"So I took what I could get, Ror, can you blame me? And you've reminded me many times since then, by the way, that we're just friends. In fact every time I started to hope for something more, you reminded me. In the bathroom with Chelsea, even last Friday, when you found out I played football.'We're the same as we've always been, Sayum, friends',"he drawls in his Rory imitation, with a slight smirk.
I breathe out a short laugh.
"So which is it, Ror?" Sam asks again, his timbre low and deep, like gravel. I shiver, in spite of how hot I feel right now from his proximity. "Are we just friends… or something more?"
I don't answer him with words. Instead, my arms, quite possibly of their own volition, slide up around his neck and I push up onto my tiptoes and press my mouth to his. I practically, literally, throw myself at him.
But he catches me.
His fingers clutch my hair and his lips move with mine. I'm not expecting the relief I feel in his arms, with my mouth against his. It's as if I'd been unsettled all this time, floating alone and desperate somewhere in space, and now finally, with his admission that he does, in fact, want me too, and the confirmation of his kiss, I'm finally back on solid ground. Sam is my anchor.
His arms wrap around my waist and yank me against him and I moan at the feel of his hard body against my soft, modest curves. Sam pulls my top lip between his and sucks, and I moan again, too thrilled to feel embarrassment.
"Rory," he breathes my name into my mouth and kisses me even harder.
His tongue slips past my lips and I don't hesitate, I stroke it with my own, and deepen the kiss even more.
We're all wet lips and tongues, sliding and crashing against one another. I'm in heaven, but I want more. He's walked us back to the sofa before I even realize we're moving, and he sits, pulling me down with him. I climb onto his lap and sit astride him, leaving no gaps between our bodies.
My hands slide up his arms, exploring the taut muscles of his biceps and shoulders. His strength and power don't frighten me - no, they exhilarate me. My fingers run up the back of his neck and tug on his hair and he groans again.
The simmering desire inside me boils over until I'm desperate and panting between kisses. Sam's hands conduct an exploration of their own, running over my backside and just under the hem of my shirt. They feel my lower back, his thumbs roving over my hips, including my scar, which somehow does not repulse him. I sigh against his lips and then rock my hips against him completely involuntarily. I can feel that, yes, he does want me, and the proof of it is pressing against me in just the right spot.Holy shit that feels good.
"Fuck, Ror," he groans, and then he's moving again and he lifts and rolls until I am on my back with him hovering over me, careful to support most of his weight on his forearms.
But my legs wrap around his waist and pull him down to me.
My fingers find the hem of his shirt and lift. Sam pulls away just enough to allow me to tug the whole thing over his head, and I toss it on the floor next to us. I take a moment - just one moment - to rake his body with my eyes. His physique is exceptional. Every muscle perfectly outlined, and I find myself thinking I'd like to kiss it everywhere. Robin was in great shape, but Sam, he's perfect. I've no doubt that Sam would win in a fight, and even though I know it will never happen - that I'd never even want it to happen - in a cavewoman sort of way, the thought pleases me deeply.
I run my hand from his neck down his strong chest, and trace the lines between each pronounced part of his perfect six pack. I watch as they each jump in the most sexy way at my touch.
He comes back down, flush against me, his hand firmly running up my side, pushing my shirt up as he goes, stopping under my bra. His thumb brushes my stomach, which rises and falls dramatically with each deep, panting breath I take.
Sam's lips crash back to mine, kissing and sucking, until he trails small, sweet kisses across my jaw and down my neck. My head flies back as his mouth and tongue gently work the column of my neck, a secret spot just below my ear, and the sensitive hollow of my throat. It's as if he knows exactly where I want his mouth, and he's happy to comply.
I've never felt so desired. And not just my body - no, there's deep emotion in Sam's eyes, a reverent affection in his touch, even in his kiss. I can feel it. I know he cares for me, he's said as much, but for the first time, I wonder if maybe it's more than that.
"You are so beautiful," Sam whispers between kisses. "So fucking perfect."Kiss. "I think about you,"kiss, kiss,"all the fucking time," he confesses.
I sigh again. I've never been more thrilled by words.He thinks about me.I can't believe it.
"I-" I start to admit that I, too, think about him way too much, but am startled by a knock on the door.
Sam's brow furrows as his gaze darts toward the door, still laying on top of me, where I desperately want him to stay. Perhaps with fewer items of clothing between us. I press my fingers to the crease between his eyebrows; it's so incredibly soft. He turns back to me and narrows his eyes, smirking. If he's going to tease me about my fascination with his eyebrow crease, I cut him off.
"Are you expectin' someone?" I ask, careful to keep my voice below a whisper.
He shakes his head. "Probably just housekeeping. They'll go away," he decides and then resumes kissing me.
Knock, knock.
"Go away!" Sam calls out between kisses.
"Come on, Cap! Your phone's off! Let me in!" Tucker shouts through the closed door. Sam pulls back, his eyes wide with surprise, surely mirroring my own.
"What's he doin' here?" I whisper and Sam shrugs. I glance at the clock on the side table that says it's nearly noon.
"Cap!" Tuck calls again.
