by Vanessa Vale
Then they slapped their hands over their eyes as if the Ark of the Covenant was in front of them.
Sam snaked an arm around my waist, pulled me into him and kissed me. This wasn’t a gentle under-the-mistletoe peck. Nope. This was an it’s-been-way-too-long-and-I-can’t-help-myself assault. Tongue and all. His tasted like cinnamon breath mint and beer. This wasn't a kiss to make-it-all-better. This was a kiss to get-it-on.
There I stood, stunned by the feel of Sam's lips, his tongue tangling with mine, a ceramic garden gnome wedged under one arm. I melted, right then and there. Oh, how I missed this. Him. I hadn't been wrong. That night, there had been something.
“Are you done yet?” Charlie asked, cutting into the pleasure, reminding me we weren’t just standing in front of two kids, but in a house full of people.
Sam pulled back long enough to catch his breath. “No.”
He kissed me again, this time gentler, softer. Better. Full of promise of more.
Finally, he lifted his head. Our eyes met and I read quite a bit in his gaze. It was all good. And not for little boys.
“You can uncover your eyes now,” he told them.
They looked completely relieved it was over, as if they'd dodged a really gross bullet.
Sam handed over the handcuffs to Zach.
“Cool,” the boy replied. Sliding one end open, he looked at Sam. “Give me your wrist.”
Sam quirked an eyebrow. “You want to put it on me?”
“Sure, it's no fun doing it to yourself.”
Shrugging, Sam said, “Okay.” He stuck his arm out. With a snick, the cuff dangled from his wrist.
“Now you.” Charlie pointed at me.
“Me?”
“Yeah, you're the bad guy.”
Sam was trying not to laugh. “Have you been bad?” he asked. While the tone was playful, his look was anything but.
I rolled my eyes at him, knowing the boys didn't understand the underlying inappropriateness of his question. “I can be.”
Heat flared in Sam's eyes.
Oh, boy.
Another snick and we were linked together by a pair of very industrial, very police-like handcuffs.
I gave a gentle yank on my wrist and it pulled Sam's arm toward me.
“Awesome,” Charlie said. Both boys were staring at our joined wrists as if it was the most amazing thing they'd ever seen.
“Okay, you can undo us now,” I said. I wanted Sam to pick up where he left off and that didn't involve an underage audience. Or any audience for that matter. “Who has the key?”
Zach looked at Charlie. Charlie looked at Zach. They both shrugged and turned to Sam. “We don't have it.”
I looked to Sam. He paused. “I don't have it.”
My mouth fell open. “You don't have the key? It wasn’t in the box?” I yanked on my wrist again thinking it would just come undone.
“Nope. Just the cuffs,” he replied.
“Where's the key?” I could hear the panic in my own words.
What kind of cuffs had Goldie given me? These looked like police-grade cuffs instead of the fur lined ones with quick releases.
The boys shrugged again and dashed off down the hall, probably to start the movie, Transformers. Their interest in the handcuffs obviously over.
I looked to Sam. I lifted our joined hands between us with a jangle of cold metal and thought for a moment. “Goldie,” I hissed. She had the key. I pulled my cell from my purse.
“What are you doing?” Sam asked.
“Calling Goldie to get the key,” I grumbled. I’d wanted to be close to Sam, but like this? With Goldie’s involvement written all over it? No way.
Sam looked at his watch and said, “Em, it's pretty late. Why don't we just call her in the morning?”
I looked at him, stunned. “You don't care that she pulled this stunt? That she locked us together in some evil plan?”
“An evil plan for what?”
I just glared at him, knowing what kind of evil plan Goldie could come up with. Meddling woman.
“Anyone could have picked that gift,” Sam continued.
That gave me pause. “True. But that doesn't make us any less locked together.”
I looked up the number and called Goldilocks. I didn't know the guy working but I explained my predicament. He started laughing, and I held the phone away from my ear until he was done. Sam gave me an I-told-you-so look. After the guy pulled himself together, he gave me Goldie's cell and wished me luck. Grumbling, I listened to the phone ring, waiting for her to pick up. “Voicemail,” I told Sam.
