Same smiles sadly, regretfully. "Come on, baby. You know my uncle's hotel connections go beyond discounted rates. The hotel the Forbeses were staying at is under the same ownership." Sam shrugs. "It was as simple as the manager letting me know when his room was empty, disabling the cameras for an hour of 'routine maintenance', and counting on the assumption that a moron like him would keep his account logged into either a tablet or a computer, which he did."
I stare at him, processing. Sam sent the Facebook message. Sam caused my panic attack.
I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry.
Now his apologies make sense.
"I never wanted you to see it. But then your mother texted us about the postponement, and you took your phone out onto the balcony, and you checked Facebook. Why did you check Facebook?"
He's not really asking me, he's asking fate. Neither of us have an answer for him.
I swallow the lump in my throat. "You snuck into his hotel room and sent that message?" I don't know why I ask him to admit it again.
"Yes."
I'll never forget the terror I felt reading those words. The desperation for air, the pain of my chest being constricted by panic. But it's Sam's decision to take such a big risk, to frame Robin like that, that has me reeling.
I stand up. "You could have gotten into so much trouble!"
"I covered all the bases, Ror," he says in defense.
"The bases?! The bases of a frame job?! Do you have no regard for your own goddamned future?!" I sound hysterical—I am hysterical.
Sam stands and approaches me cautiously. "No, Rory, I don't."
My jaw drops.
"Not when your fucking life is at risk. I am sorry—so fucking sorry—that you had to read those words, that they scared you. I am so sorry I made you panic and I'll never forgive myself for it. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you the truth, that I needed it to seem real for your mom, for the prosecutor. But I'm not sorry I did what I had to do to keep my girl safe." He takes a deep breath. "I made you a promise. I keep my promises. Especially to you."
I stare at him in unveiled shock.
"Look, this wasn't some haphazard plan. I've had it in the works for weeks. My father told me the best way to ensure he gets jail time, he helped enlist Uncle Kelly, and your restraining order was our best card, and—"
"Your father?" He doesn't even speak to his father.
He licks his lips again. "He's been helping me. I told you I'd do whatever I had to, Ror."
It hurts me even more, that he reached out to a man he hates and asked him for help. God, that must have been so hard for him. "But you hate him…"
Sam's brow furrows. "He… he's sober," he says simply.
I understand immediately. "He stopped drinking? Like for good?"
Sam nods, his brow still furrowed in that adorable way that melts my heart. "Five years now. He's… different."
I can't help my small, wistful smile. I don't know how I feel about the man to be honest, it's hard for me to consider the possibility of forgiving an abuser, but it's not for me to judge him. Sam went to his father for help—for me—and found someone different than he remembered. Someone he doesn't seem to hate.
"That's really great, Sam," I breathe.
Sam sighs, shoving his fingers through his hair. "I don't know what it is, Ror, but it wasn't what I was expecting, that's for sure. Nothing about him is what I expected," he admits. He shakes his head, as if it doesn't even matter, and takes another step toward me. "I'm sorry I hurt you," he says again. He looks worried, like he's awaiting his own sentencing and I hate it.
"Sam I get your need to protect me, really I do. I just… you don't need to protect me from the truth. I may not always agree with everything you do, but… I do need you to be honest with me," I tell him. "I hate that you lied to me," I admit.
Sam nods, like he deserves all of the condemnation in the world, but he doesn't.
"You've asked me to trust you, and I have," I remind him. "I don't think it's unfair for me to ask for the same in return… I—I know I'm a terrible liar, but still, you should have told me."
He nods again, but I can tell he's not sure he agrees. "God I wanted to tell you, Ror. You don't know what it was like for me—seeing you like that, knowing I had the words to fix it, but having to weigh them against putting away that motherfucking bastard..." he trails off, like he's still stuck in the conundrum that has obviously been plaguing him since this morning.
"I'm not angry with you," I promise him, unable to bring myself to prolong his suffering for even a moment longer.
