His expression turns bashful as he ducks his head. “I didn’t mean to.”
“No, don’t stop.” My grip on him tightens. “Please.”
Meeting my gaze, he nods. “It doesn’t usually happen spontaneously. Only when I’m recording or teaching a class. It’s this place, I suppose. I feel safe here.” As he speaks, his thumbs stroke my palms and I shiver.
“Having me here doesn’t spoil the feeling?”
“No.” A touch of awe glints in the blue. “I think, maybe, I feel safe with you, too.”
I don’t move when he lets go of my hands and raises up off the cushion so he can scoot closer. I don’t move when he extends his legs over my still folded ones, so his calves bracket my hips and his feet touch down behind me. He’s not actually in my lap, his arse is still on the floor in front of me, but it’s a close thing.
I don’t move as he reaches out to touch my cheeks, stroking his thumbs over them. My own hands remain on my knees, my fingers digging in there. I don’t move, but my heart is a wild thing in my chest and my breathing is laboured. Shudders rack my body as he brushes his nose against mine. When his breath fans across my lips, I still don’t move. But I close my eyes, and I wait.
His closed lips touch mine. They’re soft and tentative. Barely pressing against me. They’re hopeful lips, in search of a response.
I move to give him one.
My head tilts to one side and I kiss him back. Just as gently, just as tentative. Then a quiet sound of longing escapes him and I let go.
Lifting my hands, I cup his face. My lips part. He slides inside with a joyful sigh and it feels so good. It’s been a long time since anyone kissed me like this, as if his lips are mine alone and no one else will do.
Sam levers himself off the floor and moves forwards onto my lap. My arms wind around him, pulling him closer. His erection presses against my stomach and his sounds of pleasure drag a guttural moan from my throat. I lower my hands to grip his arse, desperate for more of him. More of his mouth, his tongue, his body. He is perfect in my hands. So beautiful. So much more than I deserve.
The thought tears at the back of my mind. This is more than I should ever be allowed.
I turn away from his kiss, burying my face in the curve of his neck. His hands continue to slide over me, through my hair and over my shoulders. Every place he touches delights in him.
It’s too much. I’m not supposed to have anything this good. A man who is so wonderful and special.
“Tris.” His whisper is a rush of breath across the back of my neck. It makes my heart clench. No one has called me that in a long, long time. “Tell me what you want?”
Sucking in a gulp of air, I straighten away from him. What I want should never be a deciding factor. Not in anything. My hands curl into fists as I lower them to my sides. “I have to stop.”
Sam’s eyes flicker with hurt, regret, frustration. I’m not sure. Maybe all of them.
Placing his hands on the floor behind him, he lifts himself off my lap and returns to the floor. My gaze devours the sight of him. The obvious bulge in his pants, the visible lines of his torso, the flushed face and red mouth. The urge to drag him back into my arms and pick up where we left off is painfully strong. But it would be wrong.
Since breaking up with Walter, my sex life has consisted of random hook-ups on nights when the needs of my body become too much to bear. Every instance has been brief and desperate. Meaningless by necessity. I could never be that way with Sam. Already I feel too much. Having him would only make the craving worse.
“I’m sorry.” So very sorry. For hurting him. For missing out on everything we could have had if I hadn’t already ruined my life so completely. Most of all, I’m sorry for bringing the taint of rejection to this place that is his source of peace.
A frown mars his brow, but then a slow smile takes its place. “I’m not sorry. Kissing you felt good.” Rising to his feet, he pauses to look down at me. “Come down to the studio? You can help me set up for class.”
Grateful he’s not throwing me out, I follow him out of the room. At the top of the stairs, I automatically reach for his arm. “Wait.”
He glances back at me in question.
Clearing my throat, I mutter, “Mind if I go first?”
Yes, I’m a freaking weirdo. Sam is cluing in to the truth more and more. “Sure.”
Taking hold of the rail, I carefully make my way down the stairs.
The nightmares begin later that same night. I’ve been lulled to sleep by the sound of Sam’s voice. Then I’m seeing him at the bottom of the staircase. A crumpled heap. Blood spreading out from under his head. The brightness in his eyes gone.
I wake up screaming his name. Tears stream down my face and his blood is warm on my hands. Scrambling out of the twisted sheets I turn on the light and hold my hands up. They’re slick with sweat, but clean.
Sinking to the floor, I lower my head between my knees and sigh.
