by Monica James
Sam looks exhausted and he also looks filthy. I have no idea what he’s been doing, and I don’t bother asking, in fear of getting my head bitten off.
“Hey.” Samuel addresses both Saxon and me. I smile, exultant he said hi.
“Hey,” Saxon replies, rocking back in his chair. “There’s food in the fridge if you’re hungry.”
“Starved. I could eat a horse.” He looks at me and smirks. I’m thankful he’s making jokes.
I’m desperate to ask him about his session today, but don’t. The way he’s lingering, it appears he wants to talk to Saxon alone.
Sighing, I stand, wishing he’d want to talk to me. “Well, I’m going to bed.” Even though I just crawled out of it twenty minutes ago.
Sam looks relieved, while Saxon looks up at me, disappointed. He doesn’t ask me to stay, however. “Goodnight, Lucy.”
“Night, Saxon. Goodnight, Samuel.” I’m hoping he’ll say he’ll join me soon. But he doesn’t.
“Night, Lucy.” There is no love behind his farewell. He’s more interested in bumming a smoke.
I fall into bed, mentally exhausted and drained. I wonder how long it’ll be until Sam comes to bed? Or the better question is, if he comes to bed?
Rolling onto my stomach, I reach for his silken pillow and inhale his familiar fragrance as I draw it up to my nose. His scent was one that used to comfort me, but now, it just underlines the reality that I’ve never felt more alone.
* * * * *
I can’t sleep.
Every time I fall into a restless slumber, I dream. And those dreams turn into nightmares.
The space beside me is empty, as Samuel has once again decided that he’d rather sleep anywhere but in my bed. Sick of this constant ache, I kick back the covers and decide to make myself a cup of cocoa. It always worked when I was a child, so I can only hope it’ll do so now.
As I slip into my robe, I hear the pipes whining as someone starts up the shower. Could it be Samuel?
Opening the door a sliver, I slip through and tiptoe to the bathroom. Light streams out from the ajar doorway, and I’m like a moth to a flame as I drift towards it. I don’t know what possesses me, but like a thief in the night, I take a deep breath before peeking inside.
It takes my eyes a while to adjust, as plumes of steam fill the guest bathroom, but when they do, I jump backwards and press my back to the wall. A freight train is speeding through my veins, my blood soaring loudly in my ears, my body tingling and betraying me because in that shower is not Samuel—it’s Saxon.
I need to turn away and go back the way I came, but I can’t. My feet act before my brain can keep up and before I know it, I’m flat to the wall, my face peering around the bathroom doorjamb. I’ve never seen another man nude before. And I feel sinfully wicked that that man is Saxon.
The mist masks my vision, but I can make out enough. Water trickles over his hardened body as he unknowingly lathers up a handful of soap. His back is turned—it’s golden and tanned and so very muscled.
The glass is caked with a thick fog, but when he turns to the side, I get a glimpse of a toned, firm ass. I never thought watching a man shower could be a turn on, but that was before I watched Saxon getting clean.
His hand slips lower as he begins washing over his stomach and down between his thighs. I instantly avert eyes, ashamed that I’m watching, but Piper’s comment today about Saxon’s junk has me curious. Is he identical to Sam—inside and out?
Knowing I’ll never have this opportunity again, I give in to my inquisitiveness and shyly continue watching. My eyes follow each lithe movement, mesmerized by each droplet kissing his glistening skin. I’m lost in this erotic vision and don’t realize what I’m seeing until it’s too late to turn away.
His arm begins moving in a distinct manner, slow at first as he leans his head back, his wet hair sticking to the slope of his neck. As the strokes get faster and faster, the clear sound of his hand working his shaft bounces off the white walls. Water sloshes in time with his frantic speed, and when he slams his palm against the tiles and leans forward, I too mimic his movement.
Even under the water spray, I can hear his primal grunts, and the sound does something it shouldn’t. I press my thighs together, hoping to suppress the tingle shooting all the way to my core. I’m with him every stroke of the way, watching in breathless anticipation, desperate to see how it ends.
