Oh, and he watched me, as he adored doing. He played with my breasts and thrust into me without fail. I wound my arm around his head and grabbed him by the hair. His eyes were half-closed and so dark, and we saw each other—really saw—naked in every way possible. The love in his eyes was palpable.
A small smile preceded his fingers rubbing my clit in fevered circles, and my moans became high, breathy, guttural. I came with his hand on me and his cock never ceasing, while he bathed my face in a loving regard that overwhelmed me.
“Don’t stop,” I said. Sometimes he would, to let me enjoy my afterglow. But I wanted to shatter him as he’d done me. I took his hand and held it to my breast while he pounded me faster than before. Soon his eyes closed, and he revelled in his own orgasm, riding it out however he wanted. We collapsed against the cushions, his arm holding me to him.
I don’t know how long we lay there, my brain drifting and my eyes closed. My scalp didn’t even hurt too badly anymore. Orgasms cure everything. After a while, I felt him chuckle. “What?” I asked.
He pointed. Captain Taco sat two feet away from the couch, sitting with his back turned, shunning us. We both cracked up, laughing so hard that the cat shot a disdainful eye our direction as if to say, ‘Do you not see me hating you? How dare you find this amusing!’
“Did I earn my dinner?” Sam asked while nuzzling my shoulder with his nose.
“Breakfast. And yes. Except I don’t have any.”
“Lazy.”
“I’ve been too depressed to grocery shop.”
He turned my face to look directly at me. “I’m sorry.”
I kissed him, lightly. He smelt of sex and masculinity, and I wanted to bathe in him. “Take me out? Nowhere special, just…let’s just go have fun somewhere.”
“Yeah. Get dressed.”
Reluctantly, I unwound my limbs from his and got up. I couldn’t stay there forever and besides, food was one of my fervent lovers, too.
I threw on a T-shirt and jeans, and he came into the bedroom to get re-dressed, too. My hair stood out at impossible angles, so I attacked it with a brush. I couldn’t hit all the major cities of Europe with sex hair. He held my pyjamas from the other room and got a puzzled look on his face while he pulled something from the pocket. “What is this?”
I gulped. “Oh, crap. I recorded my convo with Valerie and forgot it was there. Hey, why are you going through my pockets?”
He slumped into one hip. “You’re telling me you have the entire evening recorded?”
“Um…yup.”
“Hmmm.” He set the recorder on the dresser and didn’t answer my question. Sigh—thieves. “Did she say anything incriminating?”
I went into the bathroom to find some mascara. He followed. “Well, I said things, and she didn’t disagree with them. Then she threatened my family with ‘accidents’. And Shelley—” No. I closed my mouth. I wouldn’t tell him about that. It might make him stupid.
He groaned and sat on the toilet lid. “Valerie’s got worse. Maybe she was always this cruel, and in my lusty, naïve twenties I didn’t see it.” Peeking up at me, he said, “I was taught that ladies were ladies. Even non-Southern belles were different from men—kinder, gentler, peaceable, predictable. Now I understand that’s just a hole men try and force women into to make them behave the way they want. It’s an appealing lie, though, when you’re a young, stupid dude and want to romanticize every skirt. And the prissy innocent act is something Valerie performs very well. It’s what makes her such a great thief.”
I regarded him with amazement. “What convinced you that women were actual human beings, and not a different race of giggling porcelain figurines?”
“Jane.” He grinned. “Jane doesn’t take patriarchal bullshit. If you treat her like anything other than your master and commander, she’ll eat you alive.” He ran a hand through his hair to tame it. I wasn’t the only one with sex hair. “Funny enough, Jane has actual honour, not pretend-lady honour. Took me a while to spot the difference.”
I paused swiping mascara into my lashes and asked, “Do you really think Jane would have killed us?”
One eyebrow cocked, he said, “I don’t know. My heart says ‘no’, but I’ve proven I can be an idiot.”
“Poor man. Beset by so many wicked women.”
He came round behind me and pulled me close. “I prefer my ladies unladylike in my bed, or wickedly cracking zingers.”
