by Amber Scott
She carefully helped him undress, mindful that he must be in pain. Whatever she could do to take away that pain, she would. More than one idea came to mind.
Samantha grinned wickedly against Jesse's mouth. He opened his eyes and met her gaze. She pulled away, moved him onto his back, and lowered herself to his ready erection.
His eyes widened, his mouth parted, and his head fell back. Pride and daring called her to action. He asked the question with the look in his eyes. Samantha smiled a slow, sexy smile and winked.
Jesse laughed low and throaty. The sound of it filled her up and pushed her to be even bolder. She grasped the length of him. He was so big.
Well, not so big he might tear her apart but large enough to make her wonder how her body could accommodate him. How her mouth could. She'd begun the endeavor, and she would see it through.
This was her last chance to become forever unforgettable. She intended to take it.
As she pulled up his cock and slowly licked a circle over the swollen tip, she watched his face. Jesse's eyes begged her, his pupils dilating when she dragged her tongue over the silky-smooth surface. She licked the length of him, and her hand held slick wetness, could easily slide up and down. She did. Up. Down. He closed his eyes.
She stopped. He opened them. She continued.
Taking the tip into her mouth, she moaned, seeing the passion in his eyes again. His hips rose up; his breathing grew ragged.
She twirled her tongue, suckled his flesh, letting the sounds of her mouth fill the room along with his heavy breathing. He groaned, his eyes shutting and slamming back open.
She almost giggled and held it back. That wouldn't have been sexy. Instead, she quirked her eyebrows and moaned again, slowly closing her eyes. Her hand stroked up and down his length, rotating and pressing until she felt a low hum within him.
When she stopped, his face looked tortured with want; his gaze pleaded with her for more. More contact, more Heaven. Not just the physical. She could see he longed to make it last.
It seemed each time she met him, she was trying to make it last forever. Would it have been the same between them if they hadn't savored each other so intensely? She would never know.
She would have only memories. The scent of him, the feel of his male skin, rough yet smooth under her fingertips. The way he looked at her, as if he worshipped her.
No man would ever compare with him, and that was okay. She didn't want any to. If she couldn't have him, she didn't want anyone. She realized then, looking up at him as he pulled her close and their bodies slid against each other, that she really didn't need anyone else.
Millions of couples probably felt love that didn't come as close as perfect to this. She did. Maybe it was God's way of balancing things. She wouldn't get years, but her hours were more brilliant than most people's years.
"You nearly undid me, Sammie,” Jesse said, his voice thick and hard.
Samantha smiled. She loved it when he called her Sammie. She was his Sammie. Her dad had given her this. This is what her inheritance really was, and for it, she was grateful. Her father really did love her deeply, despite his seeming inability to show her.
Jesse cupped her face and brought her mouth to his, his breath hot and scented with mint. She breathed it in and slanted her mouth against his.
He parted her thighs and trailed a finger up to where she needed to feel it. He slipped the finger into her slick folds, lovingly, tentatively. It felt so exquisite, so wondrous, her pussy could have purred. Each time he touched her, her body discovered new heights of pleasure. She could hardly believe such heights existed and reaffirmed what she already knew.
She and Jesse got diamonds where others had gold. The quality of the exquisite experiences they'd had together made up for the quantity.
What would she do if she could stay with him like this ... forever? What would she give up? Anything. Everything.
Staying wasn't possible. She had no one to make that bargain with and had to trust in the fate that had brought him to her or, more precisely, her to him. She had to have faith in events and decisions beyond her control.
As he pushed, twirled, caressed her inner workings, Samantha stroked him. The soft, gentle pleasure soon became a torrent of need. She let herself fall into the current and be swept into pure sensation.
She held him; she touched him. Her mouth devoured his taste. She pushed and pulled into the vortex, letting go of the past and the future and all her fears. He loved her. She could feel it, see it in every nuance of his face as his mastery ruled her.
He slipped another finger into her and pressed the heel of his palm to her clitoris. She held his cock tighter, moaning into his kiss. He moved her hand away.