He nodded, not quite as bothered by this ridiculous situation as I.
When I heard the beep, I said, “Goldie. This is Emma Hardy. Listen, about your gift for the exchange? Yeah, well, I'm handcuffed to someone, and I need to get the key from you, which should have been in the box. When you get this—oh shit, I just remembered. You're in Big Sky for the night.” I gave a frustrated sigh. “First thing in the morning, call me.” I left my number and hung up.
“No luck?” Sam asked, although he already knew the answer and was making fun of me.
“We are officially stuck together,” I grumbled.
Sam leaned in and gave me a soft, slow kiss. The fingers of his captured hand meshed with mine. “Is that such a bad thing?”
My mind had gone blank at the start of the kiss and all I could do was shake my head.
3
We stood in the quiet of the Cindy's hallway for about five minutes considering our options, not too eager to share our predicament with fellow partygoers. Eventually, we decided to make a run for it. We didn't even say goodbye. Under the circumstances, Cindy would probably understand. Our coats were right there in the den, I had my gift—George the Gnome—under my arm and Sam had his permanently—at least until I tracked down and killed Goldie—attached to me.
We tried to see humor in the fact that neither could slip both arms into our jackets, so we must have looked ridiculous with a them dangling off our shoulders. The only thing more idiotic looking than that was me climbing into the driver's side of Sam’s car, crawling over the center console to get to my seat, one arm stuck out behind me attached to Sam. It wasn't graceful, and definitely not ladylike, and I didn't want to think of the view Sam had of my rear end. The option of having Sam do it instead might have required the fire department come to extricate him, so I performed the acrobatics.
The only perk in this fiasco was that Sam had taken my hand in his once we realized our situation was fairly permanent and had yet to let it go. Who knew something so simple as handholding could be so...intimate? Erotic even. It might be freezing out, but my hand was warm in his.
We were safely tucked into the quiet confines of his car, the heater set to high, the heat seats on. Sam drove since his right wrist was attached to my left. We agreed there was no choice but to leave my car behind and make Goldie pick it up in the morning. She'd gotten us into this mess, the least she could do would be to return my stranded wagon.
It was snowing and extremely dark all around us. Heat started to blast from the vents. The radio pumped out the holiday tunes.
“I've been wanting to ask you something since the first time we met at the office,” Sam said, once we'd left Cindy's neighborhood behind. “But I thought it might be a little forward.”
“Oh?” I asked, a little breathless. A lot curious. I had George the Gnome in my lap and decided to take the Santa hat off it. His smile was broad and frozen in place. I imagined him winking at me and saying, “Go for it!” I carefully set him on the back seat. If any move making was going to occur, I didn't want him leering.
At a stop sign, Sam glanced over at me. “Your place or mine?”
He had the same heated look on his face that I’d seen earlier, when he'd just stopped kissing me. The look that said—more—without any words.
I cleared my throat, trying to dislodge the nerves, desire and excitement all clumped there. “I guess you don't have much choice eithe
r way,” I replied. We were stuck together, literally, but that didn't mean he wanted to be. Kissing was one thing, but handcuffed together was something else entirely.
He raised an eyebrow. “Well?”
I looked down at our joined hands. The contact felt good. More than good. Warm, safe. But I had to know. “This isn't like last time. You were able to walk away. In fact, you did.”
There was no doubt he knew exactly what I was talking about. Unless he was a complete womanizing jerk, I'd like to think he remembered the kiss in Seattle.
He rubbed his free hand over his jaw. I could tell he was thinking, stalling. “I did walk away,” Sam replied.
All excitement drained from me. It felt like coming down on Christmas morning to see a full stocking hanging from the mantel, then looking inside and finding it stuffed with coal.
“I didn't want to, but I did.” He squeezed my hand and I looked at him. Even in the darkness I could see the paleness of his eyes, the seriousness there. “For you.”