“Good thing for me.” Our smiles met in the mirror. “Or not.”
“Shut up and stop ruining the moment.”
“Okay.”
I finished making myself barely presentable, and we emerged from my cave to wander the neighbourhood hand in hand. As if nothing untoward was happening in our lives. Slipping into normal, happy mode with him seemed perfectly natural. I guess I’d learned to live in the now a bit more since encountering Hurricane Sam.
We found a little pizza place and ordered, with frothy, yummy beers to start, because the now required both.
I asked him, “Can you call in any of the folks you got your immunity with?”
He sloshed his beer in surprise and set it on the table. He sighed, taking a pensive moment before answering. “No. My whole goal was to not rat out anyone else. If I give up Valerie, it’ll be open season.”
“Hunting season appears to have already begun.”
His lips pulled into a grimace, but he didn’t disagree. “I’ve only ever worked for Val and Jane. I suppose the minor players might be affronted.”
“But none of them have actually waved a knife in your face.”
“No.”
I took a sip of the bitter, cold beer. It swished down my throat into my empty belly. “So it’s Valerie between us and—”
“Us and what?” His eyes flickered, tired and concerned, in the candlelight.
I played with the tablecloth. “You were really doing all of this so you could”—I swallowed—“settle down with me?” Why was this a hard concept for me to embrace? Because you’re not the kind of girl who gets happily ever after! said the voice in my head, which sounded suspiciously like my mother’s.
He nodded, his brows drawing together. “What a great job I’ve done.”
“You can’t be held responsible for the actions of others.”
“Yes, I can. If I wasn’t who I was, you’d have never fallen into this mess.”
I plopped the beer down and reached for his hand. “Sam, if you weren’t who you were, I’d be a depressed secretary still. Yes, I would.” The candle had nearly burned away in the little glass holder. His face got less stark the more the flicker waned. “I know who you are, and I started a relationship with you. I shouldn’t hold your occupation over your head.”
“No. No.” He took his hand back and drummed it on the table. “I have spent my entire adult life as a criminal. If I have…issues regarding my profession, I deserve to have them. I deserve to deal with the consequences.” He grinned, his eyes blazing and clever. “If I was a truly honourable man, I’d be in prison now, paying my debt to society.”
“I guess you can take the boy out of the den of thieves, but—”
He nodded and laughed.
I continued, “I don’t want you in prison. I’m not that lofty, either. Let’s face it, a lot worse jerks than you get away with not paying their debts.”
“At least I’m not a politician.”
“Amen.”
I held out my hand again, and he took it, pressing a kiss to the tips of my fingers. The pizza came, sausage and mushroom. You have to keep a man whose favourite pizza is the same as yours. I’m pretty sure Miss Manners says that.
I polished off my first piece and paused to wash my grease down with beer. “So, does this mean…what?”
“What?”
“I’m not asking you.”
He licked a long piece of cheese from his lip. “Oh.” Nodding, he wiped his fingers and folded them on the table. His face shifted into faux-serious mode. Boy, he gave good earnes
tness. “Miss Lytton.”
I sat back. “Yes, Mr Turner.”
“Will you be my official girlfriend again?”
“And?”
“And?” He cocked his head and rolled his eyes. “Just because you’re wordy and overblown—”
I lifted my eyebrows.
“My dearest darling Ms Lytton. You’re so wonderful that a rainbow would be jealous of your booty, and unicorns bow to your graceful charm.”
“Do you really mean it?”
His eyes emitted a heart-melt ray similar to that of a puppy. “Yes. If rainbows were sentient and unicorns existed, it would be true.”
“Thank you, Sam.” He kissed my hand and lovingly caressed it. I shrugged and added, “I’ll think about it.”
He snatched his hand away. “You are such a pain in my ass.”
“What? You broke my heart! I’m not just gonna let it go because you have a nice penis and a fancy way with rainbow compliments. For all I know, Daniel Zhang also has those things.”
