They weren’t far from home. Langley Park consisted of a quaint town center. Tudor, bungalow, and American Foursquare style homes built in the 30s and 40s surrounded the city center on the north, west, and south sides. The Langley Park Botanic Gardens bordered it to the east, and beyond that, Lake Boley separated the town from the hospital.
Michael and Em lived on the south side, while he and Zoe were a few minutes away on the west side. His family’s compact bungalow was nothing compared to the Stein’s grand red brick Colonial. He pulled up her driveway and glanced over at the house. Outdoor lighting cast the welcoming Kelly green front door in a golden glow.
He stroked her arm. “We’re here.”
“I don’t want to move,” she mumbled.
He didn’t want to either. He could have spent an eternity inside the cab of his truck with her snuggled in close. But they didn’t have eternity, and she was still the little sister of one of his closest friends.
He cut the ignition. “Come on, lazy bones.”
He lifted her out of the car, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. He’d carried all the younger kids like this. Most of the time, they’d be at the rec center pool where he’d be tossing them into the water, their bodies wriggling and squealing with excitement. But this was different. He was aware of everything. Her breath, warm and smelling of cherry limeade against his neck. Her thighs, smooth and toned, feet dangling as he tightened his grip, his heartbeat quickening with every step.
“Keys?” he whispered.
“Pocket,” she breathed.
He shifted her weight which wasn’t hard to do because she weighed barely anything and felt the outline of a key. He slid his finger into her pocket and eased it out. He unlocked the door and set the key on the table in the entryway.
“Upstairs,” she whispered.
“I know where to go, Zoe.” He carried her up the flight of steps and passed the door to Ben’s room, a room where he’d spent hundreds, maybe even thousands of hours over the years. Zoe’s room was at the end of the hall, a keep out sign still tacked to the door. He turned the handle and switched on a lamp. She still had the same canopy bed and the same little white desk tucked in the corner. He laid her on the bed, and she opened her eyes. He unlaced her boots, set them on the floor, then picked up a quilt and covered her.
She took his hand, and he sat on the edge of the bed. Slowly, she raised their joined hands and kissed his knuckles. “Stay,” she breathed against his skin.
One word. One syllable. It was everything he wanted, and the one thing he couldn’t have.
He swallowed hard. “You’ve been drinking, Z. You’re not in any shape to…”
Jesus, to what? To have sex? How did they get here? And why did it feel so goddamn right?
She slid over and made room for him. “You’re supposed to watch over me, right?”
He stared at her. The dim glow of the lamp highlighted the curve of her cheek, the length of her neck. He’d never been jealous of lamplight, but he was right now. He wanted to trail his lips down each curve, press kisses to every inch of soft, smooth skin.
“Do you promise to go to sleep?”
She squeezed his hand and pulled him closer. “I promise.”
“I’m serious, Z. With how much you drank tonight, I couldn’t, I wouldn’t…”
She chuckled and gave him a sleepy smile. “Do you think you’re that hard to resist, King of the Gingers, Sam Sinclair?”
He shook his head. She’d done it again. Made it all okay. He kicked off his shoes and slid in next to her.
She rested her head on his shoulder. “Goodnight, asshat.”
He released a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. “Sweet dreams, Z.”
4
Zoe sighed, warm and content in her bed. Thanks to the blackout shades she’d begged her parents to install, it could be six in the morning or six in the evening. She didn’t know, and she didn’t care because, at this very moment, she was wrapped in the arms of Sam Sinclair.
She kept her eyes closed and went over everything she’d learned as a reporter at the Village East High School Gazette.
Name your source. Sam Sinclair. Age 21.
Be objective. Screw that. She’d loved this man since she was eight years old.
Avoid conflicts of interest. Don’t write about your favorite things. Save that shit for your diary. Her journalism teacher had droned on and on about how this was the quickest way to dash your credibility. If readers questioned your judgment and integrity, that was it. You were done. Finito. Hasta la bye-bye. You could write that the sky was blue and that the grass was green, and people would question it because objectivity had been blown to bits.