"You can't do that, Sammie, or it'll be over before we've begun. Your touch feels too damned good."
She smiled against his lips and obeyed his command, moving her hand to his shoulder, relishing the tight muscles’ contour. He was like a sculpture. Better.
Jesse pulled his fingers free, and she immediately mourned the loss. She pouted and moved her body after his retreating hand.
"Uh-uh,” he said in that low, sexy, breathy voice she swore could melt butter in winter. “My turn."
He moved her flat onto her back and lowered himself to nestle between her legs. Oh, God, but he looked good there, and she knew he would deliver on the promise in his eyes. He spread her open with his thumbs and his tongue began a circular pattern ... outward and moving in. He wasn't even there yet, and an inferno lit, growing where she anticipated him going. She pressed her head back and her hips up. She didn't want to wait. She needed to feel it now, because her body was screaming for its explosion.
He stopped. Samantha looked at him. He continued with a devilish smile. Tit for tat. That was fine.
As he delved back into her hot folds, she watched, let him pull her legs apart despite the inclination to wrap them around his head. She pulled at the sheets and rose, chased his tongue, dying for him slip into her core and lap the flames to further depths.
He finally complied, with a pleasure so serious and sudden that her climax tore down her guard, and she leapt into it. As she rode his sweet tongue, her eyes closed. His hot mouth and teeth grazed her pussy in the most erotic way. He didn't pull away but pressed onward and drank her juices, the spasms rocking out of her.
As the last quake shuddered out, Jesse rose from her apex and climbed up her body with kisses. His face was wet and sticky, and when he kissed her mouth, she could taste herself, smell the scent of her satisfaction on his lips.
She licked his chin, and he groaned, positioning himself over her. Without delay, he entered her steadily, and a new flame sparked from the fire he'd nearly put out. His hard cock was like fresh kindling. Her climax made each stroke all the more blissful.
Jesse's eyes glowed, greener than grass on a summer day, and they spoke to her soul with possessive adoration. He would claim her. He would make her his for all time. Every thrust proved her interpretation accurate.
She savored the feeling of being undeniably taken. She was his. Spoiled for any other. Ruined yet secured, cherished, freed. All at once. Her body loved it. Within moments, another ring of ecstasy circled her walls.
As he watched her, his eyes glistened and remained fierce with determination. Within all that intensity, Samantha glimpsed a sheen of vulnerability. It broke her heart at his trying not to cry.
He didn't want to say goodbye?
Not that she hadn't realized it before, but seeing it there on his face touched her so truly and clearly. Never had she been so wanted in every way.
Wanted. In the most pure and basic and primal of ways.
She felt the same way.
Jesse kissed her again, nibbling her lips, stoking the fire. Another climax sliced through her pussy, shooting starbursts and sparks of brilliant pleasure through her veins.
His cock throbbed in her. His eyes closed. He held his breath and arched his back, plummeting as deep as his shaft would
reach. Though almost hurtful, she didn't pull back, fascinated by what she did to him, and the waves of what he did to her washed down.
If they could have flown, they would have in that perfection. They would rise to Heaven itself and float back down to earth like a leaf on a warm breeze.
Jesse opened his eyes. They were wet. He bent his head, kissed her, and a tear slid down against their cheeks.
"I love you, too, Sammie. I really do."
Samantha opened her mouth but nothing came out. Her throat seemed unable to move the words forth. Her vision grew fuzzy in an all-too-familiar way. Her mind screamed against it, but she knew. It was inevitable.
She enclosed her limbs around his as tightly as if her life depended on it. In a way, her life did. As the blackness shrouded his face, she closed her eyes.
Her mind told Jesse goodbye, and darkness swallowed her up.
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Chapter Twenty
"Ms. Spencer, I will say this one more time, and only one more time,” Charles said. “Where is Samantha?” The finger he pointed at her shook as much as his voice.