Sam’s mouth turned hard and bitter. “Daniel Zhang. Urgh. Ooh look at me, I’m a tall, handsome, rich, suave movie star.”
Nodding, I said, my voice full of sorrow, “I know. What an awful person he is.”
“Like haemorrhoids.” He sloshed his beer on the way to his mouth. “You’re my little, redheaded, painful haemorrhoid.”
I snatched another piece of pizza. “Okay. You can quit with the compliments now.”
“With nice tits.”
I started giggling. I did enjoy the idea of myself as a loud-haired boil on the ass of humanity. With nice tits.
* * * *
“Samantha, stop! You’re hitting me!”
I must hit him. I have to get away. I flailed and punched out in any way possible, sweat pooling in my lower back, my—
“Samantha, you’re dreaming!” He shook me. “Ouch! It’s Sam, it’s me.”
This time, he caught my fist and held it to his chest. My eyes opened. Sam’s face. Sam’s hands.
“What the hell were you dreaming?”
I squeezed my eyes shut and sagged against him. He held and rocked me. Flashes of terror still slammed into my eyeballs. I concentrated on his soft skin, his smell. On the now, which was warm and full of bliss. After a while, my breathing settled, and my adrenaline calmed to a dull roar. “What was that?” he asked again gently as he stroked my back.
I sighed into his chest. I hadn’t ever told him about the nightmares. “I dream about Scott Coulter. Sometimes.”
“Oh, no, Samantha…”
Scott Coulter was the asshole from Steak on a Stick who’d kidnapped and almost killed me and all my loved ones over a damn Picasso. He was currently serving many, many years in prison, thanks to me.
“I dream that he gets out of prison early and comes after me. Or that I’m in the trial again and no one believes what I say. Although it’s not always me he hurts. Sometimes I find him attacking Ellen.”
“Shhhhh.” The panic crept up my spine again, and he stroked my hair until I stopped digging my hand into his shoulder. “Baby, I’m so sorry. Does this happen a lot?”
I shook my head. His fingers soothed my forehead again and again. “Not as much as before. It was bad, for a while.” It had taken weeks to not worry over the trial every single day, to be able to combat that constant anxiety. I’d lost weight during that time, and everyone had told me how great I’d looked. Har de har har.
“Jesus Christ. I gave you PTSD.”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t want to make it a big thing.”
“Baby.” He turned out from under me and lay on his side so we were face to face. A weak stream of sunlight from a gap in the blinds illuminated his eyes. He stroked my cheek. “It is a big thing. I’m supposed to be here for you, and I failed.”
“We’ve been long distance. We can’t—”
“No. No.” He leant forward until his forehead touched mine. “I’m going to do better. So that you don’t have to be afraid anymore. You can tell me anything. I know I can be a bear, but usually it’s…shit. It’s because I get so fucking mad that I can’t instantly fix everything that’s wrong with you.” He sniffled, his voice choked with emotion. “I love you so much.”
I scooted closer and nuzzled his cheek.
“Do you still love me?” he asked, his voice small.
“Yes!” His face in my hands, I kissed him. He rolled us over and pressed his warm lips to mine again and again, seeking a reassurance I was happy to give.
I forgot my nightmare in his encompassing arms, his strong body. In the words of love he murmured over my skin. What a glorious mess we made. And how easily we could forget it.
Temporarily.
Chapter Thirteen
I Guess I’ll Eat Some Worms
I paid for my joyous night of hide the salami. The next evening, my agent, publicist and manager chose choice words for me on the matter of my radio silence re Kissgate, but were all equally delighted that my relationship with Daniel Zhang had become international gossip fodder. I’d moved up at least three rungs on the celebrity fuckability scale!
Sam nearly ground his teeth to the gums when surfing the internet, so I took away his access and sent him grocery shopping for us while I dealt with real life. Danny left a voice mail for me that I didn’t return because it would have made me feel guilty to speak with him. But then again, the guilt of not returning the call guilted me in a guilty way. I began to fantasise about going full Cast Away, where the only person I could disappoint was a volleyball with a bloody hand print on it. Meanwhile, my stomach churned, churned.