"You're not?" He seems astonished.
I shake my head. "Did you seriously think I wouldn't want to stay here with you?" He said he had to tell me something before we changed our flights, like he thought this would change my mind about spending the next few days in Miami with him.
Sam shrugs uncertainly. He really doesn't get it.
"Jesus, Sam. I just got you back. Hell if I'm gonna give you up now," I tell him.
Finally I watch the stress he's been carrying fade away. "That's really fucking good to hear, baby girl," he murmurs as he presses his forehead to mine.
Slowly, his lips inch closer to mine, until they're brushing against them in a soft, sweet kiss. I kiss him back hard. It feels different somehow, more intense, like our connection is the only thing in the world that matters now. Like knowing Robin and his shadow are locked in a cell has shifted the focus of our lives back where it belongs.
Sam's lips pick up pace, caressing mine, sucking my bottom lip the way he does until he licks the seam of my mouth. I open for him, welcoming him in. This kiss is freedom. It is relief and hope and rediscovery.
His tongue finds mine and I deepen the kiss even more. His arms slip around me, pulling me flush against him, and the feel of my soft, modest curves pressing into the hard planes of his body turns the kiss into need. It's been so long since I've been really intimate with him and I want to touch him, want to feel him. I want to feel him everywhere.
I feel myself melt into him, feel myself submit to his pull. It's unfathomable—the effect he has on me. He pulls away and stares at me.
"I can't lose you again, Ror," he murmurs.
I shake my head. I would never leave him. I never wanted to leave him the first time around.
"I'm not built for it. I know that now." He takes a deep breath. "Do you know how many times I told myself I would let you go? That I even could let you go?" He laughs again. "I told myself I would be your friend. You know, just be there for you and watch out for you. That I would stop thinking about you all the damn time, stop staring at you whenever you were in the room. That I wouldn't touch you, because I knew that would fuck up my resolve. Because then I would do something stupid like kiss you. And put myself out there again, when you'd already made it clear, you know, how you felt. God, I didn't want to ever feel that vulnerable again… fuck, I'm a pussy," he groans adorably, and I think my heart actually, literally flutters.
"I think you're real damn sexy—you being open about all that," I say honestly, loving his words, wanting to memorize them, so any time I think about our time apart, how lonely and heartbroken I was, I can reassure myself that I'd never really lost Sam in the first place. That he'd always wanted me too.
"I'm not the sexy one," he replies. His fingers reach up and tuck a wayward strand of hair behind my ear, and his thumb lingers, brushing over my cheek in a shivery trail of heat, blazing to my heart… and elsewhere.
Sam's gaze turns lustful. But there's also something else there. Something I now recognize, because I've seen it in him before, and mirror it back in my own gaze. His affection overwhelms me, my entire body growing both excited and relaxed, wanting to give myself to this man in earnest. His palm holds my cheek and scalp in a soft grip and he inches my face toward his as his other arm slips around my waist. Fortunately it holds my weight when his lips meet mine again and my knees weaken. He yanks me against him and I'm both willing and eager, kissing him back with the d
esperate fervor of every kiss I missed while I'd let fear rule my life. When I'd let Robin win. I will never let that happen again.
I force the will to pry my mouth from Sam’s. He gasps above me, his breath stolen from the force of our kiss, his brow furrowed in question, asking why I pulled away.
"I love you," I whisper, answering his silent question. They're words we've both held back since the last time we were here in this suite, but right now I need to say them, need him to hear them.
Sam's face drains of any discernible emotion and my heart stutters. But then I read what is most definitely awe. "Say it again," he rasps.
My smile is wide and insuppressible. "I love you," I repeat, happily complying with his demand.
"Don't you fucking forget it again," he growls, before his lips crash against mine in a fiercely claiming kiss.
His tongue reclaims my mouth, rediscovering territory it's long owned, until abruptly his mouth is gone, and my eyelids take a moment to flutter open and dazedly meet his gaze.
