Just Three Words

by Melissa Brayden

  As Samantha continued, Hunter turned her head against the pillow. It was too much, the onslaught of torturous sensation. Way too much. She was gone. Sam held her in place, moving her tongue in tantalizing circles as Hunter’s body continued to climb, the pressure almost unbearable. She moved her hips helplessly against Sam’s mouth, giving herself over fully. And then at one final swipe of Sam’s tongue, she called out and arched against Sam’s mouth. The pleasure came over her all at once, a tidal wave of sensation she was helpless beneath. She shuddered and held on because it was all she could do. It was amazing, the release. Heaven.

  Hunter lost her bearings for a moment, unsure of where she was, who she was. But when they returned, Samantha was placing soft kisses to the underside of her breast and then peeked up at her with those perfect green eyes.

  “You’re beautiful,” Samantha said quietly, shaking her head. She traced the curve of Hunter’s cheek. The gesture caused Hunter’s voice to catch in her throat when she attempted to answer. So instead, she smiled to let Sam know that she’d heard her, that it meant something. Cradling Sam’s face, she placed a soft kiss on her lips and slid a hand between her legs. She closed her eyes against what she found there and stroked steadily, lost in how amazing Sam felt, how wet and ready she already was. Back and forth across her center. Slow and even. Samantha’s lips parted in response to being touched. She closed her eyes in rapture as Hunter continued the movement. Back and forth. Teasing just enough. When Sam whimpered softly, she slipped inside, into warmth and wonder, all the while moving her thumb—more purposefully now—across that most sensitive spot. Samantha held on and moved against her in a sexy rhythm, her breath becoming more and more shallow with each second that ticked by. Hunter slid down the bed and pulled a nipple into her mouth, her fingers and lips working in tandem. Samantha squeezed her wrist in urgency, but Hunter couldn’t be rushed. “Not yet,” she murmured.

  Hunter continued to massage and tease until even she couldn’t stand it anymore. Knowing it wouldn’t take much, she applied very firm pressure where she knew Samantha needed it most and held on as Sam clenched around her, moving wildly against her before reveling in the pause of release. But the shocking part was that Hunter was right behind her.

  Again. Which never happened.

  The unexpected orgasm shot through her as she pressed against Sam. She saw white as the blissful explosion rocked her body. She shook her head as she leveled out again. They were a force, she realized. The two of them, together like this.

  Silence lingered as their breathing returned to normal. Once Hunter had recovered, she looked down at Sam. “Okay?” she asked.

  Sam took a deep breath and nodded. “Still recovering.” But there was a soft smile on display that helped to assure her. Hunter wrapped Sam up in her arms from behind and placed a kiss on her shoulder blade.

  “We just did that a second time,” Sam said.

  “I don’t think we had a choice. There’s this thing between us. And it seemed to take up all the air in the room.”

  “And then there’s the fact that we’re really, really good at it.”

  “Right?” Hunter said. “Who knew? All this time.”

  Samantha turned over so they were lying face-to-face. She traced the outline of Hunter’s breast with one finger. “It’s kinda nice, having this option. Especially since I just feel, I don’t know…so comfortable with you. Safe.”

  Hunter liked hearing that. “You feel safe with me?”

  “I do. Like I can just be me.”

  “I feel the same way.” It felt good, talking to Samantha like this. Candidly.

  Sam turned onto her back. “We’re totally going to hell now if we weren’t before. And while I know this was theoretically a bad idea, it actually doesn’t feel that way right now. A mirage?”

  “A guilty pleasure,” Hunter corrected.

  “Well, there was a lot of pleasure,” Sam said, looking skyward, all dreamy and cute. Then a thought seemed to occur to her. “We’re supposed to be at work right now, remember?” The words spoke of obligation, but the mischievous look on Samantha’s face overruled it.

  Unable to stop herself, Hunter moved in and nibbled on Sam’s neck. “But playing hooky is fun. And you happen to be really sexy right now. There seems to be no way to get enough of you. It’s a problem.”

  “You’ve said that before.” Sam wrapped her arms around Hunter’s neck to better receive the attention. “You really think I’m sexy?”

