Her mouth opened into a silent scream, her eyes were tightly shut, and she thrust her chest forward. Never one to let an opportunity pass, Colt slid aside one of the straps of her dress and leaned into her, to capture an exposed nipple. That was it. Sam’s silent scream was silent no more.
As she came down from her high, he kept his hand where it was, feeling her body squeezing and releasing his fingers, as if keeping time with the rhythmic beat of her heart. His other hand up was under her dress, and clutching her ass, holding her against him. Finally, Sam eased herself off his hand and exhaled, giving a little grimace. Letting her head fall forward she rested her forehead in the space between his neck and shoulder and was, for a few moments, very still. She didn’t speak, so Colt, as well, said nothing.
Just as he thought she might be going to sleep—some women always did, directly after they came—he felt her tongue on his neck, tracing a slow, winding pattern; and then her lips, gently nipped at his flesh.
“Let me take care of you now,” Sam said, her voice breathy and hoarse.
Colt’s dick, already rock-hard, seemed to grow even harder at the sound of those words.
Sam was still doing her thing at his neck, at the same time reaching for the hem of his shirt, pulling it upward. When it was up at his arms, she pulled away, only long enough to get it over his head. She didn’t wait for him to do it, she didn’t ask him to do it, she did it herself, like it was her right.
Moving down, his chest, she kept kissing as she went, pausing a few times to savor a patch of skin here and there, brushing her lips against him, then stroking him with tip of her tongue.
Colt put his hands up, and on her head, and Sam moved them aside as if objecting to any restraints whatsoever, pinning them at his side. She only released him when she got to the waistband of his jeans. There, she lingered for a while, teasing along the edge of the fabric, using her teeth to grab it, and only after a torturous few minutes of play, loosened the fly with her fingers.
By then Colt’s head was swimming; he was dizzy with anticipation. And with confusion, too, because whoever this woman was, she wasn’t the Sam he thought he knew. This woman was a sexual virtuoso, a libertine.
She yanked at the waist, wrenching his jeans and boxers free at the same time, and Colt looked down, just in time to see as Sam’s lips closed around him. After that, he didn’t see squat. He tried to watch, but his eyes kept closing on him, and rolling sightlessly back into his head. And even if they didn’t, he was sure he would have been blind with pleasure.
Sam wasn’t shy about grabbing and holding him, she wasn’t hesitant about trying to get him—all of him—in her mouth. She licked and sucked and squeezed and pulled. She wasn’t trying to coax an orgasm out of him, she was demanding it.
Part of Colt resisted the idea of the first time being him getting off like this. But it was hella-sexy, the way she seemed to be into it.
This is for me, her hand and mouth seemed to say. This isn’t for you. This is for me.
When he erupted, his ass lifted clear off the sofa, but Sam didn’t even flinch. She grabbed him, and held on, and continued sucking and licking. Colt felt every motion of her still greedy mouth, and the smooth, yet rough surface of her tongue.
Sam was curled into the sofa cushion, sleeping with an expression of perfect, angelic peace. Her dress was hiked up a little in the back, exposing the curve of her ass. Colt stood there, her plate of food in hand and stared. She hadn’t fallen asleep after her orgasm, but she had conked out almost directly after his.
When he had still been sitting there, waiting for his brain to restart, Sam had climbed up onto the sofa from her position on her knees in front of him and rested her head on his shoulder.
“How ‘bout now?” she’d asked, her tone perfectly casual. “Now, will you reheat that plate for me?”
So, what the hell was he to do but go reheat her plate? He needed to get away from her for a minute, just to pull himself together.
As good as it had been, Colt was low-key pissed-off, like she had been hiding something fundamental about who she was from him. Where the hell had Sam—Sam!—learned to suck a dick like that? Seriously, where had she learned how to do that?
And more importantly, with whom?
His mind fidgeted with that question while he was standing in front of the microwave waiting for her food, and by the time it was done, Colt decided he would just straight-up ask her. But when he got back down to the den, Sam was already asleep.
