He lifted me so that my back was pressed to the wall and my legs wrapped around his waist.
I didn’t have even a second to be self-conscious when he turned and laid me on the bed in front of him. He was looking at me, from head to toe, that smile still on his lips.
I’d told him I wasn’t a virgin, because I wasn’t. But being around him made me feel like I was. All of this skin exposed in the light, while he looked at me the way he was looking at me—it was so much more nerve-wracking than the first time I allowed another man inside of me. Samson savored.
He lifted my ankle and deftly flicked off my shoe before repeating the move on my other foot.
And then, with my ankles in his hands, he yanked me until my bottom was almost hanging off the bed. Letting go of my legs, he approached the bed until he was standing between my legs, looking over me. He leaned over, eyes on mine, and pressed a kiss right above the little bow on my knickers. Having his face so close to the most private part of my body was hurtling hot blood through my veins, and I was sure my face was the color of a very ripe cherry right then.
He kissed further up my stomach, taking care to nibble at the sensitive skin surrounding my belly button, and when he made it up to my bra, he flipped the cups over so my bare breasts spilled out. He rolled one dusky nipple between his fingers until my squirms under him were enough for him to torture me some more by repeating the action on my other nipple.
“Sam,” I breathed between pants.
But he didn’t even look me in the face, his focus directly on all the bare skin on display. He moved down again, hooked his fingers into the sides of my knickers, and then yanked until they slid right off of me like they, too, were at his command.
I was naked now, with only the slight band of my undone bra covering me. He ran his hands along my sides and then under my bum, lifting me slightly, just enough for his mouth to meet my center.
It was the first noise I’d made. I’d trembled, I’d panted, I’d whispered. But the feel of his mouth, with the slight bite of his scruff, on my most sensitive flesh caused a raw, guttural moan to rip from my throat.
The second it did, he covered my lips with one hand and his other joined his mouth.
Sam had kissed my skin gently, but there wasn’t one gentle thing about the way he devoured me. It was the first time I’d allowed any guy to go there, but with Sam, it wasn’t a matter of allowing. He’d owned me with a look, with his mouth, with his touch.
He was stroking me quickly with his fingers and his mouth was doing something that made my head rock from side to side and my hands grip the quilt in a kind of death grip.
The climb to my orgasm wasn’t really a climb; there wasn’t time for a climb. It slammed into me, shocking the hell out of us both, judging by the way Sam pulled back, heavily breathing and staring at me.
“Fuck.”
While still looking at me, he grabbed the water he’d brought with him and took a sip that must have been half of the glass. His lips were glistening wet when he set it back down.
I tried to swallow, but my breathing was coming so fast that I couldn’t manage it between breaths. My limbs were all loose and languid, which partially clouded the frustration I felt watching Sam remove the rest of his clothes and not having the ability to help him. He was so beautiful, so broad and so … strong. I felt completely out of my zone with him, but considering he’d just given me an orgasm in less than fifteen seconds, I didn’t have the room to be insecure now.
When he’d removed the last of his clothes, he met me in the eyes. “Bloody hell.”
I managed the strength to push up on my elbows. “What?”
“I didn’t bring any condoms. I wasn’t expecting…”
I pointed at my nightstand. “There’s some there.”
After a second, he moved to the drawer and pulled one out, but didn’t put it on right away. He jumped on the bed beside me, hard enough that I bounced a little and a laugh spilled from my throat.
“You’re so responsive,” he said, leaning on his side as he smiled at me. To illustrate just how responsive I was, he ran his hand over my skin, tracing my nipple. Immediately, goose bumps covered my skin from the sensation. “See?”
It shouldn’t have felt this normal with Samson—especially the being naked bit. But it was. He didn’t give me time to feel self-conscious, especially not when he moved so he was over me, supporting himself on his forearms.