  “It’s my number one thought in life right now.”

  “We never had lunch, you know.”

  Hunter pulled back. “No?”

  “Nope. I left our sandwiches to the rodent in the lobby, remember? Sly is probably not our biggest fan right now as a result.”

  Hunter found she didn’t really care. “He’ll live. What do you want to eat?”

  Samantha grinned. “I’ll get it.” But she didn’t take the sheet with her when she got up. And she didn’t even shrug into a T-shirt from Hunter’s dresser. No, the woman who drove her wild walked, nude and confident, into the kitchen as Hunter looked on smiling. When she returned, she carried with her a package of olives, a box of crackers, and bag of tiny marshmallows.

  Hunter studied the array. “And you somehow feel this is lunch?”

  Samantha slid into bed next to her with her finds. “I always have weird cravings after sex. Can’t help it. A fridge raid is a necessity.” As Hunter regarded her, Samantha’s eyes widened. “What? Stop staring at me in judgment.” She shrugged. “Everyone has something.”

  It was a strange quirk, but at the same time, kind of endearing. “No judgment here. Pass me a marshmallow, weirdo.” That earned her a marshmallow in the face.

  They ate their eclectic lunch leisurely in bed, enjoying each other’s company in a way that felt so natural it was shocking. Hunter stared at Samantha as a slow flutter moved through her. Because this felt different from any other sexual experience she’d had. She could lie here with Sam for hours. In fact, she wanted to. Maybe it was a testament to their friendship, but for Hunter it was beginning to feel like maybe it really was more. She hadn’t been wrong about the direction of her feelings the other night at Showplace. It was terrifying, but at the same time, kind of exciting.

  “We really should get back to the office,” Sam said.

  “We will.” Hunter played absently with Sam’s hair. God, she was feeling a lot of things and maybe she should just say them, be up front with Samantha and maybe even herself. Was it possible she was interested in something more with Sam? Was that absolutely insane? Because it felt like it might be. There was a lot on the line.

  Savvy.

  Their friendship.

  But…and this was the big question: What if Samantha was feeling a little of what Hunter was?

  Sam started to gather her clothes. As she buttoned her shirt, she turned to Hunter. “Will I see you downstairs?”

  “Yes.” A pause. She was vibrating with nervous energy at what she was about to say. She’d really never put herself out there to someone before. Where did one start? “Do you think maybe we should talk about it? Us?” She could feel her heart beating out of her chest, and she blinked in anticipation.

  Sam looked caught. She opened her mouth and then closed it, her expression clouded as if she didn’t know quite where to go with the question. Finally, she shrugged, relaxing into a smile. “What’s to talk about? It’s just sex.”

  And there you have it. “Right,” Hunter said.

  But then Sam’s smile faltered. “You said so yourself a week ago.”

  Hunter nodded, solemn. Resolute. Clearly, she was on her own here. “No strings. That’s the deal. Still is.”

  They stared at each other, and the silence was no longer the comfortable kind. Sam turned to go. “See you at work.” And then, as if forgetting something, popped back around the corner. “You’re the best. You know that, right?”

  Hunter smiled. “Pshhh. You say that to all the girls.” La
ughing was easier than the alternative.

  “Please. You’re the one with the groupies.”

  She shrugged. “That’s me.” But even with Samantha smiling at her, teasing her, she was beginning to understand that what she really wanted was outside her reach. Alone in her room, she lay back and studied the patterns on the ceiling as one emotion after another took its turn with her. She looked over at the empty spot in the bed next to her, the one that mirrored the emptiness in her life. An emptiness she’d been quite comfortable with until now.

  She’d never wanted to give herself over to someone that way.

  And now she knew why.

  Because the last thing she wanted was to feel all this.

  Chapter Twelve

  Samantha had to hand it to Balmy Days. When the staff at the retirement community decorated, they decorated. Uncle Sam hats hung from the ceiling en masse. Red, white, and blue streamers crisscrossed the common room in a twisting, twirling parade of crepe paper overkill. Miniature American flags lined the wall, and if Samantha wasn’t mistaken, there seemed to be an instrumental mash-up of “Yankee Doodle Dandy” and “You’re a Grand Old Flag” piped in on the PA system.