The woman's eyes couldn't get any wider, or so he thought, but when her gaze darted from his face to his finger and back again, they did. She didn't answer him. She tried to. Her mouth moved, squeaks of noise escaped her but not one, single, intelligible word.
He was going to have to hit her. He'd already phoned the police, and they were taking their sweet time as always. Of course, he'd found no blood and no body, but Samantha was gone. Without a fucking trace.
"Answer me,” he shouted. He didn't want to hit her but raised up his hand, ready to backhand her for all he was worth. Aim.
"Please, don't,” she finally said. “She could be anywhere. We just have to look. Please. I swear I wouldn't hurt a hair on her head."
Charles slowly lowered his hand. “Then get up and look. Now!"
She rose from her half-lying, half-sit on the sofa where he'd awakened her from a heavy sleep not five minutes earlier. Charles hadn't thought he was dreaming. He didn't dream in color for one thing, and he was far too drunk to sleep. The spinning room had made Samantha's form blur, but he was certain she was there, and then she was gone. He'd risen and looked for her, found no sign, puked, and was now ready for this big-haired woman to stop jerking him around and find his friend.
He had three people in this world he gave a shit about, who in turn gave a shit about him, and Samantha was one of them. If he had to rank them, she might even be the first of the three. He didn't fool himself into thinking he ranked as well with her, but he didn't care.
He cared only about knowing she was safe and the world was right again. Completely screwed up and full of nasty, self-serving, unconscionable idiots, but the same.
Carla rose, looked at him warily, and began to search each room of her small upstairs apartment.
"She could be anywhere,” Carla said. “I fell asleep so ... is her car gone?"
Charles stayed close. “No. Her car was the first thing I looked for. I've called for her. She's not here. I know it."
"Well, if she's gone, I can't help you."
Charles took hold of one of Carla's shoulders and spun her around, mindless of her hands coming up defensively. “I called the police. They'll be here any moment. So you'd better find her. Now."
Carla backed up a step, shaking her head. Her lips parted then closed. But she nodded. “Don't worry. She'll turn up. I promise."
He followed her again, into the kitchen. “She's not in the cupboards,” he said when she began to rummage through them. “And I don't want another drink."
She shot him a look telling him how little she appreciated his heavy sarcasm and put her hands on her hips. “This is worse than you thought,” she said.
"What do you mean?” The tremble in his voice was his heartbeat; he was sure of it, because his heart jumped up his throat.
Carla slumped into a chair, shaking her head. “I told her not to do it. You have to believe me. I warned her she would get hurt."
A chill ran through Charles's heart. He sat down stiffly. He didn't want to know. “What did you warn her about?"
* * * *
Jesse said the words, and a part of himself tore apart. Not from the stab in his ribs or the burn of his cuts. He was losing her. He knew it before he finished speaking. Maybe even before he spoke at all.
The breath knocked out of his body, he closed his eyes against the pain. Enormous agony shot through every inch of him, like he'd been drawn and quartered. He opened his mouth to scream, but the world swam away and sucked him along into an abyss.
When consciousness seeped back in, the ache through his body was almost unbearable. Sharp pains ran across his back, and a heavy weight on his chest made it difficult to breathe.
He groaned, clenching his teeth.
Slowly, he opened his eyes, one thought permeating his hurt. Sammie was gone.
Death itself had come to drag him into Hell by the skin on his back. When he finally forced his eyes to open, his vision was blurry and dark.
Breathing in a deep gulp of air, he tried to move. Something was on him. Someone. Jesse moved his hands to the person who could only be Sammie. As he touched a mass of hair, his heart began soared. Through the dark, forms materialized.
It was her. She hadn't left him, yet.
He thanked God and held her, kissing the top of her head. He must have passed out. Never mind embarrassing, if Mick had done him so badly, he'd better see the doctor fast. Hell, Mick. He'd forgotten about the two dead brothers.
He had to get the local sheriff, even if he put a rope around his own neck.