Did she have any conflicts of interest when it came to Sam Sinclair? Hell yes, she did. He was her brother’s friend. He was related to Michael, one of her dearest friends, who happened to live next door to her best friend. And she’d been hung up on him for a decade. Her interests were all sorts of conflicted.
Next up: Protect your source even if that means allowing them to remain anonymous.
Secret. Hidden. Unspecified. Nobody had to know about them.
Her heart skipped a beat. This was her angle. If she tried to kiss him, he’d rebuff her advances. He’d tell her he couldn’t. She was Ben’s little sister. She was leaving for college, and he’d be heading off to New Zealand on the other side of the world to start his junior year. They couldn’t. It would be reckless. He didn’t want to hurt her.
Zoe played out the entire interaction in her mind as a sleepy grin stretched across her lips. What was even more important than avoiding a conflict of interest? Getting the story right. And she knew just the cards to play to not only get it right but to get it all.
She inhaled his clean scent of soap and just the hint of peppermint. Somewhere in the night, she’d stripped out of her jean shorts and T-shirt and crawled back into bed without Sam noticing her lack of clothing. His hand rested on her ass, the sheer size of it, large enough to span her entire cheek. She felt for the collar of his shirt, allowing her fingertips to trail up to his neck and along his jawline. He sighed in his sleep and pulled her in closer as her bent leg settled across his thighs. One tiny shift, and she could straddle him. Her pulse quickened. She slid her fingers past his cheek and over to his neck. She followed the trail of hard muscle down his abdomen. She was almost to his cock. He was hard. She could feel that much from the placement of her thigh. But just as she reached the button on his cargo pants, warm, strong fingers grasped her wrist.
“Looking for something?” came a sexy rumble.
She inched closer. “I’m pretty sure I found what I was looking for.”
He lifted her hand and set it on his chest. Strong and steady, the thrum of his heartbeat pulsed against her palm. She wanted his heart, too. But that was an entirely different story—one that wasn’t going to be written today. This morning, she had her sights set on something more attainable. Something that made her most private parts ache with desire.
She slid in closer and pressed a kiss to his neck. A hum of pleasure vibrated through his chest.
“Zoe, come on. You know we can’t do this.”
But he didn’t pull away from her, and the hand he’d used to move hers away from his cock was back resting on her ass.
She hadn’t opened her eyes yet, allowing touch and scent and sound to guide her. If she looked at him, she’d lose her nerve, and she’d wanted this for far too long to turn back now.
“My family’s not here.” She pressed another kiss to his neck. “In a handful of days, I’ll be leaving for Des Moines, and you’ll be leaving for New Zealand. I want these days, Sam. And I want them with you.”
She shifted her body, this time, fully straddling him. Sam’s chest heaved in tight, punctuated breaths. Maybe his mind couldn’t wrap itself around having her, but his body certainly could. She leaned into him, and the thick, hard length of his shaft rubbed against her. Even through his pants, his desire
was evident.
His hands settled on her hips, thumbs tracing slow circles. She released an audible breath. The tingle of his touch and the heat of his body overwhelmed her senses. His hands slid up her abdomen, fingertips grazing the sides of her breasts. But he didn’t linger. And soon, two large, warm hands cupped her face. His thumb traced a path across her bottom lip, and she shivered.
“Christ, Zoe,” he whispered like a man caught between pleasure and pain.
No longer able to hold back, she opened her eyes. The small lamp on her desk was still on. They’d never turned it off before falling asleep. The soft, hazy light caught the flecks of gold in Sam’s emerald green eyes.
“When did you get so pretty, Z?”
She parted her lips to answer, but the girl who always had a comeback line or a snarky reply had lost the ability to speak. Sam guided her down. Her gaze locked with his before only millimeters separated their lips.