His outstretched palm curls into a fist, hinting that he’s close. Piper’s comment plays loudly in my mind as I stand on tippy toes, desperate for one…little…look. He shifts and by some miracle, the fog clears and his glorious ass comes into full view. Its firm and shaped liked a peach. His dimples of Venus are perfectly symmetrical, just like the rest of him.
The frantic speed of his arm and his low, guttural moans has me biting my lip to mute my whimper. He suddenly turns to the left, and through the cloud of steam, I see his hand working his length madly. The sight of his strong hand wrapped around his thick, long, hard, very hard…cock, has me yelping and bashfully turning away.
My heart is galloping and I feel like I’ve just run a race. This is wrong, so very wrong.
What the hell am I doing?
I only saw him front on for two seconds, but it was two seconds too long. What I’ve just done hits home, and I race down the hall and into my room. It takes me minutes to calm my nerves and process what I just did. I’m appalling. No better than a peeping tom.
I crawl under my blankets, the comfort of cocoa long gone because I don’t deserve it. I’m trembling and it frightens me because I don’t know if I’m trembling in fear or excitement. Squeezing my eyes shut, I know another sleepless night is ahead of me. But somehow, I know if I dream, I’ll dream about the fact that Saxon and Samuel aren’t identical after all.
Twelve
I wake when a persistent nudging digs into my lower back.
Snapping one eye open, it takes me all of three seconds to realize that unrelenting prodding is Sam’s erection pressed into my lower back. His lulled, heavy breathing displays that he’s sleeping, but it’s not uncommon for him to get a little frisky when sound asleep.
Under normal circumstances, I would reach underneath the blankets and wake him up to a nice surprise. But now, I’m afraid I’ll lose a finger if I try. I also feel guilty after what I saw last night. But Sophia did say for him to remember we should try and revert back to our normal routine. So maybe a little action under the sheets isn’t a bad place to start.
Rolling over slowly, I gasp when the light streaming in through the curtains draws attention to his dark stubbled jaw line and parted soft lips. Looking so at peace, I can almost forget that underneath that tranquility lies a man who loathes me.
However, focusing on the mission at hand, I nervously lift the sheet and slide my fingers underneath. I don’t dare make a sound, afraid he’ll wake and tell me to stop. I rest my hand over his boxer briefs, his hard-on hot and demanding.
With cautious fingers, I slide them up and dip under the waistband of his briefs, biting my lip as I feel the soft curls coil underneath my touch. I stroke his length gently, my eyes glued to his face, waiting for any signal that he’s awake. He still appears to be asleep.
I lean up on my elbow, as this gives me more leverage to take control. I never miss a beat. I continue stroking up and down his shaft, increasing the speed and pressure as I feel a tingle beginning to build low in my belly.
His flesh is hot, scorching hot, and I feel empowered that it’s hot because of me. As I rub over him, a soft moan passes through his lips, but his eyes remain squeezed shut. He stirs, but I assume he’s lost in a wave of pleasure and happy to give over total control.
I cup the heavy weights beneath his length, rolling them gently while rubbing my thighs together, completely turned on. A sated sigh passes from both our lips as Sam arches his back, pushing himself into my palm.
“Oh, babe, that’s it,” he growls, his voice raspy and coated with desire. As I run my pointer over
his tip, he howls, undulating. “You’re fucking incredible, Alicia. I’m almost there. You always know what I like.” His words instantly extinguish my flame.
I remove my hand from his underwear at lightning quick speed, shaking it out as I suddenly feel dirty. When his eyelids flicker and a scowl replaces his pleasure, I jump out of bed and run straight for the door.
I can’t stand to witness the apathy in his eyes when he sees it’s me, and not his ex-girlfriend, Alicia, jerking him off. I yank open the door and slam it shut behind, resting my back against it as I try and recollect my thoughts.
Rapping my head against the wood grain, I hold back my tears. He doesn’t remember anything about me. Not my touch, my love, my entire being—nothing. I’m a stranger to him. A stranger he’d rather imagine was his ex-girlfriend.
Pushing off the door, I take a steadying breath and sigh when I see Thunder trotting down the hallway. Samuel has hardly acknowledged him, and I know the feeling all too well.
