by Laura Del
I straightened up. “You do not.” I was indignant and skeptical about that. In all my years of being a writer, no one had ever recognized me, even when I had gotten my picture above my columns.
He smirked, looking down at me from his full height. “I have everything you have ever written from every magazine you have ever been published in.”
“That’s…” I paused, telling myself to be cautious. “Disturbing.”
That was not as cautious as I would have liked.
He leaned against the counter provocatively. “Not at all,” he said matter-of-factly, “considering you are now my wife.”
I grimaced. “That’s what is so disturbing about it.” And I had to admit it was, in a very sexy sort of way. But sexy was too dull a word for this man. A better word would have been erotic.
He chuckled again, adding that painful smirk. Then he came closer to me, cupping my face in his hands as he gently brushed his lips against mine. The rest of the roll dropped to the floor as I moved closer to him, and then our lips met. I closed my eyes, wrapping my arms around his neck. The faint sweet smell of earth entered my nose when I inhaled. He smelled faintly musty, but I ignored it as he swept me off my feet, lifting me into his arms.
His lips seemed so familiar to me, but I did not remember ever kissing him, even when the justice told us too. In fact, I remembered he had kissed my hand and then led me to the car.
After a while, he walked through the hallway and up the curved staircase. I felt him open the master bedroom door, placing me down inside. His lips left mine as quickly as they had attached themselves, and as I looked into his face, the tips of his fingers grazed along my jaw. Then he turned me around, holding my back to him.
I gulped as his lips found my neck, and as I looked around, I saw that we had entered a large room. The whole thing was painted white and had tall glass windows, with no curtains, as a wall. It was sparsely furnished, which made it feel open and light. But the furnishings that it did have included a scarlet reading chair, a couple of lamps, dark wooden bedside tables, and large king-sized bed with white satin sheets, topped with a scarlet comforter that had the initials S.S. embroidered on it in gold, held up with a wrought-iron frame and head board.
My eyebrows lifted in shock at the size of that bed. “That’s a very large bed,” I breathed.
“If you haven’t noticed,” he whispered in my ear, “I am a very large man.” He kissed my cheek, his breath cold when it caressed my flesh. “No pun intended.”
I laughed. That was actually kind of funny. When he moved in front of me, taking my hand in his, my heart skipped a beat.
He sat down on the comforter, pulling me down with him. “Wait.” He held up his hand, gliding off the bed. He left me sitting there for a minute, which gave me a chance to look out the window. I craned my neck, seeing a beautiful garden with a fountain right in the middle. But before I could get up and investigate, he was back with his hands sneakily behind his back.
He smirked, biting his lower lip. “Close your eyes,” he commanded softly.
“Why?” I asked skeptically. I didn’t trust this man enough to close my eyes in front of him. Something I should have thought of before I agreed to marry him.
“Please,” he said, his voice floating in the air around me. When I looked in his eyes, they were so mesmerizing that my own eyes closed as if he’d willed them.
I felt him sit next to me on the bed. “Hold out your left hand for me,” he commanded again, but I hesitated.
“Why?” I asked again, peeking at him through my right eye. This was insane!
He sighed. “Just do it,” he huffed, and I shut my eye, holding out my hand. After I obeyed, he turned it over, and I felt him slowly remove the bag tie from my ring finger and replace it with something cold and heavy. “Open your eyes,” he said as he kissed my knuckles.
Slowly I did, and I could not believe what I saw. “Wow,” I gasped at the beautiful platinum ring on my finger. But the thing that really caught my attention was the diamond that had to be at least four carats. Tina would say, “That rock is huge!”
“Do you like it?” he asked seductively.
I blinked. “Like it?” I could feel the edges of my mouth tilt up into a smile. It seemed like the first time in a long time that I had actually smiled. The ring made me giddy. “Samuel, I love it. It’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” I gazed up into his eyes, and they seemed darker somehow, which made me smile even wider.