I opened my mouth but nothing came out at first. “You walked away…for me?” I repeated, completely confused.
Sam nodded his head. “Emma, you have no idea, do you?”
His eyes searched over my face seeking something. What, I didn't know.
I just shrugged, so he continued. “You were up for promotion. I knew it because I was your boss. But I didn't want you thinking you got it because you'd slept with me.”
Headlights glared brightly behind us. We'd completely forgotten we were stopped at an intersection. It was late, the roads were quiet, but we were definitely in the way. Sam headed toward town.
I sat there, staring out my side window, the holiday lights on houses a blur as I thought about his words. He had wanted me after all! The coal might have been in the stocking, but there was a big gift from Santa under the tree. Phew. I felt better. Confused, but better. “You wanted to sleep with me?”
Sam darted a glance at me, both hands firmly on the wheel. “If you weren’t able to tell, I wasn’t doing it right,” he grumbled. “And it's not just past tense.”
“Oh,” I whispered. He wanted me. Now.
“Why didn't you tell me?” I wondered. “All of this. The wanting, the walking away. The reason.”
“I thought I just did.” He laughed. “Okay, I'll try to make it a little more obvious.” We pulled up to a red light and Sam turned to look at me. This time I was pinned in place by the seriousness of his gaze. He moved our entwined hands to his lap, the chain of the handcuffs rattling. “That's not a gift in my pocket, but you can definitely unwrap it later.”
I whimpered. I actually whimpered. Who wouldn't? I felt all of his very large manliness beneath my palm, and I had no doubt. He wanted me. Right now.
The light changed to green. I stayed quiet because I was a little afraid of my feelings for Sam. We didn't know each other that well, and we hadn't even seen each other for a long time. Regardless, I felt like I knew him. As if the months apart fell away, as if I'd known him forever.
Sam moved our hands to my thigh and left them there until we pulled up in front of a small house downtown, which I assumed was his. We were north of Main Street, only a few blocks from the fairgrounds. There were no holiday lights up, but a lamp shone warmly in the front window.
“Since you didn't answer, I picked my place. I hope that's okay,” he said.
“Sure,” I replied. “I would've understood, you know, if you'd just told me. That night, in the elevator, you could have explained. I'd like to think I would have understood.”
“What, having my tongue down your throat one minute and then gone the next?” Sam's lip turned up at the corner.
I smiled, too. “Something like that. I've just always wondered. Thought the worst.” I put my free hand on top of his, making a hand sandwich.
“The worst is knowing the person you're kissing is going to hate you. I've spent all this time wanting to tell you, but I was sworn to confidentiality. Then, walking past you at work before I left, knowing you thought I was scum—”
“Not scum, exactly.”
Sam smiled. “I'm sure you've come up with lots of words for me.”
I pretended to consider. “A few.”
He lifted his hand to run gently over my hair. “I quit. To be with you.”
My mouth fell open. “What?”
Sam leaned in, his mouth hovering over mine, looking at me so closely, and whispered, “I want you, Em. I've always wanted you. I signed papers, legal papers that kept me from being with you if we worked together. So I quit. I made sure nothing could stand in my way.”
He didn't lower his mouth to mine. He didn't have to. I stretched up so our mouths met in a kiss filled with desperation, with yearning to make up for all the months we'd lost.
This kiss, as the coldness seeped back into the car, was like none other. And I wanted more. “You've got me,” I said, breathless. I lifted our joined hands and we both couldn't help but laugh.
4
We stumbled into Sam's house. As soon as the front door closed behind us, I was pressed up against it, Sam pressed up against me. We kissed as if our mouths were locked together, not our wrists, eventually coming up for air. Long enough to strip out of our one-armed coats and kick off our shoes and boots. Sam took my bag and dropped it onto a couch.
He gazed at me, his breath ragged. I recognized desire when I saw it. Sam walked backward, tugging me down a hall toward, yup, his room.
