18. The Devil on my Shoulder
The Devil on my Shoulder
ELLIE
Sam seemed neutral again when he came back. Like he wouldn’t be letting any more sweethearts slip. He opened the yogurt he’d brought for me. Put it and a spoon in my hands.
I ate, one spoonful after the other, realizing I was, of course, ravenous.
“Henry’s with Tommy,” Sam said. “They’re watching a show about a penguin. It’s pretty cute.”
I didn’t love Henry watching TV, only because he was so little, but sometimes it was necessary. Tommy’d had a lot more. Yet another thing I added to the list of things I was sure I’d screwed him up with. But I said a prayer of thanks for screens now.
I finished the yogurt. Sam bent down to take the container and spoon from me. He set it on the tray, then stood at the end of the bed, hands in his pockets.
“You can sit,” I said.
Sam looked over at the lone chair in the room. It didn’t just have a shirt on it, I could see now, but a pair of underwear. Not a sexy pair either. Oh God, were they dirty?
“Here,” I said quickly, pointing my chin at the end of the bed.
Sam hesitated, then lowered himself onto the very far edge of the mattress. He saw me struggling with the wrapper on the granola bar he’d handed me and leaned over, opened it easily, and handed it back to me.
“Is everything okay, Ellie?”
I almost laughed. Instead, I stared at the granola bar. I felt less unhinged than I had when he was almost on top of me a few minutes ago, but I still couldn’t look him in the eye.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. My voice was a little wobbly.
“I’ve skipped meals before and been fine.
I’ve been tired before.” I hadn’t been sleeping well, not for the past few nights.
If I was being honest, I hadn’t had a full night’s sleep since I’d crashed into Sam on the street that first day.
What was it, a month ago now? It felt like forever.
But I’d worked all day countless times after being up all night with Henry.
And Tommy, both recently and when he was a baby.
“I guess… Mrs. Oxford is going to Florida next week. Her sister lives there, and she’s flying out to look at a condo.
It was a last minute flight deal. Maybe that’s been weighing on me. ”
“I can look after Henry,” Sam said. He didn’t even hesitate.
“It’s fine, I can put off the job I was going to be doing.”
“You don’t have to, Ellie.”
“She’ll only be gone for three days.”
“Perfect.”
I frowned, looking him in the eyes for the first time since he’d practically carried me in here. I thought I was prepared, but I was still jolted by the intense blue, and by the way they were fixed on me.
“Sam,” I managed. “You have a life. A job.”
“He’s my son too, Ellie. All the time. Not just when it’s convenient. And this is my life.”
My throat swelled like I was going to cry. Why did he have to be so good? This would be so much easier if he didn’t want to be a dad.
That’s what you’d counted on, wasn’t it? When you called him?
The realization was an ugly one. When I thought he’d ghosted me, I’d been choked. But part of me—a big part—felt vindicated. I’d been right about him. I could rely on that brick of disappointment, knowing it’s exactly what I’d expected.
But Sam had been nothing like I’d thought.
He wasn’t what I wanted.
But maybe, he was what I needed.
Sam’s eyes chose that moment to drop to my boots. “Shit. I should have taken those off.” His voice was admonishing, like he was talking to himself.
“I shouldn’t have fainted.”
“Then I wouldn’t get to take care of you,” Sam said.
Heat sprang across my insides, intensifying when he reached down and undid the double knot on my left boot.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said quickly. He couldn’t do that. “I’m fine. I’ll take them off in a minute.”
Embarrassment pinged my insides. “I’ve been working in them all day.”
Sam’s lips tilted up. “You think I’m scared of smelly feet, Ellie?”
I groaned, tipping my head back on the pillow. “You should be.”
“It takes a lot to scare me.”
I tipped my chin back down, narrowing my eyes at him.
He chuckled, looking down as he brought his hands to the other boot. “Okay, finding out I was a dad was admittedly one thing that scared the shit out of me. But I’m over it now. I’m thrilled now, Ellie.”