He placed a kiss on my lips and let out a sigh. “Your skin, it’s like … cream. Pale, but rich.” I could feel him twirling my hair between his fingers, and once again, he was making me feel as if this was completely normal, as if the fact that we were here, like this, for the very first time, was anything but the first time.
He leaned down, resuming his slow and patient kisses to my skin. I thought I’d been spent, but his mouth on me again was the most indescribable bliss. His beard bit along my sensitive skin, but in the very best way. He was carefully, deliberately, assaulting my senses.
He pushed up, supporting his weight on one arm as he lifted me up to sitting. “You’ve still got this wrapped around you,” he said, reaching behind me to unclasp my bra. It fell between us and he tossed it behind him, lowering me again to the bed and his mouth to mine.
It only took a few heated, desperate kisses before my hands tugged at his skin, encouraging him further and further.
When he entered me, my eyes closed for only a second before I opened them and found his. I didn’t want to forget this. If it would be the only time we’d have this, I wanted it seared in my memory, to keep him close to me the only way he could be once I was halfway across the world.
He’d been gentle, but once again he picked up speed. As my own desperation tore through me, I reached up to hold his face, along his perfectly carved jaw, needing more than just a sight memory to last me.
His lips met mine as his stroking increased and his arms came around me, holding me as if he knew I was about to fall off the edge of the world.
And when it did happen, his mouth found my shoulder, gently biting down onto my skin, sending my body spiraling over the edge.
I’m not sure how long we laid like that, completely connected, my warm breath on his skin—before he pulled away.
Sweat speckled his brow and his eyes were tender as he cradled my face like he’d done it a hundred times before. “You all right?”
There was no adequate way to answer that question. But I couldn’t find my words when the beating of my heart was this loud, so I just nodded and winced a little as he slid out of me.
He fell beside me on the bed, and I waited for what would happen next. Would he leave? Would he stay?
Seconds later, his even breathing answered it for me. I looked over my shoulder, took in his sleeping face, and brushed the hair from his forehead. All the danger he’d possessed in his waking hours was absent while he slept, and I found the handsome softness of his face compelling.
After a while, I mustered up the energy to turn off the lamp and grabbed the duvet from the foot of my bed, covering Sam and myself with it.
Not once since he’d entered my bedroom had I felt the need to pull at my hair. The realization of that made me pause, not knowing what it meant.
In his sleep, Sam reached over and pulled me closer so that he was spooning me, and I fell asleep before I could examine my feelings any further.
Chapter Seven
I awoke before him. I didn’t know where my phone was, but my clock across the room read that it was just after six in the morning. I didn’t know how long I’d slept, but I knew that my head hurt like I’d boiled my brains. Light was faintly coming through the blinds, thankfully, and I stood from the bed on shaky feet, glancing back at Sam to ensure he was still asleep.
Without alcohol as a buffer, that insecurity crept back in so I grabbed a fresh pair of knickers and a regular bra, sliding both on as quietly as possible. I put on the outfit I’d laid out for traveling—black leggings, white tee, and left
the black sweater alone for the moment.
I chugged the water that remained in Sam’s cup, my eyes gliding over my itinerary. Bianca’s words from the day before flashed in my mind.
I’m fairly certain that if he came to you and told you he loved you, you’d tear up that plane ticket and stay.
I looked back at the sleeping Sam, asking myself if last night was enough to change my mind about leaving. It sounded absurd, even cowardly, to consider backing out now. But last night was not expected, for either of us, and I was still trying to process it.
I needed tea, quite desperately. I debated between waking him up and going to get tea for us both, deciding on the latter fairly quickly, given the size of my headache.
The flat was blessedly quiet. I realized, as I tiptoed past Ames and Mila’s room, that I hadn’t said a word to anyone before leaving my own party last night. I winced a little as I poured water into the kettle, wondering if Ames and Mila had seen the kiss, or seen me sneak off with Sam. We hadn’t even talked about the fact that Ames and Sam were best mates, and what that would mean.
The water was boiling when I heard Mila in the doorway.
