The truth is it doesn't matter who he means. His father, Robin, they're all the same. Assholes who make themselves feel more powerful by hurting other, more vulnerable, people.
"Sam you're nothing like him. So you got pissed off and wanted to hit someone? That happens to everyone. You didn't do it," I remind him again.
"But, I wanted to," he repeats. I cover the rest of the space that separates us. I reach up and caress his jaw, feeling the soft scratch of his stubble, and after another moment he visibly calms.
"But you didn't," I say again. "Violence is a choice. Like survival, remember? Everyone has those impulses when they get angry, just like we have the impulse to give up when we're, you know, hurting. You made the right choice, Sam. You're a good man. Nothing like him," I assure him intently. "I know the difference, Sam, trust me," I add more softly. I hate that he's beating himself up over something he stopped himself from doing.
He presses my hand more firmly to his cheek and turns into my touch before planting a soft kiss on my palm. His other hand brushes up the line of my jaw, before his fingers comb through my beach-messed hair. "I'm sorry I overreacted."
I shake my head. "Don't apologize to me. You didn't do anything to me. You were just being protective, and honestly, I'm grateful. For a long time I needed that, and I didn't have it. But Dave isn't a threat to either of us, you know that."
Sam nods. "I know. You're right. Of course you're right."
"It's my fault - for dumping all my crap on you earlier. It rattled you, I'm sorry. I'm so used to it that I forget how crazy it all was and-"
"Stop it, Ror. Never be sorry for talking to me. I want you to talk to me," he insists, his hand still running tenderly through my hair as he gazes intently down at me. God, he's beautiful. His midnight blues full of emotion, his lips slightly parted. It's impossible for me to keep my focus, he's just too gorgeous for his own good. Or for mine.
"And I want you... to kiss me," I whisper.
And he does.
My God, he does. This is not a sweet, gentle kiss. This is a hungry, all-consuming kiss. It's like he's been holding back all along, and now some hold has been broken. His hands sift through my hair, down the back of my neck and up and down my back, his thumbs brushing over my bare midriff.
His tongue pushes its way into my mouth and I welcome it, brazenly stroking it with my own. Our lips mash together in a desperate union - it's like we're trying to climb inside one another - and I simply cannot get enough of this man. I tug on his slightly overlong hair, loving the feel of my fingers running through the silky thickness of it. Sam groans in response - he loves it too.
His hands suddenly leave my back and grab the backs of my thighs and lift, lining our bodies up in the perfect way as he guides my legs around him. I lock my ankles at the small of his back, and kiss him back with equal fervor.
I'm somewhat aware that we're moving through the suite and Sam swings the bedroom door open so hard it slams against the opposite wall. I have no fear, I'm equally as impatient right now. I brace myself to be thrown onto the bed, but Sam doesn't do that. Instead, he gently lays me down on my back, completely out of synch with the intensity of the way he kisses me. I grasp blindly for the hem of his tank top and tug it over his head. He pulls back to assist me, breathing heavily.
"You sure about this, Ror?" he asks softly.
I nod adamantly. I've never been so sure of anything in my life. My body is on fire. The desire that has been simmering inside me is flaming now, and I've never felt so desperate, so wanton, and so unabashed.
"You know what to say if you change your mind?"
I nod again.
"Say it. Say the word," he demands, his hands caressing up my sides and over my stomach, as my chest rises and falls dramatically with my accelerated breathing.
"Calculus," I breathe.
Sam smiles approvingly, his eyes hooded and shrouded in lust. He takes a moment to gaze down at me like I'm a delectable feast he is dying to consume, and then, as if he couldn't possibly wait a second longer, he resumes his kiss. His lips brush across my jaw and start working on my neck.
"Oh, God," I exhale. I feel his grin against my skin.
"Just so you know," he whispers right into my ear, "'stop', 'no', or any other variant will also work. Any time, no matter what, okay baby?"
I sigh amorously. Only for me would it be such a incredible turn-on to be reminded that I can tell him to stop.
But I have no intention of doing that.
And that endearment. Baby. He's never called me that before. No one has. And, God, do I want to be his baby.