“I want these days, too,” he whispered.
“You do?”
There’s a moment when you see someone attain a goal or complete an objective they didn’t think possible. As a high school reporter, she’d witnessed these moments by the dozen. The basketball player making the winning shot. The girl announced as Homecoming Queen. The academic competing in a battle of wits the split second the answer to the final problem popped into her head.
The instant you realize the moment is here, and it’s yours.
It’s all yours.
Zoe gasped. This was her moment.
The journalist inside her wanted to inventory every aspect of this encounter. She wanted to parse out the details of his touch. She wanted to dissect the intensity of his gaze.
He grinned a sleepy smile and chuckled under his breath. “Turn off your brain, Zoe. I can hear the thoughts charging through your mind.”
“I promise. I won’t tell anyone,” she whispered.
His gaze softened. “As smart as you are, Z, you’re missing the most important part.”
She stiffened. “What’s that?”
He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “What you don’t seem to realize is that I want you a million times more than you could ever want me.”
If happiness could be measured, if joy could be quantified, what coursed through her veins would blow the top off those charts. Any trepidation vanished, overtaken by lust and elation as the fire inside her grew to an inferno.
She licked her lips. “Prove it.”
Sam’s eyes burned, hot and wanton. He liked her feisty. She arched into him, and her core rubbed against his cock. He released a tight breath, weaved his fingers into her hair, and pulled her the final fraction, their lips meeting in a fiery crash of desire.
That first contact sent her body into overdrive. Infatuation and longing had lived in her heart. But as Sam’s tongue traced the seam of her lips, those emotions transformed into a sexual need stronger than any drive she’d ever known.
She opened for him, and their tongues danced, licking and tasting. She swiveled her hips, back and forth. With each tiny thrust, Sam’s breath came in hot, audible growls. His hands scaled her body, settling on her ass. Wearing only a G-string and a bra, his touch tingled against her bare skin. But she wanted more. Her body ached. Her nipples tightened.
While this wasn’t her first intimate experience, she hadn’t had much practice in the sex department. She’d lost her virginity last year when her journalism class had gone to Chicago for the National High School Journalism Convention. She and a cute attendee from a high school in Minneapolis had gotten their hands on a bottle of tequila. One thing led to another, and it happened. At the time, she’d just wanted to do it. So many of her classmates were having sex, and the need to experience what it was like had nearly driven her crazy. For better or for worse, it was a clumsy, fumbling, uncomfortable encounter that didn’t even last as long as the bubblegum boy band tune that had played on the crackly hotel clock radio.
Sam clenched her buttocks in his hands, kneading the soft skin. He guided her ass up and down against him. The friction between the G-string and her sensitive bundle of nerves sent warm heat rippling through her. And when he slid his mouth from her lips and trailed kisses to her ear, she knew this was going to last much, much longer than the length of one pop song.
“You feel so good, Zoe,” he whispered, peppering her earlobe with kisses.
Before she could answer, he flipped her over and pinned her with his body. She met his hooded gaze as his fingers popped her bra’s front closure. Her chest heaved, and her nipples hardened.
Sam ran the pad of his thumb over one tight peak. “You’re stunning, Zoe. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He gazed at her breasts and grinned. “We’ll get back to these,” he said then flipped her onto her belly.
She looked over her shoulder. “What are you doing?”
He drew a line with his index finger from the nape of her neck, down her spine. “This ass is fucking perfection.”
He hooked his thumbs around the band of her G-string and pulled off her panties. Her bra still hung off one arm, and he gently removed it and dropped it to the floor.
“I can’t see you,” she said.
“You don’t need to see me for this.” He pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades, and his kisses turned to nips as he worked his way down to her ass.