“You’re up early!” she exclaimed cheerfully, breezing in with her silk teal robe over her black and white pajamas. “Oh, thank God, you’ve got water for tea.”
She was acting totally normal. This could be a good thing, I realized.
I pulled out one tea cup, not sure how to explain two tea cups to Mila. Whatever Samson wanted to, I would do, because if anyone was going to explain to Ames that Samson and I were … whatever we were, it should come from his best mate and not his fiancée.
“How’s the head?” She tapped on her own and gave me a sympathetic smile.
“I got so rat arsed last night.” I rubbed my forehead, but it did nothing to soothe the deep ache that beat there. “Those shots aren’t a joke.”
“They’re not. But at least you got it over with here.” She opened the cupboard and pulled down a teacup. “Safer here, than over in the States.”
I paused bouncing my tea bag in the water. Last night certainly hadn’t been safe. “Right. Well, I’m not planning on getting pissed in the states.”
“You say that now.” She wagged a finger at me. “But all it takes is a few shots and a mild flirtation before…” Lifting a tea bag to her face, she looked at me with knowledge in her eyes. “And then, things go to a place you can’t take back.”
I dropped the tea bag, splattering hot water on my wrist. Hissing, I hurriedly set my teacup onto the counter and ran cold water from the tap. She knew. “Have you told Ames?” I asked, my back to her until my warm cheeks had cooled.
“No. I debated it, briefly. But it’s not his business to know, unless…”
I turned around. “Unless what?”
She bit her lip and released it. “Did he … hurt you?”
I scoffed. “No. Not in the slightest.” I pulled my tea bag out and dumped it into the rubbish bin, leaving my tea barely darker than before I’d put the bag in. “I’m fine.”
“He’s still here?”
I nodded slowly.
“Well, he better figure out what he’s going to do. Ames will be up soon, and he’d probably rather find out about,” she lowered her voice, “that in a way that doesn’t involve his best friend sneaking out of his sister’s room.”
I sighed. “I don’t know what we’re going to do. If this is a thing, or what. It was one night, that’s as much as I know right now.”
“You best get back in there and sort it out. I expect Ames will want to finish last night’s cleanup before too long.”
I nodded again before dipping out of the room. I crept into my room, and nearly dropped my teacup seeing Sam, dressed, sitting on my bed.
“You made the bed,” I said, as if that was the most appropriate thing to say at that moment.
“Uh,” he turned around and looked at it, “yeah, I did.” He spied the teacup in my hand.
“Want some?” I asked him, holding it out. God, this was terribly awkward.
“No, I—I should get going.” He gave me a smile but it appeared pained. He stood and moved toward me. “Sorry.”
“For what?” I was in the way of the door, but I didn’t move. Something about his demeanor gave me pause.
“For…” He ran a hand through his hair and glanced back at the bed. “Last night.”
I didn’t know my hands were trembling until I felt the drops from my tea splattering my hands. “Which part?” I asked, the words thick in my throat.
“Ahh…” He heaved a sigh. “Shiiiiit,” he hissed. “I feel like a real wanker right now.”
I set the tea down on my vanity. “Why?” I was grateful my voice was stronger than my spine. I sank, ever so imperceptibly, against the wall behind me. “Why do you feel like a wanker?”
“Because, Lots,” he said, and I wished he didn’t use my nickname. “I shouldn’t have done what I did.”
“What you did? That wasn’t sole participation, Samson.” Sweat prickled my brow and I trampled on the urge to touch my hair.
“I know that, but you know what I mean.”
“Clearly I don’t.” I crossed my arms over my chest and my nails dug into the soft tissue of my forearms.
“It was a mistake,” he said, his voice a bit louder this time. Softer, then, he added, “Okay? Right?”
Was he asking me to agree with him? Would I agree, if only to spare my own pride? It was hard for me to believe I could. “Why?” It was all I could come up with.
