by Gracie Leigh
That suited Eddie just fine, in the metaphorical sense, of course. She fucked Sam at a snail’s pace, driving them both to near madness, until his thumb found its way to her clit, and she shattered into a million pieces.
Sam came with a quiet groan that sounded almost pained. When perspective returned to Eddie, she raised her head and quickly took his face in her sweaty palms. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
“Nah. I’m good, baby.”
Eddie shook him gently. “You sure? What time is it, anyway? We need to check your blood sugar.”
Sam sighed. “Is this how it’s gonna be from now on? You fucking the living shit out of me, then turning into my mother before my dick’s out of you?”
“Ew. You’re so crude.”
“Yup. It’s a valid concern, though.”
“It is today, and maybe tomorrow,” Eddie admitted. “You scared me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Well, you shouldn’t be. If anyone should be sorry, it’s me.”
“How’d you figure that shit?”
“Because if I hadn’t been such a pigheaded—”
Sam silenced Eddie with a fierce kiss. “Fuck that. I’ve spent the last four years trying to convince Dylan he’s not responsible for this shit. I can’t start all over again with you. This is my problem. Always has been. Don’t treat me like a fucking invalid, and don’t blame yourself when I conk out on you.”
Eddie pulled her face away from him and scowled. “Are you done?”
“Only if you were really listening, because I’m kinda certain that you won’t let me tell you how fucking sorry I am for missing your performance.”
“Well, you’re right about that, at least,” Eddie conceded. “It was hardly your fault.”
“Yes and no. I missed lunch because I forgot to get my jacket from the dry cleaners. And then I burned my only shirt with the iron and went out to get a new one without checking my sugars.” Sam looked away. “I know better than that, Eddie.”
She caught his chin and forced him to look at her. “Then we’ve both been morons these past few days, haven’t we? Good job we have each other.”
“I’ll say.” Real humour finally pierced the troubled haze that had descended over Sam’s beautiful face. “Without me you’d still be screwing toffs in tweed.”
“And you’d still be—oh wait…doing who, Sam? Because Dylan told me you were going through a dry spell.”
It was a playful fib, and Eddie wasn’t altogether sure she even wanted to know what Sam had been up to before she’d come along. Unless it involved Dylan, of course, and—
“You have such a dirty mind.”
Eddie blushed, and couldn’t deny that Sam had caught her red-handed, even if he couldn’t possibly know the exact place her Sam-fuelled imagination had taken her. She slid off him and pressed herself into his side. “Shut up and check your blood sugar.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Sam’s grumble was fierce and earnest, but for the first time since Eddie had met him, he kissed her cheek and did as he was bloody told.
Chapter Seventeen
The last end of year performance was held at the Royal Albert Hall. Last year, her parents had driven into the capital in their Bentley and sat in the private boxes, even though she’d been at the back of the second violin section. Her mother had held court at the cocktail reception after, and for one night only, Eddie had felt like her parents truly loved her—that she wasn’t a mere accessory to a lifestyle she’d eventually come to realise was as hollow as her father’s smile.
This year, her parents didn’t come, and Eddie had never felt prouder as she took her final bow from the first section, and looked through the crowd to see Sam right at the back with Mr. Nowak, both men applauding louder than anyone else, their faces alive with genuine love and affection.
Eddie’s face hurt as she beamed at them, and she waved too, not giving a crap about protocol. Sam’s answering smile was blinding, and as hard as she’d worked to gain an early promotion in the orchestra, as many hours as she’d lost preparing for this moment—for all of that, she couldn’t wait to get off stage and ditch this place.
Because there would be no stuffy cocktail parties for Eddie tonight. Lord, no. Sam was meeting her outside, and as soon as they’d dropped Mr. Nowak home, they were hitting the town—Sam’s town—and Eddie couldn’t wait. She hurried off stage and packed the Stradivarius away, passing it, as ever, to Martha for safekeeping.
Martha hugged her. “Have fun. I wish I was coming with you.”
“You still can. Screw the Ritz.”