Sam starts kissing across my collarbone, and his hands start roving over my breasts and squeezing gently.
"I think you wore this bathing suit to torment me," he growls, reaching around back to pull on the knot. "To punish me for stopping it last night."
I laugh, and he pulls away the bandeau top and tosses it. His lips whisper kisses down my sternum and between my breasts, before taking one into his mouth and sucking lightly. My head rolls back and my eyes close.
I have no control over the moan that rips from my lips. This never felt good when Robin did it. When he forced me to let him do it. But, God, does it feel good now. Like my chest has some secret connection right to the core of me. I open my eyes to find Sam watching me intently, cataloging my every reaction. I gasp when his hand pushes between my legs, over my shorts.
Oh, God.
My hips move in rhythm with his hand, as if they have a mind of their own. His other hand unfastens the button and pulls down the zipper. And then his hand is gone and I make a whining sound at the loss. Sam smirks as he slowly, torturously, peels off my shorts, and I'm now naked except for my swimsuit bottoms.
"So beautiful," Sam breathes as his gaze rakes my body. He bends and presses his lips to my stomach.
Holy shit.
My back arches all on its own, toward his mouth. He kisses the top of my scar.
"You have no idea how much I've thought about this, baby." I feel his warm breath against my skin and it's somehow just as erotic as his touch.
"Oh God, Sam, please," I beg, and I've no idea for what.
I'm practically writhing, all sensation concentrated on the nerves between my legs, where I've never wanted anyone, but where I now want him desperately. I never knew I could feel this way, this needy. I'm aching, and I know Sam can fix it, give me what I need, even though I don't exactly know what that is.
Suddenly he pulls back - not far, just enough so that he's level with my face. He looks bemused, as if he's considering something.
"Rory... you've had an orgasm before, right?" he asks gently.
I blink at him, eyes wide, mortified.
"He ever make you come? Before it got bad, I mean? You ever make yourself come?" His tone is soft and sweet, as if he's trying not to embarrass me, but I'm afraid right now that is impossible.
"I... I'm not sure," I whisper. Sam just stares at me for a beat before I detect what is undoubtedly a mischievous gleam in his eye.
"Oh, baby, if you're not sure, then you haven't, trust me," he informs me.
I don't know what to say, so I say nothing. Sam kisses me hungrily on the mouth with renewed urgency, and then drags his lips back down my neck, licking and sucking as he goes. He peels my bathing suit bottoms down my legs and then tosses them aside.
He looks me up and down. "Fucking beautiful," he whispers appreciatively. He shoves his board shorts down and tosses them with the rest of our discarded clothing until we are both completely nude. Now it's my turn to check him out, and God, he's the beautiful one. He's all sun-kissed rippling muscles, and they're as tense with desire as mine are.
Every inch of him is perfect. I want him inside me. I've never wanted that. Ever. And, I realize, he's bigger than Robin, both in length and girth, and I know how much that would piss Robin off to know, and the thought pleases me deeply. I let out a giggle before I can stop myself and Sam pauses his reverential kissing of my neck and collarbone.<
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"You know, baby girl, laughter isn't exactly what a guy wants to hear when a girl sees him naked for the first time," he teases.
I laugh again. "I'm sorry..." This is all so strange for me. Sex was always something that was done to me, not something I did with someone.
"What is it, Ror? Come on, we're naked, it's definitely not time to get all shy on me," he urges, and I laugh again.
"It's just that... you're... so much bigger than him," I explain, not sure if what I'm saying is appropriate. Sam's eyes widen in surprise, and then he grins wickedly.
"Now that is exactly what a man wants to hear," he murmurs and resumes the work of his mouth.
He kisses his way down between my breasts, dipping his tongue into my navel, and I moan again. He kisses down my scar.
"You're fucking perfect," he growls, and his lips move to the inside of my thighs. I'm idly thankful that I waxed for this vacation.
"Sam..." His name comes out as a plea, and again, I'm sure he knows what it is that I need right now more than I do.
"You trust me, baby?" he asks, looking up at me from between my legs. I nod desperately, and he kisses me there.