Colt set the plate down, and watched her, a pool of sourness and jealousy beginning to settle in his gut. The crazy part was that he didn’t even know at what, or at whom the jealousy was directed.
“Hey,” he said.
She couldn’t be that deeply asleep. He had been gone only a few minutes.
But Sam didn’t stir.
“Hey,” he said again, this time a little louder.
She made purring noise, and hugged the cushion closer, then turned her head, opening her eyes and regarding him, then smiling a sleepy smile.
“Hmm?” she asked.
“Don’t sleep here,” Colt said. He sounded terse, so he added more. “Let’s go upstairs.”
“Okay,” Sam said. She shoved herself to a sitting position and glanced at the food he’d brought her. “Oh,” she said. “I can’t eat all that, now, Colt. It’s too late.”
She sounded incredulous, like she hadn’t been the one to send him on the errand in the first place. Like it hadn’t been less than fifteen minutes ago that she had done so.
Then she got up, and not looking back, headed for the stairs.
By the time Colt had taken the food back to the kitchen, wrapped it in plastic once again, put it away, secured the house, and joined Sam in his bedroom, she was legitimately asleep, burrowed into the covers on his messy, unmade bed.
It took him much longer to succumb, and when he did, it was a shallow, restless sleep.
He opened his eyes right away when, what felt like much later, he felt Sam’s hand moving along his sternum.
“Colt,” she said into the pitch blackness of the room.
“Yeah?” His voice was rough with sleep.
“I fell asleep on you.”
“Yeah. It’s a’ight,” he said. He put his hand over hers, then ran his fingertips along her forearm, feeling the goosebumps rise on the surface of it.
Turning onto his side, he pulled Sam into the spooning position, intending that they both fall back asleep that way. But Sam had something else in mind. She reached back and down, fumbling with his boxers, pulling him through the opening and taking him in her hand.
Colt could see almost nothing, but felt her hand, soft and velvety as she stroked him, and heard her breath quickening.
Putting his hands up, he shoved the neckline of the dress she was still wearing aside, and with one arm beneath her, the other over her, cupped her breasts from behind. Soon, the breaths he heard were his own. Kissing the back of Sam’s neck, Colt released her breasts only long enough to shove his boxers all the way down and off.
Sam didn’t speak, but reached for him again, and this time, pushing her ass backward against him, she lifted her leg, and guided him inside her.
It happened so fast, there was no time to consider that they had no protection. And the truth was, he didn’t care. He needed it to be like this with Sam. Totally raw.
It took him a few moments to get completely inside her. She tensed with each forward push, so he waited until she comfortably accommodated him. When she did, and his chest was pressed flush against her back, he felt her heartbeat. They both held still, both examining the feeling.
After what happened in the den, Colt would have thought they would have gone buck-wild. Now, he knew for sure that Sam was certainly capable of it. But instead, they remained motionless for a long while, and then slowly, softly, quietly, they moved. Colt shifted the arm that was beneath her, sliding it downward and putting his hand between her legs, teasing the bundle of nerves be
tween her thighs.
Gasping, Sam put both her hands over his, pressing it harder against her, as her hips moved forward and back, and he alternately slid deep inside and pulled almost completely out of her.
When they came, it was quiet. Colt was jerking against Sam, as the spasms of her body held and grabbed him.
They didn’t speak at all, and they didn’t pull away from each other afterward. Colt’s heart was still pounding hard, still feeling like it might jump out of his chest. Within moments, he heard a soft snore which told him that Sam had once again, fallen asleep.
~ Ten ~
For a few moments after waking, Samantha kept her eyes shut, and wondered whether she had dreamed the whole thing. But she hadn’t. Though she was alone in the bed, the ache and weightiness between her legs told her that what she remembered of the night before had been all too real.
Turning her face into the pillow to muffle the sound, she screamed, then just as suddenly, sat up and looked around. The bedroom was empty. Gathering the sheet around her, she immediately dropped it again. What was the point, after last night, in being all shy now?