“If only. Sometimes I wish my parents would set me free like yours. You’re so happy, Eddie. I can’t help being jealous.”
Martha spoke with a wry smile, but Eddie took her words to heart. Free. Happy. Was that what she was? Was that how she felt? As she left the orchestra behind and dashed out to the brightly lit city street, straight into Sam’s open arms, the warmth that enveloped her—inside and out—didn’t seem too far off the mark.
Sam lifted her off her feet. “Did you slay it?”
“I tried.” Eddie planted a kiss on his lips, remembering to keep it demure for Mr. Nowak’s sake. “Did you enjoy it?”
Sam winced. “I think so? It ain’t no Five Finger Death Punch, but I love watching you play. You know that.”
Eddie did know that. In the last few weeks, Sam had come to every concert and recital he was able to, and rarely a day passed when he didn’t badger her to play for him in private. I’m so lucky. She kissed him again, then wriggled free so she could see Mr. Nowak. “What about you, Artur? Did you enjoy it?”
“Yes, Yes.” Mr. Nowak clapped Eddie on the back, his large hand dwarfing her slender shoulder. “I liked the sprightly one after the interval. We used to dance to music like that when I was a boy. You must come to the house and play it for me again some time.”
“You know the rules,” Eddie quipped. “Feed me first.”
“Woman, you’re worse than a teenage boy.”
Mr. Nowak released her and set off to where Sam’s car was parked down the road. Eddie started to follow him, but Sam tugged her back. “Are you sure you want to go out tonight? We can just go home if you’re tired?”
“Screw that,” Eddie protested. “You’ve endured all my stuffy orchestra functions. I wanna come rocking with you.”
Sam chuckled. “Fair enough. I’ve got your boots in the car. Do you need anything else from your place?”
“Nope. I’m good.”
Sam eyes Eddie’s full length lace dress. “Sure about that?”
“I’m sure. Let’s go.”
They caught up with Mr. Nowak at the car and took him home. Then they drove back to Vauxhall and ditched Sam’s car at the café. Sam poked his head in to check that Dylan had closed down properly, and Eddie took advantage of his absence to fix her outfit.
She kicked her high heels into the boot of Sam’s car and stamped into the battered Doc Marten’s she’d bought off eBay for the occasion. Then, after taking a furtive glance around, set about ripping the skirt of her dress away until it was six inches above her knees. She made a few holes in her stockings too, then fished lipstick and eyeliner out of her bag. Black kohl and bright red lips completed her look, and she stepped back from the car’s wing mirror with a satisfied smile. Punky-goth wasn’t a look she’d dabbled in before, but the vampy colours suited her pale skin, and she hoped Sam thought so—
A wolf whistle cut into her thoughts. she whirled around to find Sam leaning on the wall behind her, his eyebrows raised in appreciation. “You’re gonna be fighting them off tonight.”
“You’re not going to fight them off for me?”
“You don’t need my help telling the world what you want.” Sam pushed off the wall and stepped into Eddie’s personal space. “Though I’d obviously batter any fucker who didn’t listen.”
“Obviously.” Eddie rolled her eyes to cover her shudder. Sam didn’t have much of a tough guy act
, but then he didn’t need one. Eddie had seen much bigger men instinctively move out of his way. “Are you ready to go?”
“Lead the way.”
Eddie took Sam’s hand, and they walked a few streets until the thrum of Sam’s favourite metal club began to buzz through the pavement. A shot of nerves ran through Eddie. She’d been looking forward to this—to exploring a new side of Sam—for days, but the age-old fear that she just wouldn’t fit was sometimes as present as it had ever been since Sam had stormed into her life three months ago.
Sensing, as always, the subtle shift in her mood, Sam stopped walking and abruptly took her in his arms, sweeping her off her feet, and spinning in a long, slow circle.
Eddie giggled and threw her head back. Sam could be a man of few words—especially pleasant ones—but in moments like these, platitudes were unnecessary. I love him. It was true, though she’d yet to find the balls to tell him.