A hot, wet, open-mouthed kiss.
"Sam!" I cry out, and he starts to concentrate his tongue in one sensitive spot before slowly pushing two fingers inside me and moving them around in a circular motion. I grind my hips against him, out of my mind with need.
"Fuck, Ror, you are so fucking sweet," he growls against me.
I shoot off like a rocket, my head thrown back and mouth open, mind-numbing pleasure radiating from where he touches me throughout my entire body. I'm certain I see stars and I arch my back mindlessly and moan shamelessly while Sam's motion slows, but doesn't stop. I gasp for air as if I've just run a marathon. Holy fuck, is that what I've been missing?
Now I know what he meant. You can't be unsure about that.
I feel the absence of his fingers, and his mouth, and when my eyes finally open, Sam is hovering over me, gazing down at me with his weight on his elbow, our bodies aligned. I feel his fingers grazing tenderly over my stomach.
"Hi," I finally manage. Sam offers me a smug grin. I don't blame him. He has every right to feel smug after what he just did to me.
"Hi," he replies before feverishly taking my mouth.
His body comes down over mine and I feel his desire press against me. I wrap my legs around him and pull him harder against me and Sam groans, but pulls away as if he's still hesitant.
"We can wait, Ror. I can do that again, if you like," he offers with a cocky smirk. Oh, God would I like him to do that again. And again. But no, it's not enough, that's not all I want right now, not by a long shot.
"No, Sam. I want you," I whisper breathily, and I grind my hips against his.
He lets out an amorous grunt and his head flies back. "Fuck." When his eyes come back to mine, he's concerned, like he's waging some internal war. But I don't want his concern, not right now.
"Sam, if I didn't want to be here with you right now, I wouldn't be here with you, okay?" I insist. I can see him considering me, feel him weighing his desire against concern over the effects of Robin's violence. "Please, I need you, Sam. Inside me."
His eyes slam closed. "God, Ror, if you're going to say things like that, I'm barely going to make it inside you, baby," he growls.
"Well then don't make me ask again. Are you really going to make me beg you after last night? You know I have more bathing suits like that one to torture you with," I tease, though I most certainly do not. But I can always borrow one from Carl.
Sam jumps off the bed and my eyes follow him to the drawer in the nightstand. He retrieves a condom packet.
It doesn't make sense, but I don't want him to wear one. I don't want anything between us. I need him to wash away every time Robin took me without my permission and, irrationally, I'm not sure I'd feel the same way if he did it with a condom on.
"I'm on the pill," I murmur. Sam freezes, and eyes me warily. "And they, um, tested me in the hospital. After... you know. I've never been with anyone else."
"I trust you, Rory," he replies simply. "And just so you know, I've never not worn a condom. Not once."
I nod. When he doesn't make a move, I grab the packet out of his hand and toss it to the floor. I see fire flash in his eyes and he's immediately back on top of me kissing me fervently.
He positions himself, and though I know it isn't true, part of me feels as if it's my first time. It is the first time I've ever invited this, the first time I've ever asked a man to take me this way, and it's a detail that is very meaningful to me. Sam pulls his face away just a few inches to meet my eyes, and I see a question in his gaze, he's asking my permission one more time. I give it wordlessly.
I love you.
I want to say the words, but I know I can't. I know I probably never will. I have no business even thinking them.
Sam watches me intently as he slowly enters me. I sigh at the instant jolt of pleasure, the incredible sensation of being filled by him. I was a little nervous that it would be painful. Sam is significantly better endowed than Robin, but I understand now it always hurt with Robin because that was what he wanted.
Sam continues to move forward and I realize that he still isn't even all the way inside me. He's holding back, afraid to push me too far too quickly. He's watching for my every reaction and I lift my hips to encourage him. Sam groans deep in his throat as he slides home. Figuratively, and somehow, also literally - because with him inside me, it feels as if this is where he is supposed to be. Home.
With him fully sheathed inside me, he stops to allow me to acclimate to his welcome invasion. I'm panting, and even just coming off of my first ever orgasm, I'm desperate for him once again. He has this incredible way of igniting every ounce of desire and passion I might possess with only a look, and right now he's doing a hell of a lot more than looking at me.
