Always Was

by Amabel Daniels

  “Which is why the ball is in your court, Sammy. I can’t and won’t push. God knows you’re driving me crazy. Yeah, you had a crush on me back then. Jake used to tease me about it all the time. But just because I never reciprocated back then doesn’t mean I never noticed you.”

  “So… Now what?”

  “Now this isn’t a crush. Jake isn’t here to kick my ass when I say I want you. No one is going to say we need a chaperone because we’re eyeing each other with sinful intentions. We’re adults, and if you’re on the same page as me—” He leaned back abruptly and exhaled in a long whoosh. “I’m leaving it up to you. Ball’s in your court. Cold showers have never killed a man.”

  A small smile almost crept onto her lips. When I say I want you. It was empowering to hear him admit it, even if she struggled to believe it.

  She rolled her eyes. Like she had that much sway over him. Probably caught him between lovers. “That’s my point, though. I’ve come this far, and I don’t know what to do next. How to … make a move. I have no clue how this works.”

  “You want me to give you the birds and bees talk?”

  She sneered at his grin, reaching across to smack his shoulder as he picked up his burger.

  “Want me to be your Mr. Robinson of some kind?”

  She kicked him under the table, unable to refrain from laughing at his teases.

  “So then, what do we do?” he asked.

  Impatience didn’t lace his tone. Nor annoyance. Maybe some hope. Curiosity.

  As fantastical and unbelievable as it was to convince herself of his words—he, Adam Fallon, her first crush, desired her as a woman, not a sidekick, tagalong pal—Sammy supposed it really was quite simple.

  Do nothing. Or … something.

  The idea of acting on her desire, actually taking a sample of Adam, had her blushing.

  “Ah.” Adam grinned and pointed at her. “Those are the kind of thoughts I’ve got in mind, too.”

  Just please don’t let me sink too fast.

  Chapter Twelve

  She doesn’t know what to do.

  It was as basic as that. Oddly, it was supremely reassuring once Adam took advantage of her silence as they finished their meal, resorting to small talk and reminiscing silly adventures of their teen years. Free to consider what she’d explained, he found himself enjoying a deep sense of relief, a massive breath of fresh air.

  She wasn’t rejecting him. She wasn’t avoiding him consciously. And she didn’t seem so naïve to be clueless of what he’d said. Sammy did reciprocate his desires, only she was ignorant of how to act on them.

  While it was insanely warming and comforting to know she did want him, he was still at a loss of how to proceed. He’d meant it—he refused to make the first move. With her fears, it had to be on her terms.

  In their adolescent years, he knew better than to give in to her. She’d done a poor job of masking her interest in him, but their young age and general inexperience with life held him back. He’d had no intention of being some predatory, older guy to take advantage of her.

  Now he had even deeper reasons to hold himself back once more. She’d been traumatized, assaulted, frightened. For her to take the initiative and make on move on him… He respected how much that would matter to her. To pursue instead of being pursued. Blue balls or not, he knew she needed to figure herself out to embrace an adult version of attraction.

  But goddamn, he was scrambling to keep himself in check.

  “How about we take Ink for a little walk?” he suggested as they walked out of the sports bar. “With all this driving, it’d be nice to stretch out our legs.”

  Definitely too early to call it a night and edge around the elephant in the room while he waited for direction from Sammy.

  She threaded her fingers between his as he took her hand. “Says the guy who runs every morning? But, yeah, that sounds like a great idea.”

  They drove back to their motel room. At the sight of her hardly used leash because she was an obedient scrap of a dog and never needed it, Ink pranced and shook like a detonating bomb. He took the lead out of the motel parking lot, guiding Sammy and Ink to the small city park adjacent to their lodgings.

  Sunset had come and gone, casting the grass and trees in a world of darkness, lit only by the half-moon in the cloudless sky. Humid heat dissipated, allowing them a comfortable stroll in mild warmth, no chill in the air.