"Sammie,” he said. She must have fallen asleep on him. Part of him hated to disturb her, but he didn't have much choice. The longer those two bodies remained here, the worse his situation would get, the tighter the noose would get.
Maybe he would let the brothers stay were they lay and disappear. He could leave a note for Ginny or get word to her somehow.
"Sammie,” he said, thinking her asleep. “Sammie, wake up."
He moved to shake her and realized they were nude, still entangled (fully) from their lovemaking, and no longer in his bed.
Samantha lifted her head and blinked. “What happened? Did I faint again?"
"I don't know.” His voice sounded raspy, his throat dry, and his muscles screamed when she moved to sit up. He shut his eyes and groaned. His ribs pressed like they might cave in on his lungs. As heat from the pain flushed his skin, a sheen of sweat broke across it. When he lifted his hands to stop her from moving, they shook.
Before he could stop her, she rolled to her side and bent over him. “Jesse, you're hurt. Oh, God, what have I done?"
"Nothing,” he grunted. “Mick did this. Not you."
She didn't seem to hear, kept repeating the same words over and over. “Oh, no, what have I done?"
Another wave of hot pain racked him, and he clenched his teeth. He was being turned inside out, twisted and turned. Lying still, he counted and breathed, waiting for it to ebb.
Samantha wiped his brow and whispered, “It'll be all right, Jesse. I promise. This is all my fault, but I promise, you won't regret coming with me. I just have to figure out where we landed."
She wasn't making much sense, which was fine, since he couldn't really listen. He had enough trouble keeping from moaning and writhing. Somehow he sensed moving would only make it worse.
"I think I see where we are. Don't move. I'll be right back. I promise."
He barely nodded his head and regretted it immediately. Pain clawed through his temples. Jesse gasped. This was so much worse than before. Not even Mick's meaty fists pummeling his rib cage over and over again, hearing each rib crack under the repeated blows, compared to this. This pain seemed deeper, sharper, like broken glass scraping his flesh away from his bones.
Samantha's soft steps faded, and in the distance he heard her knocking. The pain blinded him from most other thoughts, but som
ewhere, the idea penetrated his fog that he wasn't in his home or anywhere near it.
Her words sunk in. Come with her.
Had she managed to rip him forward through time?
No. Far more likely he'd lost consciousness from the beating and subsequent relief. Jesse moaned. Another wave of shards racked him, prickling and tearing down his legs, through his torso, knocking into his head.
Wherever she was, he wanted her to come back. He needed a doctor. She would have to find one. He had to tell her. He opened his mouth, his lips too sticky to say her name.
"Where in God's name have you been—where are your clothes?” A voice he didn't recognize. A man's voice. Christ, someone found them.
"Not now,” Samantha said. “You have to come with me. He's badly hurt. Please, Charles. Please."
The steps drew near. She was naked. Hell, he was naked. He didn't care except for he couldn't protect her.
He still couldn't move, but the pain seemed to be receding. Samantha reached his side, caressed his brow. “Doctor,” Jesse managed to say.
"Yes, I promise, Jesse. I'll get you a doctor. First, we have to move you."
We? The man she was speaking to. The man she stood naked before. Jesse would kill him if he hurt her, touched her. Somehow he'd manage it.
The man grabbed his shoulders, while Sammie took his feet.
"Where's Carla?” Sammie asked.
The man shrugged, jostling Jesse. Another cramp tore through him, making him exhale sharply and inhale in a hiss.
"Be careful, damn it!"
"Sorry,” the man said. “So is this your mystery man? Nicely proportioned at least."
"Charles, not now, please,” Sammie said.
He could tell she was gritting her teeth and having no easy time of carrying her end of his limp limbs.
What in the hell had happened to him? He had a feeling he was about to find out. Whatever doubts remained about the lunatic claims his Sammie had made would soon be erased from his mind.
It didn't seem possible. Him, limp, in excruciating pain, being hauled up a slope of something definitely not grass or dirt, in some smelly, noisy place he couldn't open his eyes to see.