Getting out of bed, naked, she glanced at her reflection and recoiled at her mass of matted, tangled hair. If she had woken up in her own bed, and at home, she would have immediately taken care of that situation, but there was nothing to be done here, without the array of products she depended on to keep her natural mane under control. She left the bedroom—his really bright bedroom with the shades wide open—and headed downstairs.
“Colt?”
There was no response. No sound at all, in fact. The digits above the range, in neon green, read 1:09.
How had it gotten this late?
Because of the cookout, she’d been planning to work out today. But who was she kidding? It would be at least two days before she could comfortably move the way she needed to, to get a thorough sweat. And sitting on the uncomfortable seat for spinning? Forget it.
Her thighs ached, though she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why. The lovemaking had been slow, and sweet and sensuous. Just the one time, but it had been so good. So, so good. She had often imagined what it would be like, and now she knew.
She had a sudden urge to call her sister, Leah. After Colt, Leah was the person she confided in most, and Sam tended to share all things man-related with her. Except not this time. This development with her and Colt had to be handled delicately. If she dared tell her sister anything like this over the phone, Leah wouldn’t even hang up completely before calling their mother to deliver the news.
A spontaneous giggle shook Sam’s shoulders and she clapped a hand over her mouth to stop it from becoming a full-throated laugh. But there was no reason to suppress her laughter because there was no one there but her.
Where the hell was Colt?
Sam tried not to let her mind wander in the direction most women’s minds inevitably did when they woke up alone after a night that began with company and was followed by a morning of stony silence and solitude. This wasn’t at all like that, she told herself. This was her, and Colton. And also, she was in his house. So, no … no need to think crazy thoughts.
Hesitating, she looked around for his coffee, and began making herself a cup. She would take it upstairs, take a shower and then try calling him. And if she could convince him to come back soon enough, maybe they would …
“Damn. That’s a sight a man could get used to every morning.”
Shrieking, Sam almost dropped one of his mugs as she turned to find Colt standing at the kitchen door. He was sweaty, wearing shorts and a skin-tight sleeveless crew-neck workout top. His chest and abs were defined and visible beneath the lightweight top, and he was breathing audibly.
“Just went for a quick run,” he explained.
Now that she’d turned to face him, he sounded like an automaton. Colt stood there at the door, looking at her, but neither advancing nor retreating. Perspiration dripped from his brow and ran in rivulets down the side of his face. And he didn’t take his eyes off her for a second. In fact, he was outright staring, his eyes traveling her full length.
Sam felt her face grow warm, and then hot. The only other time she recalled Colt looking at her with anything approaching this kind of hunger was that first night, when everything had changed between them. She used to wish for a look like this from him, and now that she had it, it was a dozen times better than she could ever have imagined.
If there had ever been moments when she thought of Colt as the boy she had known since they were kids, those moments would be no more. He was now completely and irrevocably a man. She would never, could never, think of him as a boy again.
His stare, strangely, didn’t make her want to cover up, and shrink from it at all. It made her feel bold. Her back straightened, her chin lifted, and her nipples hardened.
Colt took one step toward her, and another.
Sam stood her ground.
When he was close, she felt his body-heat, and smelled his perspiration which was earthy, and pungent, but familiar. She already knew all his smells. His just-showered, just-played-some-ball, and even his just-heading-to-the-club scent. This was different, because beneath the perfectly ordinary scent of a man who had just gotten a workout, was the brackish odor of sex.
With her. Sex, with her.
Sam took a step toward him. They were only inches apart now.
Colt reached for the mug in her hand, and without looking, placed it on the countertop. With both hands, he ran the tips of his fingers over her forearms and up to her shoulders. Sam trembled at the contact. His fingers were damp, but cool.
“C’mon,” he said, inclining his head toward to stairs to the third level.
“I’m supposed to be at Mom’s house for dinner in a couple hours.”
“Call her and cancel,” Colt said.