  Sammy seemed at ease next to him, holding his left hand as he kept Ink’s leash in his right. In the shade of the evening, he couldn’t see her expression to detect any outright fear or nerves, but the crackling pull around them was enough to inform him she was overthinking and likely worrying about his proposition to obey the laws of attraction between them.

  “How exactly does someone become a New York Times bestseller? Tell me how it works.” He broke the ice with something safe.

  “Clare writes the stories. I can’t call myself a bestseller alone.”

  Always one to downplay her own talents, just as she did her own beauty. How much of a different woman would she be today if she hadn’t had such a confined youth?

  She explained how she and Clare began, commenting on the potential for a better contract after their current binding expired. The first two books were due to debut in the UK publishing branch next month. Their rep was researching franchise opportunities—toys, maybe a show on PBS, clothing, all the crap kids would beg their parents to purchase for them as Landy addicts.

  “We should be gearing up to produce the next book in the winter. Our rep mentioned something about a holiday book, but with Clare’s fall, we’re not eager to push it. Did you ever think about me?”

  She exhaled in a huff, as though she’d been holding in her breath.

  Least I’m not the only one who’s antsy. The elephant had been walking right in front of them the whole time.

  He smiled, gripping her hand more, enthused at her almost eager, curious tone. “Of course.”

  Tugging on her hand, he directed her to a picnic table. He sat on the corner, letting one foot rest on the bench seat, encouraging her to stand in front and face him.

  “Every woman I’d meet, I’d find something she was lacking, comparing them to you. They didn’t laugh like you. They weren’t witty enough. They couldn’t appreciate the simplest things in life and just be a fun person to be around. Every time I’d see a painting, I’d stop and wonder what you’d say about the composition, or the color balance, or the skill involved. Every time I heard certain songs on the radio, I could remember you slaughtering the lyrics.”

  She smacked him lightly.

  “Any time I called or emailed Jake, I asked about you. You were never far from my mind.”

  And I don’t think you ever will be.

  “Kiss me.”

  He raised his brows at her demand and the frown on her face.

  “I don’t have the guts to just … do it. This is what I want to do about”—she waved her finger between them, much like he had earlier—“about us. Kiss me. Now.”

  Semantics didn’t matter. She was still nervous, but she was confident enough to demand him to act. She was dictating him to act.

  Sassy. I like it.

  He slipped the handle of Ink’s leash under his butt, securing the canine from running away. With both hands, he threaded his fingers through her hair, cradling the back of her head to bring her closer to him. Not waiting for any more instruction, not allowing any more permission for hesitations, he removed the space between them, pressing his mouth to hers. Velvety, soft, plump lips met his, parting in a gasp, perhaps at the speed of his kiss.

  How could he deny the woman what she wanted?

  Just like he’d always imagined, she was warm and intoxicating to taste. Every time she’d chewed, toyed with, or licked those lips… All those taunting torments over the years. He made up for the lost time, melding himself tightly to her until there was no distinction as to who made up which half of their seal.

  Nighttime
minutes faded to a vacuum of nothing as he lingered on her lips, savoring—finally—the feel of her kiss. His pulse already rocketing and his cock swelling too fast in his jeans, he reminded himself of the need to go slow. Pulling back, he left his hands on her, spreading the pads of his thumbs along her high, flushed cheekbones, just under her drowsy eyes.

  “Good?” he asked. Please don’t tell me to fuck off. Please don’t freak out at how badly I want you. He shifted slightly, his erection straining at his zipper.

  Flat to full-mast in a minute. Had to be a record.

  She winced, her eyes becoming alert as she narrowed her vision at him, inches from his face. Her swollen lips flattened, the moisture gleaming under the radiance of the moon above. Lines deepened on her forehead.

  “No. Not good. Why’d you stop?”

  Adam hardly had the second to register the whimpering tone to her whispered remarks.