When Sam returned with glorious food, he hustled me to bed again where it seemed he was eager to prove who was the man in my life. Indeed, after his glorious turn in the sack, I honoured him with the Oscar for Best Performance By a Leading Man With Bonus Colin Firth. I’m not even sure what to call what he did to me, except logistically impressive.
With such wicked thoughts in my head, we returned to film the following night. The moment I stepped onto set, I got hustled to a corridor in which stood Danny and our director, an up-and-coming British hotshot named simply JenX. She was the hottest funny lady going, having shot to A-list status when she directed Carrot Top into a Best Supporting Actor Golden Globe nomination in her first feature. If that doesn’t lend credibility, then nothing does. “Hey, S,” JenX said. “So, video. You and D. Hot. Nice. Paparazzi. Awesome. Sex on stone. Cool?”
Danny bit back a smile. I blinked from one to the other and said, “What?”
“Profesh, yeah?”
I nodded and flashed a half smile and shrugged—all the answer JenX ever seemed to require, anyhow. I was getting more used to her way of speaking. When she’d called me to offer the role, the entire conversation consisted of, “You. Jayde. Kill it. Nice.” I’d called my agent afterward to figure out what the hell had happened.
JenX model-stomped away on her platforms, which appeared to be ten inches high. “Translate?” I asked Danny.
He stepped closer. “The producers have decided to capitalise on the video by adding a sex scene for us.”
“What, are we gonna hump on a display case in the middle of the robbery?”
He handed me new script pages. “The Rosetta Stone, namely.”
Sex on stone. Holy shit. “Ah. Well, at least it serves the story in a dignified way.”
Laughing, he pulled me farther away from the whir of crew getting the set ready. I could feel Sam’s eyes boring into my back from the darkness. Danny’s perfect face peering down at me churned, churned my guts. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you back,” I told him.
His mouth twitched sadly, and the anxiety in my belly birthed anxiety babies. “I’m sure you were busy.”
Busy learning about how fun the Hitachi Magic Wand Olympics can be. I nodded. He stayed silent, clearly waiting for me to say something. Better to come clean about my being dirty. “I got back t
ogether with Sam. Zack!” I pressed my fingers to my temples. “Zack Sam. I’m sorry, and I didn’t mean to lead you on. You are insanely attractive and wonderful, and I feel lucky to have even smooched you in front of millions on the Internet.”
His jaw shifted in annoyance. Maybe this was the first time in his life he’d ever been dumped, or at least thrown over for some dude with no name. He recovered and flashed a confident smile that told me, somehow, he’d survive the loss of me. “It was just a kiss. I’m glad you worked it out with…” He shrugged, and I did not gaze at his sexy shoulders. “It does make things a bit awkward in that everyone thinks we’re dating now.”
“Yes.” A PA stopped by and shooed us towards makeup. We promised him we’d be right there and began walking. “Look, we can still hang out. The more we don’t misbehave in public, the crazier they’ll go. They’ll think we’re hiding something.”
“Sure.”
The conversation thankfully ended when a blur of people with brushes attacked our faces. You are a shitty person, I told myself. Myself didn’t have any fast comebacks to the contrary. Churn, churn. My stomach ached enough that I skipped the craft services table in favour of resting before my first scene.
I was forced to lock myself in the bedroom of the trailer to get away from Shelley, currently slumping on my couch, smack-smacking away on her third gum piece of the morning. The sound of her saliva squirting might force me to commit evil acts. Like tearing out her stupid hair. My bitterness merged with my vanity and anger to create a brand-new emotion—vitterger. I was so vittergry at that woman I nearly blacked out.
No more than ten minutes later, PA Wayne knocked on my tiny bedroom door. “Hi, Samantha. Can you come out? Um…”
Something told me that this “um” was of the “oh, shit” variety. I scrambled to my feet and opened the front door. Wayne smiled halfheartedly and said, “Your mom is here and talking to JenX.”
The Dimple Strikes Back Page 17