“It was my grandmother’s,” he whispered, but I had a feeling that wasn’t true. “She told me to give it to someone special.” He chuckled, which I found unusual. “And since you are my wife, you are very special.”
“Thank you.” I kissed his cheek, and felt something warm swell around my heart. “It’s amazing.”
“You’re welcome.” He leaned closer, taking his jacket off and throwing it onto the chair by the bed.
I slipped off my black Birkenstocks while he pulled his shirt over his head. I gasped as he revealed an incredibly ripped body. So tan and so perfectly chiseled. One word came to mind as I stared down at his six-pack: wow! Then he ran his fingers through my hair, tugging me closer. When he kissed me again, I felt a surge of passion in my blood. At that moment, all I wanted was for him to do unspeakable things to me.
His shoes hit the floor, and my heart leapt again, going faster and faster until I could hear it in my ears. It hurt me to kiss him. I wanted him so bad. But as he started to lift my dark Rolling Stones t-shirt, I pulled away, leaping off the bed like a jungle cat.
He sat there looking confused. “What seems to be the matter?” he asked with what I could tell was forced concern.
Pacing, I ran my fingers through my hair, frustrated with myself. “I can’t do this,” I managed to say. I was hyperventilating and had to place my hand over my heart to see if it was still beating. It was.
His eyes bore into mine. “Of course you can.”
I shook my head. “No, I can’t.” My heart was beating furiously, and I actually thought it might explode. “Do you remember when I said that my ex called me boring?”
“How could I forget?” he said, bowing his head, brows furrowed.
“This,” I paused, pointing between us so he understood, “is what he meant.”
“I know that,” he huffed, not raising his head. “I also know that he was an utter fool for saying such a thing.”
I stopped pacing, placing my hands on my hips, something I do when I’m nervous or angry. This time the former was more accurate than the latter. “How do you know that?” I asked after a moment of just staring at him. Gosh, he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
“Because.” He gazed up at me. “I can tell.” The moment those words came out of his mouth, I knew he was telling me the truth. This man was far from ordinary, and if he said he could tell, then who was I not to believe him?
As I sat back down on the bed, his eyes stayed on mine, and he rubbed my shoulders, kissing my neck carefully. I pulled back from his lips, taking off my shirt in order to reveal a black lace bra that Tina had insisted on buying me for Christmas last year. I would have to call her and thank her later.
He stared at me, looking as though he was drinking me in. Then he kissed me between my breasts, making my entire body tingle. I found myself lying back onto the bed as he moved on top of me. And as soon as my head hit the comforter, he kissed my lips again, moving down to my jaw and tracing my neck, until his lips were between my breasts again.
I thought that he would stop there, but he kissed me all the way down to the top of my jeans. And when I placed my hand on his cheek, he kissed that too.
Suddenly, my sense caught up with me, and at the worst possible moment like always. “Listen,” I breathed, “before we go any further, I have a couple of serious questions for you.”
He kissed my stomach and without looking up, he said, “Proceed.” His deep voice rumbled with lust, and as his breath caressed my skin, I thought
, Oh my goodness.
“Um,” I squeaked, “do you have any sort of disease?” Again, something I should have thought of before I had gotten myself in this compromising situation.
“Such as?” he asked, glancing up at me, and I noticed that his eyes smiled at me. Those icy blue eyes actually smiled at me.
“STDs, AIDS, that sort of thing?” This was not such a romantic conversation, but I was resigned to have it, even if it did kill the mood.
He kissed my rib cage. “No,” he answered. “To all.”
“Do you have ‘protection’?” I asked and, like an idiot, I air quoted the word. But I needed to know before we went any further.
“I have used it in the past.” The way he said it made me a little leery. “But there is no need for it now.” He kissed my neck again, but this time I felt disturbed by it.
“I don’t want to get pregnant.” I was firm on that point.
“I cannot have children.” He chuckled darkly. Another thing I should have known before I said “I do.” But that just made me feel sorry for him.
