"Why?" Matt asked. He looked between Sam, Riley, and Nick. "What happened?"
Riley stared at Nick, smirking. A silent exchange of severe expressions, raised eyebrows, and head shakes occurred while the group watched, then finally Riley laughed. "Nothing," he said, spooning another bite of pumpkin pie. "Acevedo knows how to have a good time. Not surprising for the good doctor."
I was missing a ton of subtext here, but from the looks of it, I wasn't the only one. Matt and Lauren were reminiscing in hushed tones about their nuptials while Patrick leaned toward Andy, brushed her hair from her shoulder, and whispered something against her ear. Everyone seemed genuinely nice—or, nice in the 'we're family so we talk a lot of shit' way—and amusing, but it was impossible to keep up with it all. There was so much history simmering between these people, entire lifetimes that I'd never fully understand.
Nick and Riley started planning their night out, and I could not have given Sam more insistent glances if my eyeballs popped out of my skull and pounded on his chest. I'd been outrageously impolite and I wasn't comfortable being grilled by his family, and I just wanted to leave.
We eventually made it out of their loft, but not without a carousel of hugs and swapped phone numbers, and the same incessant request to spend more time getting to know me.
"Are you okay?" Sam asked once the elevator doors closed. He pulled me tight to his chest, his forehead crinkled with confusion. "You did not seem okay in there."
I edged away from him, positioning myself on the opposite side of the elevator. "I'm not on board with this, Sam. I told you. I don't do families."
He leaned against the elevator wall, his arms crossed. "You know why they asked so many questions? They're trying to figure out why a smart, beautiful woman has given me more than ten minutes of her attention. They can't fathom someone like you wanting to hang around someone like me."
"Meaning what?" I yelled. "You could have anyone you wanted. You could find a pretty girl who spoke French and wore pearls, and knew how to pick out bottles of Chianti."
"Uh-huh," he murmured. "That's not the consensus from that group, and in case you haven't noticed, Chianti, French, and pearls are not high on my priority list."
The doors opened and I moved through the lobby and to the street quickly. It was the type of cold weather that immediately resulted in a runny nose, and I was probably walking in the wrong direction, but I just needed to get away from it all. The wintery air bit my skin but the shock was a refreshing calm on my system.
I was being irrational, and I knew it. But I required breathing space, freedom, independence.
I wasn't part of anyone's tribe.
My friends were abundant and I had deep, caring relationships with many, but Ellie was the only person I truly trusted. Not once in the past eleven years had she ever turned me away when I needed her, and there'd never been a whisper of doubt that we accepted each other, baggage and all, implicitly.
Everyone else in my life—all the people who I should have been able to rely on—had given me reasons to walk away, and not a single reason to return.
And Sam…I wanted to carve out a special spot for him, and there were so many moments when I believed he deserved one, too. But I couldn't let that lightning strike again. I couldn't let myself be abandoned, and it was too soon to know anything for certain.
"I don't do families that are all up in each other's business. I see my family for deaths and weddings because they can't respect boundaries. If yoga and farmers' markets are part of the deal, I can't."
"Would you wait a godforsaken second, Tiel?" Sam jogged to catch up, coming to a full stop in front of me with his hands braced on my arms. "Yoga and farmers' markets aren't part of the deal," he said. "The only deal is that we like hanging out together, and sometimes we do that naked."
I blew out a breath and shook my head. I was in desperate need of a tissue and the wind was blowing my hair in nine different directions, and somewhere beneath my wobbly spot, I knew I was hurting Sam.
I didn't want that. That player veneer ran thin, and underneath it, he had his own wobbly spots, too. He was sensitive and sweet, and he needed someone to love all over him the way he deserved.
Sniffling, I said, "Maybe we could go back to my place now."
He produced a handkerchief from his pocket and waited while I blew my nose. "My place," he said.
"We're closer to mine," I said, nodding in Cambridge's general direction.
"Equidistant," he said. "My place."