  The holiday weekend was still a few days away, and while she and her friends had plans to spend it in the Hamptons at a summer home owned by Mallory’s family, they still had the rest of the week to get through. Sam wasn’t about to check out early and miss scrapbooking class at the senior center. She’d even managed to wrangle the other Savvy girls into joining, per her class’s request.

  “Where do you want me, Chief?” Brooklyn asked, arriving ten minutes late and smiling warmly to make up for it.

  “Mr. Turner has trouble with the scrapbooking scissors. See if he’ll let you do some of his cutting for him.” Then she lowered her voice. “He’s a little grumpy, so don’t take it personally.”

  “Grumpy old guy. Say no more. We’re going to be best friends,” Brooklyn whispered back before heading off in search of her charge.

  Samantha surveyed the activity around her. Mallory had organized the women into a sort of circle and moved between them offering tips. “I find that if you lay out your page before pasting anything down, then you have the chance to make changes to the overall design. Planning is important.”

  “Yes, dear, but what conditioner do you use?” Mrs. Swientek asked. “Your hair is extra shiny.”

  Mallory smiled at the diversion. “I believe it’s called Pureology.”

  “I’m going to tell the nurse’s aide to order me some.”

  “It won’t get you Harold’s attention,” Mrs. Guaducci muttered to her page.

  “Guess we’ll find out,” Mrs. Swientek fired back. Mallory raised her eyebrows at Sam, who smiled and placed a reassuring hand on her back as she passed. “You’re doing great, Mal. Keep tossing that shiny, shiny hair.”

  Across the room, as one could have imagined, Mr. Glenville hung on Hunter’s every word, which was good because when it came to scrapbooking, the girl knew what she was doing. She had great ideas for complementary color schemes and shape arrangement. The pages coming together on that side of the room were next level. “Maybe you should be teaching the class,” she said casually to Hunter, who had just finished explaining color theory to Mr. Glenville and Mr. Earnhardt, who were actually taking notes. She wore dark denim overalls with a sleeveless white shirt underneath. The half ponytail capped off her casual summer vibe. It was a really good look on her, and Samantha had more than noticed. Was it weird that she thought about Hunter that way? It seemed almost second nature, not something she could undo. A consequence of their arrangement, she guessed.

  “We would never want to replace you, Sam,” Mr. Glenville reassured her. “But maybe your nice friend could assist and come with you each week.” He put his arm around Hunter, who met Sam’s eyes, shrugged, and smiled widely.

  “Well, I have a lot on my plate,” she told Mr. Glenville, patting his hand. “But I’ll be by every once in a while if it’s okay with Samantha.”

  “And it is,” Sam chimed in. “You’re always welcome to help out. Lend your particular skillset.” She winked at Hunter, who glared back playfully.

  “So do you have a Facebook account?” she heard Mr. Glenville say as she drifted away. Perfect.

  Next, she moved on to Brooklyn and gruff Mr. Turner, who seemed to be engaged in some sort of heated debate. Not good at all. Seeing Samantha approach, Mr. Turner raised his hand and pointed at Brooklyn. “This blond girl thinks I need to put more photos on each page, and I think she needs to mind her own damn business.”

  Similarly, Brooklyn raised her hand. “I think Mr. Turner needs to suck it up and listen to my advice because one lonely photo in the center of the page is boring. There are lots of layouts to play with here, and he should explore them. Just my creative input.” She crossed her arms and sat back in her chair.

  Samantha shot Brooklyn a what the hell look. But, fine. She could solve this. “Mr. Turner, maybe you’d like to work with Hunter, and Brooklyn can help Mallory with the group she’s—”

  “No, no, no,” Mr. Turner said in annoyance. “We’re doing fine here. She’s just spirited is all. I’m spirited, too.”

  “Yeah, leave us be, Sammie,” Brooklyn said, smiling proudly. “We’re the spirited table.”

  “Clearly.” Understanding their unique camaraderie, Samantha smiled. “Then I’ll let you two work.”