“You were drunk … I was…” He ran a hand through his hair, which looked stupidly perfect even after he’d just woken up. It angered me so, that he could stand in front of me and call last night, that stupid memory I’d seared into my mind, a mistake.
“I wasn’t that drunk. I remember it.” Vividly, I added to myself.
“You’re Ames’ sister, for Christ’s sakes. You’re leaving today, last night shouldn’t have happened.”
“Is that what you really feel?” My left eye blurred from the unspent tear and I blinked it away.
“It’s what it is.”
“You’re right, you are a wanker.” I wanted to throw something. Not necessarily at him, but sort of.
“I’m so sorry, Lotte.” Without waiting for me to say no, he pulled me into his arms and hugged me tight.
And it made it so much worse. The tears bubbled over, my throat clenched like I was choking, and I was enveloped in his damn scent. The sun poured in through the window, music from my father’s room switched on down the hall, and Sam kissed the top of my head. This moment, the moment my heart broke, was much more profoundly cemented into my memory than anything that had happened the night before. Why was it easier to remember heartbreak than the happy? I knew I’d punish myself with this memory for long to come.
I couldn’t be in his arms anymore. I pushed against him until he let me breathe and turned around so my back was to him. “Go,” I whispered. “Ames will be up soon.” The tears rained down my cheeks and my nails dug into my skin as I waited for him to leave so I could be safe again.
“Lotte,” he said softly behind me, placing a hand on my shoulder.
“A second time,” I said mostly to myself. I’d let this happen again, but this time it’d wreak much more havoc on my soul than that one kiss years ago had done.
“What did you say?”
“Get out,” I whispered, diving my hands into my hair. I wrenched my shoulder so his hand dropped, and seconds later I heard the creak by my door and the soft click of it shutting closed and grief closed in on me.
Grief is what happens when love doesn’t have a soft place to land. I didn’t have a soft place to land with Sam.
I pulled, coming away with too many hairs for me to count in the blur of tears falling from my eyes. What was I supposed to do with all these feelings? How was I supposed to move on from this?
From this mistake, in his words.
God, that word was among
the worst in the English language. It would be forever colored by this moment, by the feel of my heart shattering in my chest.
I caught a glimpse of my reflection. Red, puffy eyes, disheveled hair. I looked absolutely horrible. I felt much, much worse.
I snatched up my brush and ran it through my hair, pressing the bristles hard against my scalp. I needed the pain in order to have the relief. I took great satisfaction in the hairs that hung from my brush and plucked out each one, wrapping it around my finger until I threw it away.
And then, I sunk to the floor, in front of my suitcases, and let my cry really come.
When I finally emerged from my room after Mila’s repeated prodding to come downstairs for my farewell brunch, my face was back to some semblance of composure. Eye drops had erased the strain, and two layers of under eye concealer had hidden most of the swelling. The only thing that I couldn’t disguise was how hoarse my throat sounded.
At the bottom of the stairs, just inside the kitchen, I could hear raucous laughter from the pub. I had the memory of the night before, when I’d run up these stairs to my room, awaiting Sam. Would he be at brunch? I hoped not.
Slowly, I made my way to the door of the pub and peeked through the porthole window. Ames and Mila had shoved up a couple tables and my dad was seated at one of them, flanked by Mila and Ames. He was currently regaled by some tale Mila was spinning, his head back in laughter. Ames was serving mounds of French toast onto plates. Beside him was Sam’s mum, Bronwen, who I genuinely loved. While good to see her, her connection to the person responsible for my heart’s status made her almost unwelcome.
But Sam was nowhere to be seen. I breathed a sigh of relief and pushed through the doors, giving hugs to my dad and Bronwen as I made my way to the empty seat beside her.
Seconds after I noticed the empty seat across from me, something out of the corner of my eye caused me to turn.
Sam.
He was holding a pitcher of water in one hand and a tray with glasses in the other. Upon seeing me, he slowed, and searched my face.
The Sounds of Secrets Page 7
