by Christa Wick
He caught me before I could retreat into my house. His hand curved around the back of my neck, the fingers pushing up into my curls as he pulled me toward him. He kissed the corner of my jaw, just a little below my ear. “Pure Hollywood.”
I pressed a palm against his chest and looked away. The gesture came close to the one I’d witnessed with Portia that afternoon. Only I truly am demure. My blush was real. It started somewhere above my knees and ended at the top of my cheeks.
Cupping my elbow, Sam led me to his car. It was a sedan, not much different than the decidedly family car Beau had complained about trading his Mustang in for once Melinda was six months pregnant and couldn’t slide into the sports car’s front seat like she used to.
Seeing the sedan, I realized I didn’t know anything about Sam other than where he worked. He was maybe six years older than me, judging by the laugh lines that were just starting to appear. He could be divorced.
Oh, double Dixie, I swore inside my head. He could be married! Worried, I turned to him as he opened the passenger side door.
“What’s wrong, Amber?” He squeezed my shoulder, his gaze growing concerned.
I looked at the sedan, worried I was about to insult him for the second time that day, but I had to know. “You’re single, right?”
Sam chuckled, his expression relaxing again. “I drive a truck, Hollywood. Single cab, bench seat, with a sticky manual transmission and a bad rear shock.”
Taking my hand, he maneuvered me into the seat, reached across me and fastened my safety belt. Cupping my face, he stared straight into my eyes. “This is my sister’s car. She’s got two rugrats.”
Embarrassed by not trusting him, I lowered my lashes. “I like trucks. My daddy drives one that sounds a lot like yours.”
His thumb brushed across my lower lip. “I’ll remember that for our second date.”
Stunned, I watched him circle the front of the car. Did he really want another date? Triple Dixie -- I’d never had a second date. Most guys decided halfway through the first that being seen in public with me wasn’t worth getting close to Brandon Rice.
Sam folded his long frame into the driver’s seat. Seeing my expression, he quirked a brow at me. “Am I being too optimistic, Hollywood?”
That made me smile and lower my lashes again. I couldn’t remember smiling on any of my other dates. Of course, those dates had all been orchestrated by someone else -- mother, Beau, Melinda…even Bree had arranged one of my dates. My father was the only one that didn’t try to fix me.
“Is that a yes or a no?” One eye on the rear view mirror the other on me, Sam backed out of the drive and onto the street.
“We’ll see.” I gave his shoulder a soft push.
Capturing my hand, he held it against the side of his thigh, his thumb lightly stroking the inside of my wrist. The sedan was new enough to have a bunch of controls on the steering wheel. He pressed one and the CD player started. I recognized the song immediately, even though I hadn’t heard of Etta James before that day.
“Are you being sentimental or just playing dirty?” I teased.
He gave me a quick side glance, his smile all bad boy beneath those dark brows and heavy lashes. “Can’t I be both?”
The possibility hadn’t occurred to me. I liked the idea. I liked it a lot, in fact. Turning coy for maybe the first time in my life, I smiled back at him. “I guess it depends where you come to a stop.”
His smoldering look hit me like a premonition. Or a memory -- it was the same hot gaze I’d seen when he pulled my nipple taut, the hint of teeth pressing at the swollen tip. His right brow had the same slight lift as when he’d looked up from between my parted thighs to tell me we were having dinner together.
Ten minutes later, Sam pulled into the parking area of a steakhouse on Lemmon at Wycliff and released his safety belt. “Nervous, Hollywood?”
I nodded a little too emphatically.
“I should try to put you at ease, I guess.” He rested his palm on my shoulder. His fingers moved in a lazy caress along the back of my neck. “Thing is, you’re so damn sexy when you’re nervous.”
Sam leaned into me, one side of his massive chest pressing against my arm.
“Your mouth quivers.”
He kissed my quivering mouth.
“Your cheeks flush.”
He brushed his lips across my burning cheeks.
“And these…” He ran a finger over the straining point of one nipple. “They get so hard I want to strip you naked so I can suck on them.”