I'd never visited Sam's house, but he always had a renovation story to tell. Part of me expected him to be living in a full-blown construction site with tarps and jackhammers and wet paint. "But we can make almond milk mudslides at my place. Then we can turn the tunes up and dance in our underwear."
He brought his thumb to my face, tracing my cheeks, nose, and mouth before laying a kiss on my lips. "That does sound like a better idea."
One of my favorite Cat Stevens songs was playing when we got in his car, and he let me discuss the intricacies of the music while we headed to my apartment. I needed to shake off my nervous energy, and Sam indulged, asking questions and letting me talk the entire time.
I was halfway through blending the modified mudslides when Sam placed his hands on my hips, his palms circling over my clothes. There was a hot insistence in his touch, and he soon dipped beneath my dress and inside my leggings.
"Don't move," he ordered.
His body shifted, and he dropped to his knees behind me. True to his word, he peeled my leggings down, one aching inch at a time. His mouth moved over my exposed skin, kissing and licking, and when my clothes were bunched at my ankles, he pushed my legs apart. He drove his fingers inside me, stroking and thrumming my clit until I was bent over the countertop and begging.
And then Sam's fingers were gone, abandoning me seconds before I came, and I was ready to scream.
Springing up, I rounded on him, my eyes as furious as I felt, and he just smiled. "Did that not go the way you wanted?"
"Rude!" I yelled. "Very rude!"
I was wet—not simply aroused—and I sensed my fluid coating my thighs. It was almost embarrassing, and I was somewhat convinced I'd find a puddle on the floor very soon.
"Maybe." He grabbed a handful of my dress and yanked me against his chest. "You've had a rough night," he said, and I nodded. "It's going to get a little rougher."
My default reaction to overwhelming situations was laughter, and when those words washed over me, I dissolved into giggles despite his dark, severe tone.
"Oh, Sunshine," Sam hissed, slipping his fingers into my mouth. I tasted myself on him, and I wanted to be revolted but I was too fucking turned on to care. His eyes darkened as I sucked, his groan hoarse and exactly as desperate as I felt. "I am going to own you tonight."
He pushed me against the refrigerator and freed me from my leggings and panties. Ducking under my dress, his tongue swirled over my clit and it only took a few well-placed licks to prime my body for explosion.
And once again, he stopped a minute too soon. Wailing, I beat my fists against the refrigerator. This was torture, and he knew it.
"Saaaaaaammm," I moaned.
He offered a knowing grin and placed feathery kisses on my thighs and pelvic bone and just barely between my legs. "Do not doubt that I'll gag you."
"I'll finish this myself," I said, but the threat sounded whiny and petulant.
He chuckled, his warm breath tickling my leg, and he continued teasing. He didn't believe me.
Unable to see past the screeching urge for release ringing through my body, I bunched my dress at my waist and brought my hand to my center. I'd barely grazed my clit when Sam's hand curled around my wrist and pinned it to my side.
"Don't you dare," he said. He stood, leaning into me while I squirmed, angling for his hard length where I needed it. "I'll make you come. Only me, and only when I'm ready."
"You're such a dick," I yelled, burrowing into his shoulder.
"And you love it." He dragged his scruffy chin across my chest, inflaming my nerves and drawing out a shiver that didn't seem to stop. "How long should I make you wait?"
I shook my head, whimpering, "No more."
"Should I fuck you right here?" Sam asked. He lifted my hands above my head and speared his hips against me, and the impact sent vibrations rippling through my body. "Or against the counter? Your ass looked fucking edible bent over like that."
He traced the line of my arm, over my breast and belly, and brushed my folds. It was a delicate touch, like he was stroking something incomprehensibly fragile, and desire sparked in my veins until I was trembling.
It was an agonizing, throbbing need, but Sam didn't stop. His body trapped me there, his chest flush with mine, his grip tight on my wrists, and I could feel the drumbeat of his heart pounding in time with mine. He whispered filthy things about how much he loved touching me and teasing me, and how he wanted my arousal dripping all over his wrist, and that my pussy belonged to him.