"I love you too, you know that right? It just hit me that maybe you hadn't realized that I'd never stopped. And that I hadn't said it back, because I thought it was a given. But just to be clear, I fucking love you, baby girl."
Before I can even respond his mouth is back on mine and he's lifting me until my legs fly around his waist.
His lips lick and suck their way down the column of my neck and I suck in a gasp of air. We're moving, but my eyes are shut tight, my head thrown back, and though I expect to land on the bed, my back is pushed up against the wall instead.
The sensation startles me and my body stiffens, my eyes shooting open. My pulse races and my breaths come too fast. Suddenly I'm not here in this hotel room with the man I love. My back isn't cushioned by the upholstered wall of this luxurious suite, no, it's shoved violently against the wall of the Linton High School locker room, the brick wall of that alley.
Sam senses my reaction and he pulls back to look at me, but he doesn't release me. I close my eyes again, trying to regain my bearings. I tell myself I'm okay. I remind myself that Robin is locked up, that Sam would never hurt me, that there's nothing violent about what he's doing.
"Baby, open your eyes."
But I can't. Rationally I know where I am, but some irrational part of me is terrified that if I open my eyes, I'll be back there, with Robin.
Sam brushes his nose against mine nuzzling me affectionately. "Look at me, Ror," he implores.
I pry my eyes open and I'm immediately staring into midnight blue, soft and compassionate.
"You are here, with me," he says. I don't know how he knows, but he does. "Breathe."
I do. I take a deep breath, in, then let it out. Sam smiles in approval and it relaxes me.
"What's our safe word?"
"Calculus," I whisper.
"Would I ever hurt you?" he asks.
I blink at him a moment before shaking my head. No, of course he would never hurt me. He loves me.
Keeping his eyes open and trained on mine, he slowly returns his lips to my skin, bringing me back into the moment. He plants soft, gentle kisses along my jaw, still watching me carefully.
His hips grind into mine and I moan. My desire returns times infinity and suddenly all I can think is how much I want him. My legs tighten around him all of their own accord and the delectable friction intensifies.
Yes.
"Yes, baby girl. Like that," Sam groans, answering my movement with more pressure of his own.
I gasp again, deeper this time, the softest of whimpers escaping my throat. It's out of my control, but Sam presses further into me, painfully slowly as his lips and tongue echo his movements elsewhere.
He kisses me again, deeply, fully, until he completely owns my mouth—it's his, even more than it's my own. And God, that's just fine with me.
"It can be like this," he whispers just below my ear, his breath making me break out into goose bumps despite its heat.
I know exactly what he's telling me. He knows I'd been reminded of the time Robin took me like this in the locker room. It was the worst experience of my life, the one that haunts me most of all. But Sam won't accept that. He won't let Robin ruin this for me for life. Sam is saying this can be good. That he will make it good.
And God, do I know he will.
Sam carefully lets my weight back down, waiting until I drop my feet to the floor.
He slowly undresses me, dragging my shorts and underwear down my legs, brushing his lips along my exposed skin. He lifts my tank top over my head before unfastening my bra and letting it fall to the floor.
He lets his gaze travel over every inch of me. "God you're beautiful," he breathes.
He undresses himself more quickly, unknotting his tie and unbuttoning his dress shirt before pushing it over his shoulders at the same time as his blazer. I stand there, my back to the wall, completely naked, completely still, as he shoves his pants and boxer briefs down the tensed muscles of his strong thighs.
I return his appraisal. He's perfection, and it just doesn't matter how many times I see him like this, it strikes me dumb and mad with lust.
And the sight of his desire for me, it turns me on even more. His eyes widen and his nostrils flare; I know it drives him crazy when I look at him like this. And then suddenly he's grabbing me and kissing me and I'm back positioned with my legs around him, ready for him to take me.
He pulls back to watch me, making sure I'm still okay. But I'm more than okay, I'm desperate, and if he's not inside me in the next two seconds, I just may combust.