“Dinner?” My squeaky plea didn’t stop his slow caress of my skin. And if he didn’t stop, I had the sinking feeling I’d wind up on the ten o’clock news in handcuffs for having sex in the back seat of his sister’s sedan.
“Damn, baby girl.” He stroked my knee through the fabric of my dress. “Your sexy factor just went up another notch.”
I snorted in my distress. “Yeah, I’m so sexy I’m about to pass out.”
He bit his lip, only marginally concealing his amusement. “We can’t have that.”
I shook my head, agreeing with him.
Throwing me a wink, he released my safety belt. “At least not yet.”
*****
Dinner was both delicious and pure torture. We had sautéed mushrooms as an appetizer. I had asparagus salad and broiled salmon for my meal. Sam had a whole damn cow. Well, almost. He had a twenty-two ounce Kansas City strip steak with the bone in. A little too red for my comfort zone, but the lights at the steakhouse were low enough I didn’t have to look at it.
I wasn’t the only one using the dim lighting to my advantage. Ten minutes after being seated at a circular booth Sam had reserved, I realized why he had requested I wear a dress or skirt.
All the better to tease me with!
Sam could teach a master class in seduction. His hand kept taking discreet trips underneath my skirt. He never ventured higher than halfway up my thigh, but it was more than enough to have me panting and squirming, all the little muscles he was ignoring flexing in their desire to be noticed.
Trying to distract him, I traded questions about his family and ambiguously answered a few about my own. I didn’t dare ask him the question burning a hole in the tip of my tongue, but, by the time dessert rolled around, he broached the subject on his own.
Capturing my chin with a gentle pinch, he stared into my eyes. “You know I’ve only done that once before.”
I chewed at my bottom lip before responding. “You seemed much more experienced.”
I was only half teasing. Certainly I realized he wasn’t talking about the act he had performed, but the surroundings and situation. I just didn’t know if I could believe him.
Sam clarified with a rueful smile. “With a patient, Hollywood. And today is the only time I’ve been glad she couldn’t keep quiet.”
His gaze darkened and he let go of my chin to push the edge of a napkin around. “She was suicidal. Had cancer and a cheating husband divorcing her and trying to take everything.”
“Did you really turn Portia Philips down?”
Another rueful smile flickered across his face. “From the tips of her extensions all the way down to her thousand-dollar pedicure.”
He gave a small shudder as if he’d just thrown back the sheet on a corpse. “I’m surprise she told anyone.”
I returned to chewing at my lip. Portia was two years older than me. She’d been cast in Most Eligible Dallas, but the rumor was her daddy threatened to disinherit her if she went on the show. Before today, I hadn’t encountered a single male that wasn’t related to me who would turn Portia down. But Sam had and, even harder to figure out, acted like he was attracted to me.
He studied me, his brows pinching as he saw me shredding my lower lip. “You don’t believe me?”
“I want to, but I’ve been accused of being a little naïve.”
He gave a little nod, either accepting my reply or agreeing that I was foolishly trusting. He brushed a curl from my cheek, hi
s fingers lingering to stroke my skin. “For the rest of the night, listen to that little voice telling you to trust me.”
“Oh, no.” I shook my head. “It’s the little voice saying not to…everything else…”
Feeling my cheeks start to glow, I snapped my mouth shut and cast my gaze to the side. In over my head already, I didn’t need to wear my heart on my sleeve.
Sam leaned in and nuzzled my ear. “Even better.”
Thirty seconds later, he snagged the waiter for the check. Two minutes after that, we were in the sedan and heading for my house.
The drive home offered a brief respite. The streets were bright and half the vehicles sharing the road were SUVs or full-sized trucks, their drivers and passengers able to peek down at us at will. His hand only rested on my covered thigh, chaste but for the occasional squeeze.
His display of propriety ended the second he parked beneath my carport and killed the engine. A quick flick of his hand and his seat belt was off. I had the feeling he didn’t intend to just walk me to my door.
