We were talking about this building, but we weren’t. This was Sam, and as I repeated his words in my head, I pivoted and squeezed him in a tight hug. Maybe I was trying to put the pieces back together, or prevent new cracks from forming. I only knew I wasn’t letting that bulldozer anywhere near him.
He kissed my forehead, and stepped into the room. It was dark, and though it seemed intentionally closed off for the event, Sam gripped my hand and pulled me inside. Pointing toward the built-in bookshelves, he said, “I’ve been here before. Meetings. Events. Random bullshit. And I’ve been thinking about this room all week.”
It appeared to be a typical study with dark wood as far as the eye could see, dusty old books, and heavy furniture. “Because it’s nice and manly?”
“No,” he whispered, backing me against the shelves. “Because I wanted you right here.”
He bowed his head toward me, and at first, he was all tentative, tight kisses. His hand slid up my arm and over my shoulder, stopping to cradle my neck while his other hand moved down my back. My fingers shifted to his hair, tugging just a bit. He groaned into my mouth, a mix of acute pain and intense relief, and everything fell into place.
He didn’t roam my body in search of more intriguing parts and he didn’t shift suggestively to get my hands on his intriguing parts. He just kissed me as if it was the most important thing he could do right now. As ifIwas the most important thing.
“How much longer do you think we can do this?” he asked.
“I don’t think anyone else is coming up here, so . . .”
“No.” His lips passed over my cheek and temple, stopping there while his hand slipped under my dress. “How much longer can we pretend this is enough?”
His mouth crashed onto mine, and he took me. He wasn’t waiting on me to call the shots or establish the limits, and I let him take me. Sam hooked his hand under my knee, and brought my leg to his waist. Off balance, I teetered, and reached for the bookshelves.
“No,” he murmured, prying my fingers from the wood and placing them on his shoulders. “I want your hands on me. I want you for me, always.”
His fingertips were light and gentle as they skimmed up my leg and traced the edge of my panties. He teased me with these wispy touches, following the fabric without inching closer to where I was growing wet and impatient.
“I can’t pretend, Tiel,” he sighed. “I can’t pretend that I’m not falling for you.”
I pulled him closer, feeling his erection against my thigh and swallowing his groan with a kiss. “Then don’t,” I said. He growled against my lips, and I bunched my dress around my waist. “Don’t ever pretend.”
Entire lifetimes passed in his eyes, and he stared at me, silent. Fear skittered in my gut, reminding me that he could change his mind any moment.
“You promised,” I whispered, “to tell me what you’re thinking.”
“These panties, these sweet lacy things? I want to rip them off. I want to keep them in my pocket all night, and I’ll be the only one who knows your pussy is bare.” The hand gripping my backside moved down, and he cupped me, the heel of his palm grinding against my clit. “And once those panties are off, I’ll make you come quick and hard, right here. Then, I want to be inside you for hours. Maybe days. Maybe forever.”
“Sam,” I moaned into his shirt. I couldn’t decide whether I was appalled or impressed by how quickly I felt the heat flooding my center. I always required so much to get there—foreplay, lube, wine, toys, more foreplay, more lube, yet more wine—but I was there now.
He kissed my jaw, slow and tender, and whispered, “Is that what you want, myfriend?”
“We can be veryspecialfriends,” I said.
Sam laughed against my shoulder. “You say that, and it’s the filthiest thing I’ve ever heard.” He gripped the lace between my legs. “Say it again.”
“Friends,” I sighed, and the tear of fabric seemed to fill the room. I was a mess, flushed and wet, and shocked by my reaction to Sam. The air was cool against my skin, but I barely noticed it over my desperate desire for his touch.
I knew he preferred quick—in and out, hit it and quit it, one and done—and I expected him to unzip and make it happen. Instead, his fingers trailed back and forth over my exposed skin, never dipping inside, never offering more than light pressure to my clit. It was calm and measured, so much more civilized than I expected from him.
And I was going to fucking explode. I was right there, a breath from coming with the gentlest touch, and when I wasn’t lust-drunk, I was going to examine how Sam managed to accomplish that. I didn’t believe I’d ever get off with a guy. Orgasms were rare for me, and always the product of a vibrator.
“Do you want me inside you, Tiel?”
I was soaked and aching, and I’d long since lost control of the sounds I was moaning into Sam’s suit coat. Anyone in my position would have said yes. Anyone with sense would have said yes.
But I shook my head against his head. “No.”
In my heart—and a few other spots—I wanted him. I’d wanted him since that very first moment.
But my head wasn’t ready to get on board, and I hated that. I hated that a fifteen-minute marriage could leave its watermark on every relationship since, and I hated how doubt always outgunned lust.
Or whatever this was.