Sam set her down and they continued to the club. The bouncers at the door waved Sam inside like they knew him well, and Eddie stuck close to him as they passed through the entrance—a cool, blue-lit alcove—and into the main club.
And then the music hit her, loud and raw, and heady smoke filled her senses, and she knew in a pounding heartbeat why this club was Sam’s home from home whenever time allowed. God, the music. Far from the tuneless roar she’d expected, the electric riffs, speeding drums, and throbbing bass seeped into her soul as much as Sam had, and she was suddenly and instantly lost.
Hand in hand with Sam, she followed the music to the stage where a band of what looked like renegade lorry drivers was tearing the place up. All of them fascinated her, but the bass player captivated her most of all—the way his jaw moved with every throbbing note, and the belying speed of his huge fingers as they danced up and down the frets.
“See something you like?” Sam murmured in her ear. “You’ve got that look in your eye.”
“What look?”
“The one you get when you’re jabbering on about Vaughan Williams.”
Eddie tore her eyes from the stage, surprised that Sam had remembered her late night rant about her second shot at a “Lark Ascending” solo. “I do not jabber.”
“I’ve got a sleepless night says otherwise.”
Sam had given Eddie her fair share of sleepless nights, but she let it slide. It had been a fortnight since she’d found him on his kitchen floor, well on his way to a hypoglycaemic coma—thanks for the education, Dylan—and after a day or so of rest, he’d bounced back so well it was hard to imagine that it had happened at all. Shame her brain remembered every moment of that night in such painful detail that her imagination was rendered redundant.
“Eddie…listen to the music, baby.” Sam grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close, spinning her away from the stage as he moved her with the music, his hips grinding into her with every brutal dig of the bass guitar. “That’s what we came for, remember? To loosen you up a little.”
Eddie glared up at him, even though the humour in his gaze was obvious. “You want me to loosen up? Maybe we should find Dylan and ask him to join us?”
“If you want.”
Sam’s expression gave nothing away, but Eddie cracked first, and shook her head. Their night with Dylan had been incredible, and a repeat performance was definitely not out of the question, but for now, her heart craved only Sam.
They lost themselves to the heat and noise of the club, slow-dancing and kissing, getting slowly drunk on bottles of warm lager. It was nearly dawn when they stumbled out. Habit drew them to the café, stopping at a dodgy kiosk on the way for some hot chips stuffed into a ketchup-laced pita bread. Eddie had never eaten such a thing, but fast realised that it was the food of the Gods.
The drunk Gods, at least.
Back at Sam’s flat, he hustled Eddie into the shower. “Trust me, you’ll appreciate it in the morning when you don’t wake up smelling of grime and chip fat.”
“I wasn’t about to protest being naked in an enclosed space with you.”
“No? Good. ’Cause I’ve been dreaming about ripping your clothes off all night.”
“Have at it.” Eddie spread her arms wide. “They’re ruined anyway.”
As if Sam needed asking twice. He tore her clothes from her body and pushed her under the hot spray, placing her hands on the tiled wall, and bending her over. And then he fucked her, holding her hair back from her face, and curving his body behind her, moulding himself to her, as he brought her to an orgasm that rocked her equilibrium to the point where it was only his strong hands that kept her upright.
She fell slack against him and closed her eyes. “Sam.”
“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”
“Eddie?”
Sam stirred, his arm clumsily reaching for her, and she smiled, catching his hand before he could reclaim it and go back to sleep. Bless him. She’d noticed this in the nights they’d spent together since he’d been ill—the way he’d say her name and reach for her long before he was even awake.
Sometimes, she found herself wondering whose name he’d uttered before her, but other times, like now, she found that she didn’t care. Sam had made no verbal commitment to her, but something had changed between them in the last few weeks…grown, and solidified. And even if he didn’t feel for her like she did for him, nothing that had come before mattered. How could it, when it was only his touch that had brought her to life?