His palm against my cheek, Sam kissed me. He took his time, teasing the corner of my mouth. He coaxed my lips into parting with a slow slide of his tongue across their seam. His hand moved down my throat, the fingers dipping into the bodice of my dress and tracing the edge of my bustier.
“Invite me in, Amber.”
I answered with a whimper.
His lips found my throat. He sucked at the hollow harboring my pulse then licked a short line up to the lobe of my ear. “You can be more decisive than that, baby.”
Decisive was other people’s forte, not mine. My parents, Beau, Melinda…
His hand delved deeper into my bodice, parting the fabric of my bustier from my skin. Finding the nipple, he gave it a soft pinch as he bit lightly at my jaw. “Invite me in.”
“Would you like some tea?” My lips kept quivering even after I finished the query. My hips had started to move, my round bottom shifting against the seat cushion. Muscles pulled tighter, squeezing my labia together as his mouth moved back down my neck.
“Tea?” Amusement rippled through his voice.
“I don’t have any coffee…we could go get--”
“No,” he laughed and released my seat belt. “I can work with tea.”
Sam came around and opened my door for me, holding my hand for balance as I stepped from the car. He helped me open my front door, too, when my hands proved too shaky to thread the key into the lock.
I have a simple little house, mostly paid for. No garage, just a carport. A single bathroom and two bedrooms, one of which serves as my home office. The kitchen and living room are divided by a breakfast bar and overhead cabinet instead of a wall. No one walking inside would think I come from money. Same goes for Beau’s house. Our father doesn’t tolerate any slackers. We draw regular salaries, same as anyone else doing our job at the company, and most of our shares are held in trust until the day we take more senior positions.
Since there was no grand tour to give, I headed into the kitchen and started filling the kettle. I couldn’t stop my hands from trembling and the water splashed against the side of the sink. Sam came up behind me, put one arm around my waist and took the kettle away.
“Baby, I don’t think you’re safe in the kitchen right now.” He nuzzled my neck and then twirled me until I was pointed in the direction of the breakfast counter. “You park that sweet bottom on one of those stools and let me do this.”
Blushing madly, I obeyed. I directed him to the cupboard where the tea was at, then the one that held my grandmother’s serving set. In between his preparations, he watched me. Not quite a leer, his gaze was suggestive. Sexually Machiavellian if there is such a thing. He had me squirming in under a minute the way he used his eyes to caress my breasts, hips and legs.
“I’m starting to think you’re incorrigible, Samuel Pepin.”
“I can’t help it if I love looking at you, Hollywood.” His cheeks actually turned pink beneath his tan at the admission. “Makes me hungry watching your nipples pucker and that sweet, round ass wiggle as you wonder just what I’m going to do to you.”
I looked away, a shiver running through my body. I had been wondering if his hands would soon follow the path his eyes were taking, just how far he wanted to take things tonight and how far I would let him go.
Was it wrong to let him go all the way? Too soon? Would I ever see him again if I let him take my virginity tonight? Would I see him if I did?
Feeling his hand on my hip, I gave a little jump. I hadn’t sensed him crossing the room.
He turned my face so I was looking at him. “I’m not sure I like what you’re thinking, Hollywood.”
I stared down at the sliver of space between us. “What am I thinking?”
“Big questions is my guess.” He wrapped one of my naturally tight curls around the tip of his index finger. “Serious questions. You want to ask them out loud?”
I immediately shook my head. He didn’t need a front row view of my insecurities.
“Mmmm…Let’s start with the simple questions, then.” He arranged the curl he had toyed with behind my ear. His lips touched my cheek. “Do you want me to touch you?”
That was an easy yes, my reaction so prompt I felt his mouth spread in a smile against my skin. “Good, because--”
The kettle started whistling, drawing him away from me. I started to rise and follow him, but he gestured for me to go into the front room. I sat down on the couch, my legs tucked to the side. The skirt of my dress fell above my knee from the position. I went to adjust it and stopped.
