I clear my throat. “Since the first time I heard your voice.”
His mouth falls open. “You masturbated the first time you heard my voice?”
“No,” I assure him. “I do have some control. Although, I definitely wanted to, no doubt about it.”
“How long did you hold out?”
I wince. “The third night.”
Sam bursts out laughing. “I had no idea I was so irresistible.”
Cupping his jaw, I look directly into his eyes. “You are so fucking irresistible.”
His laughter slows to a chuckle and he snuggles in to my side with a contented sigh.
My arms come around him, holding him close, and I’m struck by how weird this is. Sex with Sam. It was hot and consuming and deeply—really-freakin-deeply—satisfying. But it was also… fun.
That’s never been true for me before. Even with Walter, sex was all dark intensity. It was the soothing of past hurts and the desperate craving for pleasure. After Walter, even that was gone. Sex became nothing more than a way to relieve the needs of my body. It didn’t matter where or how or with whom.
With Sam, everything is different. Sex is lightness and discovery. It’s hope followed by delight. I don’t know quite what to do with the contentment it’s left behind.
I should leave. We’ve done what we came here to do. We made each other feel good. Now it’s over and I should go. I don’t belong in this bed, with this man, as if this is the sort of life I can lead. It’s not okay for me to be here.
I force myself to sit up, but Sam puts a hand on my chest. “Stay,” he murmurs. “It’s late.”
“I can’t,” I tell him.
“Of course, you can.” He sits up enough to push the covers down from beneath us. I shift to help him and before I know it, we’re tucked in under the sheet and a light blanket. “Roll over,” he says.
I do, and he curls himself against my back, sliding one arm around my waist. Lying there, I know I should put up more resistance. But it is late and Sam is warm and the bed is comfortable.
“I’ll stay awake with you until you fall asleep,” he says, his breath stirring the hairs at the back of my neck.
“What if I don’t fall asleep?” It’s been more than a month since I went to sleep without Sam’s voice to lull me. But it would be beyond weird to break out his app when the man himself is wrapped around me, his dick nestled between my bare arse cheeks.
“If that happens, we’ll get up at two in the morning and make cinnamon scrolls. Then we’ll watch the sunrise together.”
A smile curves my lips. I’ve always loved the sound of Sam’s voice. Now, I love what he says as well. “There’s a lot of time between two and sunrise,” I point out, putting my hand over his on my chest. “What else will we do?”
He presses light kisses against the nape of my neck before settling into stillness behind me.
And then he talks. About cups of tea and long discussions. The reading of books and sharing of stories. He tells me all the little and big things we’ll do when we wake up tomorrow. Hot showers. Breakfast. Coffee at the place where we first met. He talks, on and on, in that low, husky voice. I give a deep, relaxed sigh as I fall asleep.
FIFTEEN
______
SAM
It’s after seven in the morning and Tristan is still asleep. I’m extraordinarily pleased he spent the night in my bed, even if the sleeping part was sporadic. I lost count of the times he woke me with his nightmares. He would sleep easy for a while, then the stirring would begin. He’d jolt half-awake, often with his sister’s name on his lips—or mine. Each time, I would run a hand over his back or wrap myself around him and he’d settle back into my arms and drift off again.
While I like the idea he finds my presence soothing, I hate that he has such a deep-seated need to be soothed. Whatever pain lies at the heart of Tristan’s nightmares about Claire, the mere presence of a warm body won’t hold it at bay for long.
Easing out of bed, I slip on some clothes and make my way into the kitchen to chop, grate and whisk the ingredients for omelettes. A smile hovers on my lips as I work. Waking up beside someone and having breakfast together is one of my favourite parts of being in a relationship. Though Tristan and I aren’t technically in a relationship, and he’s bound to tire of the restrictions that come with me before long, I want to enjoy the little things while I can.
Two fluffy omelettes slide onto plates warmed by the oven, and I finish them with a little cracked pepper. I add cutlery to the large tray I’ve prepared, along with a fresh mug of coffee for Tristan and tea for me. When I carry the tray to the bedroom, Tristan’s eyes are just blinking open. Perfect timing.
“Good morning,” I say from the doorway. Glancing down at the laden tray, I suddenly wonder if it’s too much. Some people don’t like to eat right after waking. Some people don’t like grandiose gestures of affection from the guy they’ve only had sex with once. What if I scare him off? Can omelettes be classified as scary?