I frowned, shaking my head at myself. Then again, I was always doing this. I’m a bubble buster. A killer of all good moods. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“There’s no need to be,” he said against my lips. “I am not.” He moved his lips to my ear and bit my earlobe. “How about you?” When his voice hit me, I lost all of my sense again.
“Oh,” I breathed, “I can have children.” Stupid!
He rolled his eyes. And who could blame him? It was an idiotic thing to say. That was certainly not the way to prove I was a smart woman. “I mean diseases,” he clarified.
I hit my forehead with my palm. “Right,” I breathed. “I’m in perfect health.”
“Fantastic,” he said against my neck. Then I felt him undo the button on my jeans, placing his hand inside. Thankfully, I had put on the black lace panties to go with the black lace bra. Once again, thank you, Tina! But when his hand went in them, I jerked away from his cold touch.
He looked puzzled. “Is something the matter?”
I shrugged, not looking into his eyes. “Your hands are cold.”
“They are always cold,” he scoffed.
“Good to know.” I would have to buy the man wool gloves to cure that. But as they say, cold hands, warm heart.
He kissed me. “Yes, it is good to know.” I was guessing that “good” was another four-letter word like “nice.”
A second later, my pants were off and on the floor next to my shirt and shoes. I moved my hands down the front of him, feeling his hard chest with my fingers. When I got to his navel, I realized that his pants were still on. But when I tried to unbutton them, he caught my hand, pulling it to his lips.
“I will do that,” he said vigorously, and I was taken aback by his tone. “You just lay back and relax.” His eyes burned into me something fierce, and I couldn’t help but do as he asked.
I scooted myself further back onto the bed, while he was on his knees making indents in the comforter. I held my breath when he undid himself, showing me that he had no underwear on, and he was not ashamed of it. I looked away, even though he told me to watch. And when I finally did, his pants were completely off. That’s when I saw the snake. Holy Moses, that thing was beyond huge. I had seen cruise ships that had smaller dinghies. I almost fainted at the thought of that thing attempting to go inside me. You have to understand; I’m a small girl, and that was a gigantic monster. Lochness came to mind.
He bent my knees, and I felt that he was ready. As he slipped off my panties with ease, he traced his fingers along my outer thigh, and then his fingers gracefully slid to my inner thigh. Just when I thought I couldn’t take any more of his teasing, he entered me. And did he ever.
It hurt at first, but I tried to stay with him. Then my back started to arch as he slowly moved in and out of me, hitting all the right spots. He leaned over me, forcing his tongue in my mouth as I sucked and nibbled at his lips. Then he began to move faster, grunting slightly with pleasure.
I couldn’t understand why my body was responding with such vigor. Then I heard myself moan. I never moan, so that was new for me.
He lifted me and moved to the edge of the bed, placing me on top of him. Now we were face to face, his feet planted firmly on the ground with my knees on either side of him. Then his hand slid to my back, and he unhooked my bra, throwing it aside as he found his way inside me again. This time it hurt a little less.
I wrapped my arms around his neck as I rocked on top of him, feeling his breath on my skin as I threw my head back. He tangled his fingers in my hair, pulling on it softly as he ran the tip of his tongue along my collarbone. Then he moved me back onto the bed, and this time he was wilder with each thrust.
My mind began to scream at me. Oh gosh! it said repeatedly, and when he pushed harder, those words were replaced with, Oh my! Oh… Finally he moved into me one last time, and I couldn’t help but let out a scream.
I had never felt such pleasure in my life, and in an instant I found I wasn’t the only one screaming.
He slumped over me, kissing my breasts, neck, and stomach all before lying beside me. I had to catch my breath before I could even begin to attempt to speak, but he beat me to it. “Most definitely not boring,” he breathed, and I laughed, which felt great, even if I was a little rusty. “Well, it was not.”
I smiled over at him. “Thank you,” I finally managed to say. “You weren’t half bad yourself.” Half bad was an understatement. He was a genius with his doctorate in sex.