Sam looked at him, her expression reproachful. “I can’t call her and cancel.”
“Then text her and cancel,” Colt said.
“Text her. Right. This is a woman who still hasn’t figured out how to record an outgoing voicemail message on her ‘portable phone’.” Sam made air-quotes to indicate what her mother called it.
Colt laughed. “Ma Maxine is my girl. I bet if you just let her in on everything about us she would …”
“No,” Sam said.
From the look on Colt’s face, she knew right away that she had said it too quickly, too emphatically.
He sat up.
They’d been lounging in his bed, enjoying a lazy afternoon, watching television, and napping on and off. Sam was still sex-drowsy but planned to rouse herself just enough to go home, shower, change, and then stumble over to her mother’s place in Crystal City.
Since Sam’s father’s passing, Maxine had been talking about selling the family home and moving into a bright new complex, where there were what she called “other seniors.” At just fifty-eight Maxine hardly qualified for that label. No one could tell her mother otherwise though, because since her husband’s death, she seemed to have resigned herself to following him to the grave, likely sooner rather than later.
Sam and her sister viewed it as their duty to disabuse her of that notion. She was still vibrant and young. She could have another life, and Lord knew, they both hoped that she would realize she could also have love and companionship again. The weekly dinners, every Sunday, like clockwork, were a way to keep closely in touch, and make sure she was living a life, and not just planning for her death.
“You don’t think she’d be happy about it?” Colt asked. “Me and you being, you know …”
It was the ‘you know’ that was the problem. Maxine would leap to conclusions if she knew what was going on. And after the conclusions would make inquiries, and shortly after that, probably graduate to demands: for an engagement, for a wedding, for grandbabies.
“It isn’t about you.” Sam shook her head.
“It is about me. Because I’m the dude you’re scared to tell her about.”
&nb
sp; “But not because it’s you. At least not …”
Colt narrowed his eyes and leaned closer. “At least not what? Finish your sentence.”
“At least not entirely because it’s you,” Sam said.
“So gimme a percentage. How much of it is because it’s me?”
His voice was tense now, as was his jaw. And he was squinting. A dead giveaway that he was growing agitated, if not outright angry. It made Sam want to smile. Despite the real risk that this could turn into a full-blown argument, she wanted to smile because of how easily she could read him. Whether or not that meant good news as they built their ‘you know’ remained to be seen.
“What’s funny?”
Oh, so maybe she was smiling. Quickly feigning a sober expression, with both palms, Sam pressed against Colt’s chest, trying to push him back against the sheets again.
“Nah,” he said, looking like he was struggling not to smile as well. “You ain’t about to fuck me calm. I want to know why Ma Maxine can’t know that …”
Sam kissed him. “Okay, I’ll tell her,” she said when she raised her head.
Colt grinned.
“Not today,” she added. “But soon.”
“You got two weeks.”
“Two weeks,” Sam agreed.
“Bet.”
They hooked pinkies to seal the deal and then Colt let Sam push him backward after all.
Sam’s mother was beautiful. Not just pretty, attractive or that dreaded label women acquired in middle-age: well-preserved. She was beautiful.
Watching her as she busied herself with taking a casserole out of the oven, Sam took in her mother’s poise, and grace. She was slender, with a small waist and wide hips, a long neck and the movements of woman who had grown up in a more genteel era. But the truth was, Maxine was a girl from the housing projects of DC who, at eighteen, met a charming country boy from rural Virginia, who almost immediately saw in Maxine, the mother of his children.
Sam’s father had worked hard his entire life, so that his wife would never have to. His role as her provider had brought him enormous pride, because he had been the one to take Maxine out of a hard life and build for her one of ease. He was content to have her cook his meals, join her clubs and raise the two girls she bore him. He never hinted at the things Sam now knew had to have been true, at least sometimes—financial strain, workplace stress, and the pressures of a house filled with females who liked pretty and frivolous things.
The Makeover_A Modern Love Story Page 10