“Hey boy,” I coo, rubbing his head. “How about we get you something to eat?” He barks in consensus.
We both amble into the kitchen where I grab Thunder’s food and make my way out the backdoor. As I serve up his tinned food, I feel inadvertent tears approaching. I can’t remember a time when I’ve been more miserable. My childhood feels like a walk in the park compared to what I’m currently going through.
Thunder happily eats his breakfast, while I’m seconds away from losing it. I knew this would be hard, but I feel like I’m being torn to bits. I’m treading with caution, afraid I’ll hurt Sam and his progress, but what about me? He doesn’t seem to care that he’s hurting me time and time again.
A tear slips past my crumbling walls, and I angrily wipe it away, frustrated at how hopeless I feel. When Thunder yaps excitedly, I lift my head to see Saxon jog up the driveway. He’s topless and in black running shorts, which sit low on his slender waist. Images from last night flood my brain, and my cheeks heat hotter than the flames of hell.
His broad chest is tattooed with what appears to be an hour glass sitting over his heart with two huge wings extending up across his collarbones. Gazing down, I see he has cursive writing coiled around his ripped flank. I shouldn’t stare, but I can’t help it. He is pure masculinity—raw, ripped, and ruling.
His upper body is commanding, unyielding, and ordering total control. His pectorals are firm, a featherlike dusting of sleek dark hair running down between the dip of his collarbones, coiling all the way to his navel. His abdominals are an eight pack and his obliques pop, not an ounce of fat on him. His V muscle, my most favorite part on a guy, is like an arrow pointing to what I know is an incredibly impressive package. His shorts don’t leave much to the imagination, either.
When I make no secret of my staring, Saxon comes to a slow stop before placing his hands on his narrow waist and gulping in mouthfuls of air. The action has me shamefully averting my eyes, horrified by my gawking. I did enough of that last night. Thunder drops a ball at my feet, and I’m grateful for the distraction.
As Saxon strolls over to me, I see that he’s slipped on a t-shirt. I’ve probably made him feel extremely uncomfortable. If he were staring at me the way I was just staring at him, I would feel objectified, too. I need to pull it together, as Saxon being here is the only thing keeping me sane.
“Good morning,” he pants, still breathless from his early morning run.
“Morning,” I reply, feeling my cheeks blister.
“Why are you up so early?” The moment he stops in front of me, his signature, robust fragrance catches on the light breeze. My sense of smell cartwheels in delight.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I finally answer. I leave out the fact I was too afraid to sleep in case my very vivid imagination conjured up how his shower session ended.
He grins, the sight brightening up my morning. “Are you hungry?” My stomach growls, replying for me. I place my hand over it, blushing. “C’mon, I’ll make you pancakes. One thing Kellie taught me which stuck was that pancakes make everyone happy.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Well, in that case, you better make double.” He frowns.
I need to put a lid on my woes because I know I’m sick of hearing myself complain. I can only imagine how annoyed Saxon is.
Painting my face with a staged smile, I say, “So, are we going to eat, or what?” But Saxon reads through my façade instantly.
He captures my forearm within his warm palm and shakes his head. I choose to ignore the very vivid memory of his hand on something else. “Don’t do that, Lucy. Don’t pretend with me. Your honesty and the fact you wear your heart on your sleeve is a refreshing change from the bullshit I’ve been surrounded with. No one expects you to be holding it together.” He loosens his grip from around my arm and brushes his fingertip along the apple of my cheek. “Just be you, okay? I don’t want you to be anyone else but you.”
I don’t even know what to say, so I nod. He smiles, a smile which I’ve come to rely on to get me through the long days. We walk towards the house, Thunder following closely behind in comfortable silence. That’s one of the many things I like about Saxon. We don’t have to fill the silence with nonsense. I’m going to try and forget what I saw because I value our friendship too much.
As he opens the door for me, I beam, feeling a sheet of calm envelope me, unlike five minutes ago. That calm gets trampled on, however, when I almost bump into Samuel. He looks incredible in blue jeans, a checkered shirt, and boots.