"Please," I beg him.
"Fuck," he groans—he loves it when I beg—and I sigh with pleasure as he finally pushes inside.
God, it's been too long. I never want to be without him again. I won't survive it, I know it.
Sam begins to move, slowly, with long drives, and though I feel my back pressed into the wall with each thrust of his hips, I'm reveling in it. The sensations are all pleasure—all love—and I'm not thinking of anyone other than him, of anything other than this.
He moves faster, harder, until I'm moaning and begging with every movement of his body in mine. He's deep inside me when I come, more intensely that I was prepared for, and I scream his name as he moves me, turning us and dropping me down onto the bed and moving erratically until he follows me into ecstasy, chanting my name and a mix of barely intelligible expletives.
Afterwards we lay entwined in bed, silent for a long time. It's more than a comfortable silence, it's blissful.
Sam runs his fingers lightly over my skin as I trace the lines of muscle and sinew on his chest and stomach. I can't seem to stop touching him.
"Ror…" His voice is low and gravelly.
"Mmm?" Sex with Sam is always incredible, but it's this part, the part afterwards, when we're lazy and sated, just touching and talking that I love the most.
"I want you to promise me something," he says.
"Boy you must feel like it's your lucky day," I tease.
"I've never felt luckier." But there's no jest in his tone, and I'm surprised by his seriousness.
I stare up at him, waiting for his request.
"If you ever feel, you know, overwhelmed, like you can't handle it—us—I want you to promise you'll talk to me. That you won't just… run away."
I swallow anxiously. We never did talk about the night I left him here in Miami. I never told him the real reason I ended it. I guess its' my turn to confess.
I take a deep breath. "I have to tell you something."
Worry lines instantly mark his perfect face and I talk fast, desperate to vanquish them.
"The night we broke up—"
"You mean the night you broke up with me and then got on a plane in the middle of the night," he corrects me. I guess I deserve that. I look away.
"I was just trying to protect you," I say weakly.
"You—wait, what?" he asks, puzzled.
I know I have to explain myself. "Look, Sam, we'd been together fo
r a day and you'd already gotten into two fights because of me, got accused of assault and battery, and then got taken away in handcuffs for an entirely different reason, also because of me. You're a straight A student and star athlete heading off to freaking Columbia, and then twenty four hours with me and your entire future's at risk. I couldn't—"
Sam sits up and pushes away from me. He scoots over, like he needs to put distance between us, and it twists my gut.
"So you're saying you were fine with us, you just thought you'd push me away to keep me out of trouble?" His words are an accusation, and I suppose I deserve that, too.
"Like I said, I was trying to protect you," I repeat shakily.
He stands from the bed. More distance. I hate every inch between us. I pull the sheet up to cover my body; Sam stands there, though, completely unabashed by his nakedness.
"You're not my fucking mother. I don't need you to decide what's best for me like I'm some little kid." He shoves his hands through his hair. "Do you have any idea how hard these past two months have been for me?"
I do, actually. I felt every ounce of that pain. But I don't say anything, because having his anger trained on me is debilitating. Even if it's well deserved.
"You lied to me. You used my promise not to pressure you against me." His voice is low and full of disappointment and he can't even meet my eyes as he turns, pulls his underwear back on, and walks out the glass door to the balcony.
I don't know what to do. I want to follow him, to apologize, but he doesn't seem to want anything to do with me right now.
Vaguely I'm aware that it isn't fair. That I forgave him almost immediately for the lie that caused my panic attack this morning—the one he told to protect me. But at the same time, I'd rather endure that again than the last two months of torment. I slip my tank top over my head, pull on my cutoffs, and just sit on the bed waiting.
Five minutes feel like a lifetime, and they're all I can grant him before I make my way after him. He leans on the rail, staring out at the waves crashing languidly on the sand in perfect rhythm twenty stories below us. It would be peaceful if I weren’t feeling such turmoil in my heart.
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