I hated hearing those words—my ladybits were my own, thank you—but I craved them, too. It was primal and animalistic, and if my hands were free, I would have closed my fist around his cock and said the exact same thing.
I took tremendous pride in belonging only to myself, but right now, with my body heaving in spectacularly painful need, I wanted to be Sam's. He could claim my pussy, my orgasms, my everything.
"Do I need to restrain you?" he asked, and even the scrape of his teeth on my earlobe was too much stimulation.
"Sam," I rasped. "Please."
He released me, but I didn't have long to miss the weight of his body. He led me into the bedroom, yanking the rest of my clothes off in the process. His were quick to follow, and then he was over me, his palm splayed between my breasts, pressing hard.
He pushed into me, slow and deliberate, and he kept me anchored in place while he stroked all the way in, his hips snug against mine, and then all the way out. I didn't think it was possible for him to torture me any more than he had, but this—this was the most licentious torture imaginable.
Eventually, he shifted his hand down my body until the heel of his palm rested over my mound. When I edged up to meet his thrusts, that pressure sent hot, crackling snaps of electricity through me.
"Oh, fuck, Sam," I cried, my shoulders digging into the mattress for more leverage.
"You want to come for me, sweetheart?" he asked, as if I'd been holding out on him. I made some hysterical, mewling sound and he smiled, nodding. His jaw locked, his strokes deepening, slamming into me as I arched my back.
I knew the minute he came because his face always took on the same expression of serene suffering, and he'd groan my name, low and gravelly, like a secret prayer. I let myself believe that moment belonged to me, that his body couldn't possibly react that way to anyone else.
Just as I was pulled under by that warm, soothing orgasm, he ground his palm against me, and that wave morphed into a fucking tsunami. Every muscle twitched and sighed, the spasms rolling through me as if they'd never stop, and tears streamed down my face.
I'd never cried during sex before, and I wasn't sure why I was crying now. Sam folded me into his arms, and his fingers tangled in my hair while my quiet tears fell. He didn't say anything, and he didn't need to. He held me, inviting me to be vulnerable and raw without judgment. And that was when I knew, when I heard it.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I wanted to say it, scream it, sigh it into his skin. I wanted him to know he was ruining me for other men, and that when I stripped away everything, I couldn't imagine any other men in my life. And it wasn't even about the sex; it was him.
But…we were nowhere near those types of declarations. We were still floating in ambiguous oblivion; we might be having sex and meeting the family, but we had assigned no name or structure to this.
"How did you know," I started, clearing the lump in my throat. "How did you know I needed that?"
He thumbed the trail of moisture from my face and smiled, shrugging. "I wish I could explain." He laughed and pressed a kiss to my lips. "I just know what to do when I touch you."
Ruined. I was so fucking ruined.
Patting his chest, I nodded toward his glucose monitor. That activity was longer than I realized, and he hadn't eaten anything for hours. "You should get a snack."
He kissed my forehead. "Are you going to be all right for a few minutes?" I nodded while he reconnected his pump. He gave it a foul expression as it registered his levels. "Okay. You get under the covers and decide what we're watching tonight."
Sam returned quickly, one hand loaded with Turkish apricots, the other gripping a bottle of mango juice, and a jar of pistachios in the crook of his elbow. I snuggled up to him while he ate, knowing he needed to focus on himself right now. After ten minutes, he blew out a breath, and I asked, "Better?" He murmured in agreement. "Side note. Why do they call you 'the runt'?"
"Is it not obvious?" he laughed.
"No," I said. "In fact, from where I'm sitting…" I hooked a finger around the band of his boxers and peeked below. "I'd say quite the opposite."
He pressed his hands to his eyes, rubbing. "You're such a perv," he laughed. "Since you didn't notice, I'm four or five inches shorter than my brothers, and they have a good twenty, maybe thirty pounds on me. Did you see Riley? Hell, most days I wonder whether I should be getting that kid tested for steroids. He's huge."