  She reached forward, grasping him at the shoulder and neck, pulling him back to her. Covering his mouth with hers, she resumed the kiss that had waited too long to come to fruition. Encouraged by her expression of need, her soft moans, and her rushed pants of air, he wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her close to his body. Her face slanted, giving him the perfect opportunity to fit them even closer together, slipping his tongue inside her mouth to get a taste of her. So long he’d dreamed of this, such sensations he’d had to file away as fantasies, as unreachable goals and high hopes.

  Sammy. Finally in his arms, leaning into him and their kiss with equal passion as he gave her. Hunger. They were surrendering to a primitive hunger. Sammy matched his own ardor in something like a desperate, thrilling craving for him.

  Every minute that passed with her in his arms, her starving lips against his, her frantic fingers clutching at his hair, his shirt, he fell deeper and deeper into an undeniable quicksand of need. More. He had to have more. He couldn’t settle for a hindrance of clothes, or the lack of privacy.

  Grinding against her stomach, he growled at her mouth, forfeiting any constraints he’d kept on himself from showing her just how much he desired her. He hated to scare her with his lust, and he loathed the idea of intimidating her, but he no longer could rationalize a gradual approach to having her.

  But he had to. As much as it killed him, he regained the reins from his dick, and forced himself to call a time-out.

  “Sammy,” he said, leaning his forehead to hers, his breaths harsh against her cheek, her hair feathering back from the quick whips of air.

  She nuzzled her nose at his cheek, still kissing the corner of his lips.

  “I can’t—”

  She reared back, alarm crowding out what looked like sleepy arousal on her features.

  He shook his head, not wanting her to confuse his problem. Oh, he very well could, and that was the hang up—he was painfully, prominently up.

  “I can’t… Not here.” He shifted on the wooden slats of the table and heaved a deep breath of air. “You’re killing me.” He let out an aggrieved laugh.

  She started to smile, tucking her hair back behind her ears.

  No, no, he wanted it mussed, tousled and crazy from his hands.

  “I’ve got to…” He stood up, wincing, pulling at his waistband to give himself some room to accommodate his dick. “We can’t…” Another heavy breath rushed out of him. “Not like this. Not on a damn table.”

  She backed away, still grinning. Her teeth tucked over her lower lip, as though she were trying not to show her amusement or giddiness at his discomfort.

  Slow? She was going to be the death of him.

  He growled and snapped forward for a quick kiss. He took her hand, stepping awkwardly as they returned to something of a stroll. Ink’s leash was secured in her hand on the return to their motel room.

  She’d commanded him to kiss her, and he’d willingly obeyed. According to him, the next step would have been to take her on the table in the warmth of the summer night, chirping crickets and bored Ink as audience, along with the rest of the world.

  But that wouldn’t be slow. And he sure as hell didn’t want to have sex with her in a kinky, uncontrollable show of public exhibition—regardless of the fact they were the sole occupants of the green space.

  “I always knew you’d be trouble,” he muttered as he adopted a firmer gait, willing himself to cool down.

  “Likewise.”

  Touché.

  Whether she was uncomfortable with his dilemma because it signified her needing to make another decision, another option for her to choose, to proceed or call it quits, or she was simply doing a much better job of pacing herself due to her inexperience, she maintained a quiet presence at his side. Silence should have been awkward, another massive animal striding along with them, casting a need to fidget and stammer. Yet as they returned to their motel room, the quiet they shared was welcome and as well-worn as the best pair of shoes. Familiar. Reassuring.

  In the room again, facing the solitary bed, the fact they had unfinished business struck loud and clear.

  He’d managed a good grip on himself, no longer tenting his shorts at a perpendicular degree. Eyeing the ugly comforter on top the mattress, he felt a dash of anxiety, debating whether he had it in him to truly not rush things.

  How many women he’d slept with… Countless, but not infinite. He was no Casanova, but he’d never been shy of an invitation for a harmless good fuck. No relationships, but plenty of tumbles between the sheets. Or against walls. On top of couches. Over…

  Shaking his head, he felt out of his depth. Sammy wouldn’t be a fling, no matter how it panned out.