"You okay, baby?" he asks huskily. I lift my hips again, needing more.
"God, yes, Sam. Please, move," I beg.
Sam tentatively rears back, and then surges once again. We moan together. It feels incredible. I never knew it could feel like this and I relish it. Being as connected to him physically as I feel emotionally. Even if I know it's mostly one sided, I do know he cares for me. And right now, I'll take what I can get from him. I know how screwed up I am and I know this is likely the closest I'll ever get to real love.
Sam begins a rhythm. It's gentle in some ways and yet completely possessive in others, and I tentatively begin to raise my hips to meet his thrusts. He kisses me fervently, passion emanating from everywhere we connect. I tighten my thighs around him. He's so deep, and I can't help but think I want to stay this way forever.
"You feel so fucking good, Ror. So tight, baby. Fucking God," he says breathily, his voice sultry, laced with desire. His rhythm picks up and I can feel he's starting to lose his control. And that is exactly what I want. Sam as lost to me as I am to him.
I moan his name, my voice matching his, barely recognizable. My hands delve into his hair, tugging roughly. Vaguely I worry I might be hurting him, but I have little control over anything my body is doing right now. I have completely submitted to him and to my own body, which somehow knows exactly what to do.
I close my eyes and succumb to the sensations. To the grind of his hips against mine, to the feel of him filling me completely, of his mouth on mine, on the skin of my throat.
I feel his lips leave me, but the rest of him doesn't stop, and I revel in it.
"Look at me, baby," he whispers.
My eyes pop open and I'm looking into his beautiful midnight blues, hooded and glazed with lust, just barely inches from mine, our faces so close that our noses touch with each rock of our hips.
Robin never looked at me this way. His face was always buried in my neck or chest, and my eyes were always clenched shut, my mind elsewhere, focusing every effort on reliving some other memory, in some faraway time and place. Except for the l
ast time when he intently watched every ounce of terror and helplessness etched on my face, seeming to relish it.
But with Sam, I'm right here, right now, and I know he's right here with me, savoring this moment.
We're both practically gasping now, our breath mixing together, and it's incredibly intimate. With the emotion in his eyes, I allow myself to pretend that he could love me, too. That this is more than just sex to him. Because I know that I'm making love, and it's the first time I've ever done that.
My fingers clutch his back desperately, holding him down to me, needing to feel every bit of his weight pressing me into the mattress.
I never thought I could want this. Any aspect of it. Not after Robin.
But I more than want this. Him. I crave it, and I'm relishing every moment of it.
"You're so fucking beautiful, Rory," Sam breathes between his sexy groans and grunts... and muttered expletives. I feel waves of pleasure now with his every thrust, and I can barely form a coherent thought as I feel my climax building once again. "Baby..."
"Oh my God, Sam." I'm going to come again. I need to. It's almost painful how badly I need to - but it's a good kind of pain, one that precedes only the most mind blowing pleasure. I moan his name, and make other carnal sounds I can't even describe, but I have no way of helping it. I'm lost to him in every way imaginable.
Sam kisses me again deeply, and I feel him shift, his hands sliding under my backside and lifting. The angle changes and he dives impossibly deeper inside me.
It's all I can take.
I cry out what is meant to be his name, but I'm sure sounds more like some animal's mating call as I explode around him, exponentially more intensely than before. My eyes flutter closed and my limbs tighten around him, holding him to me, in me, in a vise-like grip, my nails unconsciously raking his back. I scream, completely out of control of my body and voice as I ride each wave of insane pleasure, which seem to go on and on as time is somehow suspended.
"Fuck! Rory," Sam groans, his voice a breathy rumble, as he thrusts just twice more, hard and fast into me, before following me into oblivion.
When I return back to earth, Sam is dead weight on top of me, both of us gasping for air. He nuzzles my shoulder softly as I trace the lines of his back, still loving the feel of him on top of me. I forcibly push down any feelings of embarrassment at my loss of control, at my shameless moans and other noises, and at the carnal scream of his name.
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