“You know,” he said, looking up at the ceiling, “I have never had a woman know exactly what to do on top before.” Now he was just yanking my chain.
I lay on my side, smiling like a fool at him. “You’re kidding, right?” I asked, doubtful about no other woman knowing what to do on top of a man like him.
He looked at me. “I wish I were,” he said with sincerity. “Once,” he chuckled, “I had a woman who just sat there, and when I…” He stopped himself as I blinked. “Never mind,” he finished.
I shrugged, propping myself up on my elbow, and he mimicked me. “It’s okay.” I paused, taking a breath. “I like sex stories.” That made him chuckle, and he began to rub my upper arm until his eyes glued to the crucifix around my neck, and his hand became suspended at my shoulder. When he finally moved his hand forward, he touched the chain lightly, and I shivered.
“Are you religious?” he asked.
I sighed deeply. “It was my mother’s. She left it to me when she died.” I had no idea why I was telling him any of this. But when I looked into his eyes, they seemed to sympathize with me. Then something in the back of my head said, Not really.
“I am sorry for your loss.” He kissed my forehead. “When did she die?”
I closed my eyes. “Over three years ago.” That was when all of my emotions had stopped, and even though I felt that he’d sparked something, they still weren’t completely back.
“Doesn’t wearing it make it more difficult for you?” he asked, and I knew that he would keep going on this subject if I let him.
“No, it doesn’t.” I gave him a simple, clipped, and frustrated answer. That would be the absolute last on the subject even if it killed me.
“You are so beautiful,” he said, finally getting the clue. He traced his fingers around my lips.
I rolled my eyes. “Samuel,” I huffed, “please. You don’t need to flatter me.” I was told a very long time ago that I was nice-looking, but not beautiful. Some men found me “cute” or even “smart,” but “beautiful” was out of the question.
He smirked. “It is not flattery because it is true.” Boy, this man was something else. I almost believed him. Almost.
Samuel ran his fingers along my left side, down to my pelvis and as I closed my eyes, he stopped.
“Why did you stop?” I asked, looking into his face, and I saw that his eyes were scanning every inch of me—quickly, and with purpose. I started to get uncomfortable wi
th him looking at me like that, as if I was something to be had on a plate. “What?” I whispered, trying not to disturb him.
“I must sketch you,” he blurted, getting up and going under the bed. Then he slammed a large sketchpad with what looked like some charcoal down on the mattress making me jump. Afterward he sat down, propped himself up on a pillow, still naked, while he looked at me with pursed lips.
“Softly cross your legs,” he commanded, and after a second of consideration, I crossed my ankles horizontally. “Now lift your knee and point your toes,” he said softly, and I did. “All right,” he continued. “Prop your head up with your hand and cross your left arm over your breasts.” I did so. “Lastly,” he breathed, “wet, part, and purse your lips.”
As I did the last thing he asked, he stared at me for a moment with a cocked eyebrow. Then he turned to a clean page of the sketchpad, took out a piece of charcoal, and began to draw as if the paper was on fire. His hands were like lightning, so quick that it almost looked inhuman.
I watched him in awe. He was so focused on the drawing that I started to get an unfamiliar itch. It was not something you can scratch with your hand, although sometimes hands do the trick. But something deeper in the pit of my stomach. This was passion mixed with the pain of wanting him. A strange kind of pleasure that makes the body quiver, and then it goes numb.
I couldn’t imagine why watching him draw was arousing me. It was official. I was insane.
After about ten minutes of watching his hand and eyes move with such fierceness, my breath started to become shallow and my body ached for attention. That’s when I realized what I was feeling. It was lust. Pure and unadulterated lust. For a man that I had just met a couple of hours ago. Then I realized that it was combined with an unyielding, animal heat somewhere down south.
I almost screamed for him to stop and have me again but decided against it. I just wanted to watch him and his fast hands at work, for him to memorize and immortalize every inch of me with his charcoal.