“Shit, sorry,” he quickly apologizes, steadying me as he plants his hands on my upper arms.
I look down at his fingers, then back up at him, wondering if he’s okay, as he just said sorry and saved me from falling. When a grin touches his cheeks, I’m certain he’s running a fever.
Saxon’s huge frame shadows me, and for some unexplained reason, I subtly shift out of Sam’s hold. I’m still burned from this morning and I’m not comfortable with him touching me as all I can hear on repeat is being called Alicia.
“I was going to make coffee,” he declares, that weird thing called a smile still hugging his cheeks. “Would you like some?”
My mouth hinges open. Is he actually being nice to me? His moodiness is giving me emotional whiplash. I don’t know how much more of it I can take.
My non-receptive disposition must translate into a yes because he moves behind the counter and opens the pantry door to retrieve the coffee. Without thinking, he opens the cupboard above the stove-top and reaches for three mugs.
My attempt at being subtle is downright laughable as I spin to look at Saxon. He’s a lot better being shrewd than I am and nods once, confirming that he saw Samuel reach for the cups of his own accord. Did he remember? Or was it innate? Whatever it was, I can’t deny I’m excited.
“So, I was thinking, how about you show me what you—what I usually do around here?”
“W-what?” I wheeze, my voice displaying my complete surprise.
“Sophia said to help me remember, I should engage in activities I used to enjoy doing.” When his gaze drops to my braless chest, my cheeks burst into flames.
No guessing what activities he’s thinking of ‘doing.’ Is his change of tune because of this morning? Is he hoping I’ll put out if he shows me that he’s trying? I hate that I’m questioning him. I never would have before.
When he continues staring at me, hopeful, I give in. “Sure.”
The room becomes as bitterly cold as winter. “I’m going to hit the shower,” Saxon declares. I purse my lips, not understanding his sudden anger.
“I’ll see you out there?” I ask with a smile as I turn to face him. “That fence ain’t gonna fix itself.”
I’m greeted with a blank stare and a grunt. And just like that, I’m transported back to being sixteen years old. He doesn’t commit either way and walks out of the room.
I’m suddenly left feeling incredibly guilty and I don’t know why. Samuel doesn’t give me time to digest it, however. “So where do we st
art?” he asks excitedly. I raise a suspicious eyebrow.
Why is he so animated this morning? Maybe he used thoughts of Alicia to finish where I left off. I clench down on my jaw at that thought. “I too am going to have a shower. How about you go out into the barn and get the horse feed ready? It’s clearly marked.”
Sam nods. “Sure, I can do that. We can have our coffee to go.” Today, he’s Dr. Jekyll.
This is too much. His sincerity and kindness reminds me of the old Sam. A Sam I haven’t seen in a very long while. A Sam I’ve missed dearly. My fear however is, how long will it last? Pushing those negative thoughts aside, I focus on the fact that Sam appears to want to remember. Maybe his session with Sophia wasn’t a complete disaster after all.
Without making a fuss, I leave and scurry down the hallway and into my en suite where I strip off. The hot water feels divine on my skin and I use this time to process the events of this morning. I’m happy Sam appears to want to remember, but why did Saxon freeze up at the thought? Does he not want Sam to remember?
Scoffing at such a thought, I quickly finish showering and head into my room to get dressed. I slip on a white fitted tank and blue denim overalls—my usual farming attire. I comb my fingers through my hair and reach for the straw hat sitting near my dresser. Looking at the minimal cosmetics scattered along the top, I decide to make myself a little more presentable, hoping the effort might encourage Sam’s memory.
Sitting in front of the mirror, I reach for my fair foundation and apply a light dusting to my face. My green eyes look exhausted and restless, so I decide to liven them up a fraction by applying some mascara. Reaching for my cherry ChapStick, I coat my lips and then paint a light layer of gloss over the top. The red brightens up my lips, and gives my pastel cheeks a light glow.
Securing the hat onto my head and drawing my long hair forward to frame my face, I smile, as this is the first time I feel like me. With a small skip to my usual heavy step, I slip into my boots and look forward to a day of hard work and sunshine.