He didn’t look up as he said that, but I heard the emotion in his voice. I felt it in my chest like an unfurling rose.
Sam pulled the laces on the first boot, releasing the bow.
I was mesmerized by his fingers slipping into the tight loops; his beautiful, strong fingers hooking into each one.
Not for the first time, I marveled at his hands; the angles of his knuckles, the thick veins running over their backs.
As he switched to the other side, his movements thoughtful and unhurried, each little loosening he created felt somehow sensual.
Finally he was done that part, and his hands went to my heel and toe. The heavy work boot slipping off my foot felt so good I couldn’t trap the little moan I let out.
Sam’s lips twitched, but still he didn’t look up.
He lowered it onto the floor, then repeated the process on the other side.
“Socks?” he asked.
“I’m good.”
I desperately wanted them off. But they were gross and sweaty. I couldn’t have him touch them.
I must have been looking longingly at my feet, though, because Sam arched a brow. “I don’t mind, Ellie.”
I swallowed, meeting his eyes. He was waiting for me to say yes. He’d only do it with consent.
I wanted to say yes, I realized. But not just to this. I wanted to say yes to what I’d been trying to ignore. This selfish thing I wanted each time I saw him, that I knew would ruin everything.
So I pretended, just for this moment, that what he was asking me to do was what I wanted.
“Okay then,” I said. “If you really want to.”
Sam’s eyes seemed to flare. Then those beautiful hands reached up, grasping the hem of my pants.
He slid them up my leg, slowly, higher and higher.
I couldn’t help the little intake of breath as he exposed my skin.
I felt him pause. But when he met my eye and I didn’t say anything, he resumed what he was doing.
He drew his hands down my now bared lower calf.
At his touch, electricity rocketed through me, shooting straight to my core.
It intensified as he hooked his fingertips into the top of my socks.
But he didn’t go fast. He didn’t rip them off like he could have. He took his time gliding the fabric down. It felt salacious. Delicious. Sexy as hell. Did he know what he was doing? Was he doing anything besides helping me out?
But there was no denying what was happening as his fingers dragged over the delicate bones of my ankles.
Sam was taking his time, like he was savoring touching me.
He paused at the point of my ankle, grazing his thumbs over the edge of the bone; the soft dip of skin beneath.
Sparks shot through me as the tips of his fingers lowered the sock with excruciating slowness.
It felt like he was undressing me—which he was, on a micro scale.
That realization had something hot spreading in my abdomen.
When he finally slid the sock over my heel, I let out another sound, unable to stop myself now. I melted into the pillows as Sam wrapped one hand around the top of my foot and pulled the sock the rest of the way off.
But his other hand was still on me, his thumb running a circle just under the ball of my foot.
“Sam,” I said, my voice almost a whimper.
He pressed harder, responding to my plea, the pressure of his thumb against my bare arch perfect and strong; practiced and sure. It was usually a hand massage I wanted after working all day. I’d never considered my feet. But I’d never felt this way from someone touching my hands. Not even close.
Sam’s fingers wrapped around the top of my toes, engulfing them. Owning them. Bending them gently so tension released across all five. His hands on my bare skin felt obscenely intimate.
With a squeeze, he released my foot. Then he repeated his movements on the opposite side, this time going even slower. At least, it felt that way. Like he had all the time in the world for me and my comfort and pleasure.
He’d been like that before. To an almost torturous degree.
One more, Ellie. I know you can give me one more.
His face, disappearing between my legs.
I blinked the image away.
Sam wrapped his hands around both my feet. “Better?” His voice was low, coming from deep inside his chest.
His hands were still on me, his fingers resting warm and rough on my skin, his thumbs nestled in my arches in a perfect puzzle-piece match.
I felt his hands slipping away though, felt him withdrawing. Was his slowness reluctance to stop? I didn’t want it to stop. Once it did, I’d have to get back to real life. I was feeling fine now. Better than fine. I felt like a big bowl of quivering Jell-O.
I should have said thanks, dusted myself up and gotten dressed. I needed to make dinner, to get Henry ready to wind down.