Sam had already seen a lot more than my knee and it was just the two of us. I brought my knees a little higher up on the cushion and let the fabric of the skirt drape behind the back of my lower thigh. I studied the effect for a second and then looked toward the kitchen area to see Sam lift the serving tray.
With his long, muscled legs, it didn’t take him very long to reach me. He placed the tray on the table. Lifting the lid from the sugar server, he raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Three cubes,” I answered.
He lowered three cubes into the cup and slowly stirred the tea, his gaze once again freely roaming my body. He landed, at last, on my exposed knee and a smile crept up the right side of his face. I immediately moved to lower the hem.
“No you don’t, Hollywood.” Placing the spoon on the tray, he brushed the hem of my dress a little higher up my thigh. Returning to my tea, he lifted the small cream jug.
“Just a tip,” I whispered, my throat suddenly dry.
He poured the cream in, gave the tea another stir and then started to hand the cup to me. I reached for it, but he pulled back.
Sam looked at the shake still infecting my hands. “Can you promise me you’re not going to burn yourself?”
Closing my eyes, I tried to calm my nerves. It was ridiculous the way I was shaking. A trembling virgin -- so very cliché, but absolutely true. I opened my eyes again, touched by the genuine concern that shaped his face.
“I can’t promise.”
Putting the cup back on the tray, he nodded. “We’ll have tea later. Right now, it’s time for cream and cake.”
“Cake?” I wrinkled my brow at him.
Another nod as he advanced on me. “Yes, baby. I love cake.”
His hands curled around my shoulders and exerted a gentle pressure, pushing me into the side pillows. When I was on my back, his hand wrapped around the calf of my inside leg and lifted it onto the couch as he slid onto his knees.
Pinching the hem of my dress, he slowly peeled it up the length of my thighs. “And, boy, do I love cream. Your cream, Amber.”
“I…we…uhm…” I tried to scoot up the couch, away from his fast descending lips.
“Remember, baby, simple stuff first.” His hands gripped my hips, stopping my retreat. “You want me to touch you.”
Yes, yes, yes! I took a shuddering breath in. I wanted him to do what he’d done at the wellness center. I wa
nted him in me, too. I wanted him to hold me, take me. I wanted to hear the rough whisper of his voice as he came with me.
“I do.” I agreed.
His eyes closed, his expression serene as he brushed a bristly cheek against the inside of my thigh. When he looked back up, I felt the heat of his gaze searing me. He palmed my mound, gave it a few rhythmic squeezes and then he thumbed the gusset of my panties to the side.
I knew I already was very wet. My juices had been flowing most of the evening. All it took was the briefest caress or contemplative look from Sam and I got all moist.
Sam stood and reached his hands out to me. “Baby, I want you in your bed.”
Holding his hands for support, I rose. My legs were trembling now, the heels suddenly dangerous. He wrapped his arm around my waist, steadying me. It took a full minute to get down my short hall. He pushed me up against the wall at one point, his hands covering my breasts. He mashed them, mauled them, his mouth possessing mine as the hard line of his erection pressed against my stomach.
Still in the hall, he stripped my dress from me. Sinking to his knees again, he pulled the waist band of the panties down to the top of my thigh. He nosed the fur covering my sex and then his tongue pushed through the silky strands to run a line up my clit. He pulled the panties down slowly, a lick for each inch he lowered them. My hips took up a slow grind.
Sam had me step out of the panties and then part my legs. He spread my labia, his teeth grazing my clit before he stood up and led me the rest of the way into my bedroom with only my heels and bustier on me.
Pushing open the door, I groaned internally. The room was clearly no man’s land. I had the same canopied double bed I’d slept in as a little girl. A duvet of white eyelet with pastel colored ribbons threaded through it covered the mattress. Lace fringed pillows rested against a headboard of pale tulipwood. More lace wrapped around the four posts that held the canopy up.
I lived in a Disney kind of bedroom -- guilty as charged.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
Maneuvering me toward the bed, he gave a soft chuckle. “Don’t be, baby.”