Sam shifted again, effectively dumping his head in her lap, which was apparently his favourite place to be, in any context. Eddie rubbed her fingers absently through his hair and turned her attention back to the window, lost again in the cloudless sky she’d been staring at since she’d woken an hour ago to the thrum of the café below.
Today was Mr. Nowak’s last shift before Sam shoved him unceremoniously toward a retirement he didn’t want. After that, Sam and Eddie would be running the place alone until the new owner took over, and after that? Who knew? Sam had agreed to stay on and run the café, but how he’d deal with someone else calling the shots remained to be seen. Sam was unconcerned. Eddie? Not so much. He’ll deck someone within a week.
“Shh.”
Eddie glanced down. Sam gazed back at her. Somehow she’d missed him waking up and lacing his fingers with hers. “Morning. What are you shushing me for? I didn’t say anything.”
Sam stretched, his gorgeous chest arching from Eddie’s lap. “You don’t have to when your brain is having a party like that.”
Eddie rolled her eyes and huffed. “Why do people always say that to me?”
“Because you’ve got the worst poker face in the world.”
“That right?”
“Yup.”
“Okay, hotshot. So what am I thinking about then, if I’m so bloody transparent?”
Sam sat up, the covers slipping down his body and reminding her that he was as naked as she was. “You’re wondering what the fuck you’re doing here.”
“Here?”
“Yeah, shacked up in this grotty flat when you could’ve woken up bathed in gold.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about.” Sam reached down the side of the sofa-bed and retrieved his blood sugar test kit. “And it’s okay. I look at you all the time and wonder why you want to be here.”
He drew blood from his finger and studied the tiny monitor. A figure flashed up, but it meant nothing to Eddie. She was still learning what magic numbers meant that Sam was well.
She waited for him to put the kit away. Then chose her words carefully. “Sam, I want to be here because you make me happy.”
Or not so carefully. Embarrassed, she looked away, but Sam caught her chin in his strong hand. “But why? I’ve got nothing for you, Eddie. If you want shit loads of money, you’ll have to go out and get it yourself.”
“Even if I wanted that, what would be wrong with earning it myself? Do you think I want to be like my mother? So fucking dep
endent on the rest of the world that I don’t know how to put petrol in my own car?”
“I don’t know what you want. I’m not a mind reader, Eddie.”
“What?”
Sam shrugged. “I want to be with you—at work, at home, in bed, but I haven’t got a clue how you feel.”
“You don’t know how I feel?” Eddie blinked, unsure if she’d heard right.
“How the hell would I? It ain’t like you make a point of telling me, unless you’ve got the hump, then the whole world bloody knows—”
Eddie pounced on him, half furious and half delirious that the door to his heart she’d sought all this time finally appeared to be open. She kissed him fiercely, smothering his surprised grunt, and tumbling him onto his back before he inevitably regained control.
He caught her arms and flipped her, covering her with his body, pinning her down. “Something I said?”
Eddie grinned. “All this time I’ve been wondering what the hell you’re doing with a prissy brat like me.”
“You’re not prissy.”
“I am a brat, though.”
“No more than I am. Is there a point to this?”
“There is now.” Eddie kissed him again, gentler this time, less intent on knocking his teeth out, before she sobered enough to explain herself. “I guess I just need to know if you’re serious about…well, me, I suppose. My life’s changed so much, but I’ve honestly never been happier. I just need to know that it’s real.”
Sam licked his lips, and for a fleeting moment looked as though he’d deflect Eddie’s unspoken question with what had brought them together in the first place, but then he smiled, and his molten eyes shone. “Eddie…I don’t know what that hell goes on between you and me sometimes, but I can tell you one thing: it’s fucking real. I, uh, I can’t remember what my life was like without you.”
“Really?”
Sam nodded slowly. “Yeah, and some days I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing, because I’m not used to giving a shit, you know? It scares me.”
Eddie could believe that. Outside of his family, Dylan, and now her, Sam didn’t seem to care much about anything. “The way I feel about you scares me too, but it’s a good fear, Sam. I’d miss it if it wasn’t there.”