He flipped on the light switch and a bedside lamp lit the room in a soft glow. The walls were tan, the floor a cream carpet, navy drapes and wood blinds at the window. A large king-sized bed filled most of the space. Two doors led off each side of the room, one I assumed was the bathroom, the other a closet. It was neat. Tidy. The bed made, no dirty laundry tossed on the floor.
“I've had fantasies about being with you.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “Really?” He'd fantasized about me? I never imagined myself to be a vision for someone's fantasy before, and I had to say it was an incredible turn-on. “Were handcuffs ever involved?”
He tugged me up so we were pressed together from chest to toes. “In one of them. I thought I'd discover if you were into kink a little later than after our first kiss.”
I ran my free hand over the soft material of his shirt, finding the top button. “I have to say, I didn't realize I was into kink until our first kiss.” I struggled with the button, not realizing how hard it was with just one hand. “I think you're going to have to help me here.”
“Oh, no. You first.” Sam released his hold on my hand and my arm dangled in the air as he slid the cardigan from my shoulders.
I slipped one arm free. “Um, I think we have a problem.”
We looked at each other, both realizing our predicament at the exact same time. Our clothes, at least one arm's worth, would be stuck on the handcuffs. If we wanted to get naked, which I personally thought was a very good idea, my sweater, shirt and bra—and Sam's shirt, which I was very eager to get off—would be clumped down over the handcuffs. I started giggling.
“I was in a rush anyway,” Sam replied. And that was the last either of us said for quite some time. Sam swallowed my laughter in a searing kiss. I worked frantically at his shirt, but Sam batted my hands away and he tackled it himself, one button pinging off and landing on the other side of the room, our lips still locked. I helped with the little buttons down the front of my blouse, but he only parted the fabric to reveal my lacy bra. He dropped to his knees in front of me, his face perfectly in line for, oh yes!
He tugged the cups of my bra down to uncover my breasts, the snug fabric thrusting me out and right toward him. He put his mouth on a nipple as he worked on the button of my pants.
My jeans were shucked, then he stood to remove his. They joined mine on the floor all the while my hands roamed over his body. His chest was all that I'd imagined, and then some. Broad, solid and hot to the touch beneath my fingertips. A six pack of abs beneath warm skin. A smatteri
ng of dark hair only made him…god, impossibly hotter. My fingers trailed south. And there? Oh YES!
One minute I was looking at Sam's generous endowment that bulged beneath his boxer briefs, the next I was bouncing on his bed and seeing the ceiling. But not for long because Sam joined me by the tug of the handcuffs. All I could see was the look of passion, pleasure, and dare I say, love in his pale eyes?
When his mouth met mine once again, my eyes fluttered closed. Our handcuffed hands clasped together on the bed by the side of my head, our fingers entwined. But happily, Sam only needed one hand to play with my breasts, happily discovering I was really quite sensitive, before moving lower and between my legs.
“Christ, you’re dripping for me.”
I was and he was skilled to have me quickly shouting out my own version of Joy To The World.
“That was number one,” he said, when I was able to catch my breath and focus on him.
One?
Reaching over, he tugged open the drawer of his bedside table and pulled out a string of condoms.
“That’s a lot,” I replied, breathlessly, lifting my head to watch him. My pussy clenched at what they meant. It also clenched because it was aching from being empty. It wanted to be filled so bad.
He winked. “That’s not enough for everything I want to do to you. Might be enough for tonight though.”
For tonight, which meant he planned on doing this again.
With one hand, he got his boxer briefs off, his big cock springing out and aiming straight at me. I licked my lips at the bead of pre-cum at the tip. Tearing a condom from the strip, he looked to me. “I’m going to need your help for this.” He shook our joined wrists.
With our free hands, we worked together—like a three-legged race at camp, but far sexier—to get the condom rolled down his cock. Once it was in place, I took a moment to cup his balls, watch as his hips jerked.
“Emma,” he warned, a second before he pushed me back on the bed and pounced, settling his hips between my parted thighs, the hard length of him pressing against my belly. Brushing the hair back from my face, he asked, “Okay?”