  Was he a fool to think he could keep this attraction, this need within some neat tidy lines of still being just friends with her? How much could their connection to each other change?

  “I’m going to go ahead and clean up, okay?” she said. “May as well make it an early night. Make sure we’re fresh-eyed for another long day of driving.”

  He nodded, relieved at her minor escape. “Are we behind? For your agenda of driving, I mean?”

  “You and your schedules,” she teased.

  Frowning, he plopped onto the bed and picked up the remote.

  Maintaining schedules. Delegating people into categories. Could he be any more of a control freak? That was why he avoided a structured life, a nine-to-five career, a location registered to his name. If he kept everything relatively aside, he wouldn’t fall into a strict regimen of an empty life.

  “Habit from the military,” he said.

  To his surprise, she came to him and leaned over. Pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek, she playfully shoved at his shoulder. “What’s the grumpy face for? I’m only teasing. We’re fine.”

  On time, fine? Or… God, this was going to a mess, but a chaotic one he’d relish.

  While Sammy showered, he found a distraction on TV. Even though he was a devout baseball fan, he managed to zone out with the tie-breaking close game of NBA playoffs. Despite the sobering and neutral preoccupation of sports on the screen in front of him, his thoughts drifted to the woman in the bathroom.

  Sammy soapy. Sudsy. Naked. With her lacking sexual experience other than a nasty assault he cringed to recall, he couldn’t help but wonder if she ever took care of herself in her self-ordained abstinence.

  Ramping up the volume of the Celtics holding off the Lakers, he hoped to dispel his errant thoughts. At a commercial, he drummed his fingers on the bed, reminding himself of the single place of rest for both of them. They hadn’t breached the topic of sleeping arrangements…

  “All yours.” Sammy had exited the bathroom, a swirl of steam spinning in her wake. Dressed in a baby-blue cami, no bra, and black boy-short panties, she combed her hair.

  Dropping on his knees and begging for another demand to please her would have scared her shitless, he bet, but she couldn’t possibly understand he was putty in her hands. Taking his time, he allowed himself the privilege to follow the lines of the leafless tree tattoo covering her side, tha
t strip of skin she exposed between the hem of her cami and her panties.

  “Right,” he managed after a minute.

  Rushing past her, he entered the bathroom, chasing away every wisp of steam as he took the coldest blast of water he’d ever doused himself in.

  What, was he a goddamn teenager again, looping back in some twisted déjà vu being near her and not having her? He hadn’t been so riled up, so easily tested and turned on since he’d begun having sex.

  Calm, but on edge of nearing Sammy in such few clothes, he prayed he wouldn’t make an ass of himself or startle her. The perils of walking on the thinnest of egg shells.

  She was on the bed, a laptop propped on her lap, her still damp tresses coiled in a messy bun on top her head.

  He put his dirty clothes in his bag and approached the bed, the hovering anticipation of desire zinging in the atmosphere. When he faced her, wearing more than his standard sleeping attire of just boxers, adding shorts and a t-shirt for the night, his heart raced faster at her heavy-lidded gaze.

  Not helping, baby, not helping. At. All.

  She visibly strained to swallow, blinking as she moved her stare from his body to her screen, and patted the space on the bed next to her. “Tell me what you think of these.”

  Seated next to her, he ignored the heat of her smooth, bare legs next to his, and leaned closer to see what she had on her computer.

  “I saw you checking out my tat, so I thought—”

  “You. I can’t keep my eyes off you, Sammy, not your tat.”

  “Must be painful.”

  My hard dick, actually, yeah, it is excruciating.

  “If your eyes are on me, it must have hurt to take them out of your sockets.”

  “Ha. Ha.” He nestled closer, taking the laptop from her and setting in on his thighs. “You did these?”

  “Designs, yes. Too squeamish to actually handle the needles and guns.” She slouched to his side, which prompted him to lift his arm so she could snuggle right in. “I designed mine, too. Destiny, she’s the only female artist in the shop, I let her ink it on me. But this is a collection of some of the ones I’ve drawn up.”