Page 93 of Break Me

“Then rest,” he says.

After dinner, Sam insists on cleaning up. He gathers the plates, rinses out the containers, and starts putting everything away with the quiet efficiency of someone who's done it a hundred times.

Then he hesitates, just for a second. He opens one cabinet, pauses, closes it again, and reaches for the next.

I watch him, smiling so hard my cheeks ache.

“You moved it,” he says without turning around.

“I reorganized,” I correct.

He huffs a quiet laugh and keeps going, like this is exactly the kind of problem he’s happy to have.

“You want help, Wolf?” I tease.

When he turns to look at me, it’s slow and deliberate, his eyes darkening. He moves with an easy confidence.

My mouth goes dry, and my nerves light up all at once. Suddenly I’m very aware of how close he is. How close he plans to be.

“You want to distract me?” he asks.

“Maybe.”

His hand settles at my hip, warm through the thin fabric of my shirt. “You should know by now,” he murmurs, “that I’m easy to distract when it comes to you.”

I tilt my head. “Good.”

He kisses me until I forget what we were talking about in the first place. His hands settle on my waist as he lifts me onto the counter, the cool surface pressing against my thighs through the fabric of my jeans. His broad chest rising and falling with quickened breaths.

Our lips meet again, deeper this time, his tongue slipping into my mouth with a hunger that makes my pulse race. I fist my hands in the back of his shirt, pulling him closer until there's barely any space left between us. The hard bulge of his cock pressing insistently against my core.

His hands roam upward, sliding under my shirt to cup my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they harden into sensitive peaks. The sensation shoots straight through me as a warm ache builds between my thighs, and I arch into his touch. He groans softly, the sound vibrating against my lips as he unbuttons my jeans, lifting me slightly, allowing me to push them off.

With a swift, deliberate motion, he pulls me to the edge of the counter, his fingers tracing a slow path down to the hem of my panties. I gasp as he slips a finger inside his touch, sending sparks of pleasure through my body.

"I swear I fall in love with you all over again every time I touch you," he murmurs, his voice hoarse with emotion, his eyes locked onto mine as if he's seeing straight into my soul.

The way he touches me reaches far beyond my body. Every brush of his hand feels like a promise, every gentle caress a reminder that I'm cherished, chosen, loved. My pulse races, not because of the pleasure alone, but because of the tenderness woven through every moment. He knows me so completely that even in our most intimate moments, I never feel exposed. I feel safe.

I rock into his touch, my breaths turning uneven as emotion tangles with desire until I can't separate one from the other. It's never just about wanting each other. It's about everything we've built between us—the trust, the laughter, the tears, the countless times we've chosen one another despite the scars we both carry. Those things live in every kiss, every lingering touch, every heartbeat shared between us.

The room fades until there's nothing left but us. Sam’s eyes never leave mine, and somehow that's what undoes me most. He's not simply touching my body. He's loving every fractured, imperfect piece of me, and I love every piece of him in return. In his arms, desire doesn't replace love. It becomes another language for it.

His thumb finds that sensitive spot, and I arch my back slightly, a soft moan escaping my lips. He leans in closer, his breath hot on my ear as he whispers, "I want to taste you."

The words send a shiver down my spine, and I feel myself growing even wetter under his touch. With a low, husky growl, he slides his hands under my thighs, lifting me effortlessly from the counter. I wrap my arms around his neck, my body pressed flush against his hard chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart mirroring my own.

We reach the couch, and he lowers me gently onto the soft cushions, his eyes, filled with a mix of raw hunger and tender affection, never leave mine.

He leans in again, kissing me once more, slower this time, before his mouth trails downward. His lips brush over my skin, warm and unhurried, until they reach my inner thigh. He lingers there, close enough to make anticipation coil tight and aching, drawing out the moment until my pulse stumbles beneath the weight of everything I know is coming.

The cool air kisses my exposed skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his breath, and as he parts my legs wider, his gaze darkens with unbridled want. His tongue darts out, tracing a slow, deliberate circle around my swollen clit. The sensation is electric and all-consuming, like a spark igniting a fire deep within me.

I thread my fingers through his hair, anchoring myself to him as waves of pleasure crash over me, each lick and suck pulling me further into the vortex of our shared intimacy. It's not just the physical thrill. It’s the way his eyes meet mine, conveying a depth of emotion that speaks of trust and longing.

He delves deeper, his tongue exploring me with a rhythm that feels both urgent and reverent. The taste of me on his lips seems to drive him wild. His hands grip my hips to hold me steady as I writhe beneath him.

A finger slips inside me, curling just right to find the place that has my breath catching in my throat. Pleasure crashes over me in relentless waves, leaving me arching into him, desperate for more. My nipples harden beneath the thin fabric of my shirt, every inch of me straining for the feel of his hands.