  It was turning into a great session. The residents had a palpable energy about them when new people came to visit. It warmed her heart to see them so reinvigorated, and she was grateful to her friends for doing her this favor. As they filed out at the end of the allotted class time, Brooklyn and Mallory went about helping Samantha with the cleanup. She gathered the glue sticks from the various tables and returned them to the large plastic bag, all the while keeping one eye on the front of the room. Hunter still sat quietly with Mr. Earnhardt as he took her through each page of his scrapbook and explained the significance of each memory he had shared with his late wife. Samantha looked on, struck by the way Hunter took the time to quietly ask him questions and compliment the work he’d put into each page. It was a heartwarming exchange.

  “She’s good with him,” Mallory whispered to Sam.

  Brooklyn nodded. “Hunter’s a softy. Most people miss that about her.”

  Samantha’s heart clenched in her chest. The scrapbook was important to Mr. Earnhardt, and Hunter understood that. She cared. The class was over and she surely had other places to be, but it was clear she was in no rush to clear out. This man had her undivided attention.

  “What you don’t realize,” Mr. Earnhardt imparted to Hunter, “is that life is not as long as you once thought it would be. Time flies by and you have to devote those minutes to the precious cargo in your life.”

  “The precious cargo,” Hunter said. There was something about Mr. Earnhardt and his approach to things that resonated with her. He was kind, yes, but it was more than that. He just seemed to get things, at least in retrospect, and she could learn something from the stories of his life.

  Wise and gentle: that was the best way to describe him, and Hunter took his words to heart. You know, when you thought about it, he was right. It seemed like just yesterday she was starting her freshman year at NYU, and here she was all these years later, closing in on thirty. Where had the time gone? Outside of her career, what did she really have to show for it? What roots had she put down?

  “Do you have any regrets?” she asked him as he closed the scrapbook.

  “Oh, quite a few,” he said, without preamble. “But the biggest would be not marrying my Martha sooner. Then we would have had more time together.”

  Hunter nodded. “And why didn’t you?”

  “Oh, I was stubborn and young. Kind of a horse’s ass when it came to serious matters of the heart. Martha was right there in front of me the whole time. Just took my sweet time noticing.”

  Hunter nodded. “Thank you for sharing your storie
s with me.”

  He smiled then, his eyes crinkling at the sides. “I probably bored your socks off.”

  “Well, I’m not wearing socks, so we’re good there.”

  Mr. Earnhardt laughed. “You’re a pretty girl. Do you have a fella you go around with?”

  “I do not. No fellas for me.”

  He took a minute and then, “Oh. Like Samantha. She used to have a girlfriend.”

  She smiled. “Yes, like that.”

  Mr. Earnhardt raised his eyebrows and tossed a glance Sam’s way. “Are you two…?”

  “No, sir. We’re just friends.”

  He nodded and stood, pushing slowly off the chair, which took quite some effort. Hunter followed him up and held firmly to his upper arm to assist his progress. Once he was upright, he turned to her. “You might think twice about that. There’s no sweeter girl than her.”

  Hunter’s eyes settled on Sam automatically. She was laughing at something Brooklyn had said, and her eyes shone brightly the way only Sam’s could. “Yeah,” she said absently. “There’s no one like her.”

  Hunter, Samantha, and Mallory split a cab back to Soho after seeing Brooklyn to the train. Hunter hopped in first, followed by Samantha in the middle and Mallory after her on the outside. The ride was a quiet one, as the day had been long. They each seemed lost in thought, taking in the darkened city streets as they flew past.

  The cab’s backseat failed to provide much room, which meant Sam pressed against her side with each bump and curve in the road. It wasn’t a horrible sentence. And there was Sam’s hand, sitting unobtrusively on the seat between them. It was an instinct to cover it with hers and intertwine their fingers. At the contact, Samantha turned to her, a look of question on her face. But it was the way she squeezed Hunter’s hand in reply that caused her heart to beat faster. And it was the smile on Sam’s lips that made the butterflies in Hunter’s stomach zip and take flight. As darkness cloaked the cab, Mallory wouldn’t see the contact.