"Yeah," I said, burrowing farther into his chest and dragging my nails over his stomach. "I don't think I'd want you any other way."
17
Sam
"Knock, knock." Glancing up, I found Shannon leaning against my office door. "Have a minute to spare?"
Beyond Monday morning's meeting and some quick public relations conversations, I hadn't spoken to Shannon all week. She spared us the details of her spa weekend, and since she did look rejuvenated, I didn't press the issue of her whereabouts.
"Sure," I said, setting aside the notes I'd received from Matt on the Turlan property's structural updates.
"I was going to place a lunch order," she said, her voice intentionally casual. "Did you want anything?"
"I'm good," I said. I gestured toward the lidded container of Waldorf salad. "What's up?"
"Just a few things. Your dry cleaning was dropped off this morning, and it's in the back seat of your car. I checked in with your endocrinologist's office, and your next appointment is next Monday afternoon. They'll have you do some blood work too, so I blocked that time on your calendar. I sorted out your expenses from last month, and assigned costs to clients as best as I could determine. I'll need you to look it over, but that will be quick. And I had Tom arrange your travel to that conference in January, the one in Arizona." Shannon sat down and crossed her legs, focusing on the dozen or so thin bracelets on her wrist. "I was really bummed that I didn't get to meet Tiel. Everyone said she was…intriguing."
She laced her fingers together and gave me a quick look, and she knew what she was doing. She thought she could hide that landmine in the middle of her spiel and then act surprised when I flew off the fucking handle.
I'd never seen Tiel be so aggressive and hostile before—I didn't think she had it in her—though I'd also forced her into that situation. I knew about her family and all the shit back home, and I should have known it wasn't going to work out the way I anticipated. It fucking killed me to know that Tiel only had herself to lean on, and I harbored this quiet hope that she'd meet my family and never want to leave.
"Tiel is intriguing," I said. "I've never met anyone with so many accomplishments, and I have to practically beat them out of her. It's refreshing to meet people who don't view themselves as gifts to this planet."
"And some people are attorneys, Sam." Shannon looked away and I noticed her struggling to repress a furious scowl.
"So it wasn't rose petals and rainbows," I said, exasperated. "I seem to remember you going
all corporate commando the first time Matt brought Lauren here."
"That was because Riley was being a juvenile delinquent." She rolled her eyes and dismissed my comment with a wave. "Look. I've heard several times that dinner was tense, and your guest was a hard pill to swallow. I'd just like to hear about it from you." She lifted her shoulder and brushed some lint from her lilac skirt. "Are you trying to prove a point, or going through some kind of angry girl phase?"
Okay, so I was ready to fly off that handle now. "Has it occurred to you that we are a bit intense, and not everyone handles this tribe the same way?"
"No, not really." She scooted the chair closer and folded her arms on my desk. "It has occurred to me that you might be having some difficulties coping with stress. We've been talking about the estate and the work at Wellesley a lot, and I know those are triggers for you. I don't think adding a toxic relationship with this girl is going to help you, and maybe it's time to get an appointment with Dr. Robertsen."
My fucking psychiatrist. The guy who convinced me I didn't need to wash my hands forty-nine times a day and kept my medicine cabinet stocked with the best psychotropic drugs he could prescribe.
"Shannon, I'm going to say this once." I pressed my palms flat on my desk and counted to twenty-six before standing. "Get the fuck out of my office."
When I pointed to the door, I noticed Riley standing there. "Hey. We're walking properties this afternoon, right?" He consulted his notebook—I was shocked he hadn't yet left it in a contractor's toolbox or on the subway—and said, "Yeah, you wanted to check out the Turlan basement now that the power washing is finished. We also have five others to see."
I gathered my things and glanced to Shannon. She hadn't moved, and I was certain this was only bolstering her belief that I needed some shock therapy. I stormed through the office and down to the basement garage, and Riley rambled on about last night's football game while I fumed. The afternoon traffic didn't help my mood, and I was tempted to turn back around and finish that conversation with Shannon.
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