Instead, my mouth betrayed me. “Once more,” I whispered. “Please.”
Sam’s eyes met mine, and I saw the same molten fire in his gaze as I felt.
Did he remember saying that to me? Did he remember how long he spent drawing pleasure out of me?
Hour after hour of selfless, unhurried ecstasy.
All, for the first time in my life, focused on me, as if that in itself gave him the most pleasure.
The relief at knowing, almost for certain with the way he was looking at me that it wasn’t just me feeling this was nearly overwhelming. But not so much as when he opened his mouth.
“Say that again,” Sam husked.
Liquid heat jerked through my core. This was not supposed to be happening.
But Sam wasn’t looking at me anymore. His chin had dipped low, his jaw flexing.
He had a frown on his face. Did he even realize what he’d said?
Or did he know like I did, that if he looked at me when he spoke like that, it’d be all over?
I knew. I was this close to pleading, begging him to close the door and stay here until everyone was asleep.
Then he could fuck me so hard I’d fall completely to pieces.
I was breathing hard now. Panting, almost.
Sam breathed, long and low. “Ellie…”
But I didn’t care anymore. I wanted it. I wanted him. Look at me, the devil on my shoulder said. Look at me now. Show me what you want to do to me, Sam.
He didn’t. But when I whispered, “please,” he made a strange grunting sound. He pressed his thumbs hard into my aching muscles, thrusting his thumbs into the curve of my soles. “This? Is this what you want, sweetheart?”
It sounded filthy.
No, it wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted more. But it would have to do for now. And it felt so fucking good. My foot was in his lap, so close I could tilt it sideways and touch him. Was he hard? God, that nearly sent me over the edge.
But not more than when he curved his knuckles into one of my arches, just below the ball, holding me firm and strong with his other hand.
I gasped, curling my toes, tensing my calves like I was straining for relief. “Yes,” I moaned. I’d inched my way down the bed. My chest heaved, my cheeks burning.
He grunted again, that sound like he was in pain. But still, he added even more pressure. When he hit the center of my muscle my whole body released, pleasure rippling over me.
Was it possible to have an orgasm from a foot massage?
I felt like it might be happening. Or it could, if he kept going.
I knew what this man was capable of. This was the man who’d put a baby in me, and here he was finally touching me in a way I’d never thought of, but that felt so good I was throbbing between my legs. Slick. Desperate for him.
Sam shifted on the bed, and I was so afraid he was going to stop I opened my mouth to beg him not to. But he’d angled himself more in my direction, bending his leg under my calves. He pressed my soles against his stomach. He leaned forward, forcing them into a stretch.
“Oh, God,” I said, whimpering. Moaning. Guttural. “Sam, God, yes—”
Abruptly, Sam moved back, dropping my feet on the bed like they were burning him.
I heard him curse under his breath as he stood up fast. He wasn’t facing me. He’d braced an arm against the wall, his shoulders heaving.
Mortification flooded my body, dousing water on the flames that had engulfed me a microsecond earlier.
What had I just done? What were those noises I was making?
Sam hadn’t moved. He just stood there, his back still to me.
“Sam? Are you okay?”
Sam cleared his throat. “Yup. Totally. Well, I guess I should be going.”
I sat up. “Oh. Okay.” My voice was tight. What the fuck was wrong with me? I swung my legs over the side of the bed. “Thank you so much, Sam. I’m feeling much better.”
“Sure,” he said. “No problem.”
Had I been wrong? Humiliation burned in my throat. I didn’t think I was, not with what he’d said, but I still turned something that should have been innocent into a moaning sex show.
Sam looked over his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
No, I'm not okay! I threw myself at you! And you’re running away!
“Yes, fine.”
He nodded. “Good. Okay. Well, I’ll call you later, about next week.”
“Mm-hmm.”
He hesitated, then said, “Say goodbye to the boys for me, Ellie.”
Then he was gone, moving fast. The front door clicked softly shut behind him.