breasts in his face. “Are you only here because I remind you of your teenage wet dream?”
He looked almost in pain. “Don’t say wet, please. Not when I can’t touch you.”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“No.” He licked his lips. Then his eyes rose to mine, his expression almost sheepish. “I’m here because you laughed at my jokes. And you’re incredibly hot. And sexy, and—”
I unhooked my bra.
“Fuck me,” he breathed as the lace fell away. My nipples, already tight, seized into little rocks at his gaze. They ached almost as much as the spot between my legs. I knew I was wet under my skirt.
“Okay,” I said, bracing my hands on the chair. “You can touch.”
Then, somehow, I was off my feet, laughing as he carried me straight to the bed. “Sam!” I exclaimed, worried about hurting him. But he was stronger than I thought.
I’d never been swept off my feet before.
Figuratively or literally. But Sam tossed me onto the bed like I was nothing, and I felt like I was floating.
Then he was ripping off his clothes, his eyes never leaving mine.
His expression made it look like to him I was a five-course meal. And he was a starving man.
“You really want to do this?” he asked, as if we weren’t already half-naked.
“Yes,” I said. “I really, really do.”
It was the most fun I ever had.
I only wish that’s all it had been.