His teeth grazed the soft flesh of her buttocks, and she bucked her hips. No one had ever paid such attention to her ass, but Sam worshipped it, squeezing and kissing the tender skin. He slid his hand underneath her and cupped her sex. His finger teased her entrance, while his palm rubbed against her throbbing bud. The sensation was completely new. It engulfed her, consumed her. She thrust her hips against his hand, grinding into him, her body on the edge of release. He kept her there suspended in that wanton, ravenous state. She would have sold her soul to the devil to come, but Sam wasn’t finished working her up. Another strong hand gripped her hip and lifted her torso. He shifted her weight to her knees and pressed a kiss to her inner thigh.
“Oh, Sam!” she cried as he rubbed her most sensitive place and ran his tongue along her delicate folds.
He worked her core, rubbing and kissing and sucking. “You taste so sweet, Z.”
She couldn’t respond. She couldn’t do anything. She was lost, flying among clouds. Her body tensed, and her orgasm crashed through her. She bucked and gyrated against his mouth, his tongue, his hand. He controlled her pleasure and milked every drop of carnal desire from her body. She went limp, the power of her release leaving her warm and sated.
She rested her head on the pillow. Sam pulled back, but he didn’t go far. The buzz of a zipper followed by the rustling sounds of the removal of his clothes filled the air. Seconds later, he was back, pressed against her, his hard length centered between her thighs.
He kissed the sensitive skin behind her ear. “Zoe have you ever…”
She held her breath. “Once. I’ve done it once.”
The kisses stopped, and his body went rigid.
She turned, wriggling to meet his gaze. Still beneath him, she cupped his cheek. “These are our days. I want this, Sam. I want you. I want to feel you inside me.”
His throat constricted as he swallowed. She ran a hand down the length of his back. His body trembled, taut and tense, craving release.
“We need protection,” he said in a tight whisper.
“I have condoms. They’re in the drawer of my nightstand.”
Sam’s eyebrows shot up.
“You know my parents. My father’s a doctor. My mother’s a former social worker. They know the stats on teen sex.”
Sam leaned over and opened the drawer. He took a condom from the box then met her gaze with an uncharacteristically stern expression. “That’s the last time I want you mentioning your family while we’re naked.”
She looked down at his hard length. “Deal.”
Sam rose to his knees and rolled the condom down his shaft. He worked it slowly, inch by i
nch, as she stared in wonder. This was happening. And while it wasn’t the forever she’d fantasized, it had to do. Maybe someday, maybe when they were older it would all work out.
“Hey,” he said, calling her back to him.
“Yeah?”
“Lie back, Z. We’ll go slow.”
She complied, falling back onto her pillows. Nothing about her bed would ever be the same. No, it was so much more than that. Nothing about her would ever be the same.
Sam lowered himself, careful not to put all his weight on her. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he positioned himself, and the tip of his cock pushed past her entrance. He was a big man. That alone should have clued her in on the size and girth of his cock. But despite her petite size, her center, slick with desire, welcomed him, stretching to accommodate his length.
“Zoe, am I hurting you?” he asked, eyes awash with concern.
She threaded her fingers into his auburn locks and thrust her hips until he was fully seated. “We fit,” she breathed.
Sam leaned down and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Of course, we do, Z.”
She sighed, and his cock pulsed inside her.
“Zoe, I—” he began, but she stopped him with a kiss. She couldn’t risk it. She couldn’t turn back now. If he was about to second guess this escapade, she had to stop him.
She kissed him with every ounce of her being, and he returned her kisses, hungrily lapping up her soft moans.
Her limbs quivered. She needed this. She needed him. “Fuck me, Sam. Fuck me hard.”
“Jesus, Zoe!” he growled as he retracted then pumped into her in a heated, punishing rhythm.
She dug her nails into his back, meeting him thrust for thrust. He cupped her ass and angled her body to allow his cock to pump harder, his pelvis working her tight bud in smooth, delicious strokes. Her canopy bed shook from the motion, and within seconds, she was there, walking the tightrope, every step, every thrust, bringing her closer to another release.
The Complete Langley Park Series (Books 1-5) Page 109
