The First Time (A Time For Love Book 2)

by Amelia Stone

  But then Sam’s finger pressed down hard on my clit, and he brushed against that perfect spot deep inside, and magically, I did. My head dropped to the bed, and I clenched the duvet between my fingers as I came harder than I ever had before. Like, a toe-curling, seeing-stars, insert-additional-clichés-here type of orgasm.

  “Yes!” He grabbed a fistful of my hair, tugging hard. My head flew up, and I held on for dear life as he pounded into me, his hips pumping erratically. Finally, he gave one last thrust, releasing with a groan.

  He collapsed against me, his panting breaths landing on my shoulder blade, his chest hair scraping my skin in the most delicious way. Then he pressed one more kiss to my neck before finally pulling out of me. I watched as he walked to the bathroom, tied off the condom, and tossed it in the trash. When he came back into the room, he collapsed on the bed, pulling me up and snuggling me against his side.

  “That was fucking incredible,” he mumbled, sounding thoroughly worn out. “Are you okay? I wasn’t too rough?”

  I sighed contentedly. “I’m okay. Better than okay.”

  He smiled. “So, you liked it?” He chuckled. “Of course you did, you dirty girl.”

  “Best I’ve ever had,” I admitted, feeling almost shy. That was the understatement of the decade. I’d wanted Sam for so long – almost my entire life. And now it had finally happened, that I’d finally gotten to be with him? It was better than I ever could have imagined.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Really? Your other lovers didn’t do it for you?”

  I shook my head. I’d had sex with a few different guys, but never explosive, I-will-die-if-I-don’t-fuck-you sex. Only with Sam did I feel like I needed him more than I needed my next breath.

  “Not even that guy you dated in college? What was his name again?”

  I frowned, remembering the boyfriend I’d had for a few months, during our senior year of college. “Kevin.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, Kevin. I hated that guy.”

  I shifted so that I could look at him. “You didn’t even know him. Not very well, anyway.”

  His arms tightened around me almost possessively. “He got to fuck you, and I didn’t. It’s a good enough reason to hate him.”

  I shook my head. “He was a nice enough guy.”

  “‘Nice enough.’ High praise, indeed.”

  I bit my lip. I knew he was only teasing, but he was right. I hadn’t loved Kevin. I hadn’t even liked him all that much. If I was being honest, I’d only dated him to make Sam jealous. He’d been so in love with Adriana at the time, and I just couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand being alone and unloved, while Sam was happy with his stupid supermodel-looking girlfriend. In all my life, it was the one thing I was least proud of. I’d been so insecure and petty that I used a perfectly nice guy just to get back at Sam. And when Kevin inevitably hadn’t lived up to my unfair standards – because he wasn’t Sam – I’d dumped him. I felt ashamed every time I thought about it.

  “He wasn’t you,” I whispered. He looked down at me, his eyebrows raised. “That’s why I couldn’t stay with him. He wasn’t you.” My eyes welled up, and I blinked. Stupid tears. Now was not the time. “I couldn’t even have you, but I still held you up like this paragon, the epitome of everything I’ve ever wanted. No one could possibly live up to you.”

  He sighed. “Adriana wasn’t you, either.” He frowned, his gaze unfocused. “I don’t think I ever really loved her. I thought I was giving her everything I had, but a piece of me was always missing. I was holding back from her without really realizing it.” He looked down at me, his eyes sad. “Because she wasn’t you.”

  And that did it. Despite my best efforts to rein them in, the tears began to fall. Ugh. What was wrong with me? Five minutes ago, I’d been riding the high of the best orgasm of my life. And now, instead of pleasurably wallowing in post-coital bliss, I was miserable.

  “God, I wanted you so bad,” I sobbed, not even sure why I was telling him this. I just felt like I had to get it all out. “It killed me that I couldn’t have you.”

  “Shhhh.” His hand stroked my arm softly, and he pressed a kiss to my forehead. “You have me now,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere. You have me.”

  But the tears continued unabated. Sure, I had him now. But for how long?

  I’d seen every episode of The Office about a dozen times, and at least half of those had been with Jamy. But as we sat on her couch, watching our mutual favorite show together, a sudden, burning question popped into my head. And I needed to know the answer.

  “Do you think Phyllis calls Bob Vance of Vance Refrigeration by his full name and title when they’re in bed?”

  She didn’t even look up from her tablet. “Hmmm?”

  I paused the TV and turned to face her. “I said, do you think Phyllis calls Bob Vance of Vance Refrigeration by his full name and title when they’re in bed?”

  Her brow furrowed as she continued to stare down at her screen. “What do you mean?”

  I grinned. “I mean, when they’re fucking, and she’s about to come, do you think she’s like, ‘Oh, Bob Vance of Vance Refrigeration, yes! Just like that!’” I did my best to imitate the actress’s soft, sweet voice, even though it was pretty much the opposite of my own. But I knew Jamy would appreciate the lengths I went to in order to sell the joke.

  On the other side of the couch from me, she pressed her lips together, as she often did when she was concentrating. But her eyes never left her screen. “Uh huh. I guess.”

  I frowned. Normally, she was the first one to initiate a conversation about The Office. The show was one of her favorite things ever. She had a Dwight bobblehead, a “that’s what she said” mouse pad on her desk at work, and a Schrute Beet Farm magnet on the fridge. She’d even dressed as Pam for Halloween one year, when we were in high school. So my joke was grade A, prime material.

  But tonight she seemed like she couldn’t get into it. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she hadn’t taken in a word I’d just said.

  I sighed. “What are you working on over there?”

  She looked up at that, blushing slightly. “Oh, nothing.”

  I narrowed my eyes. She’d been drawing on her tablet for the last hour, paying minimal attention to the TV – and me. “Nothing, huh?”

  She shrugged, trying to look casual, but her shoulders were stiff and her eyes had that deer-in-the-headlights look about them, telling me that whatever she was doing was something she didn’t want to share.

  So naturally, I reached over and plucked the tablet out of her hand faster than she could stop me.

  “Sam!” she squawked, extending her arm to try to steal it back. But I held it out of reach. I grew up with a twin sister who was both shorter than me, and nosy as fuck. I’d learned early in life how to keep things away from someone, and I guess old habits die hard.

  Jamy made a little growl of frustration, trying again to grab the tablet, but I held up a hand, silently asking her to wait.

  “Is this…” My eyes roved the screen, taking a moment to absorb what I was looking at. “Is this an invitation?”

  She bit her lip, her expression torn between annoyance and embarrassment. “Yes.”

  I took another look at her work-in-progress. “You’re making an invitation for Hannah’s bridal shower?”

  She nodded.

  “Why wouldn’t you want me to see this?” I asked. It was amazing. She’d made a bright, colorful design with sunflowers, hearts, and a pretty script that looked handmade. With all the disparate elements, it should have looked busy and amateur. But the overall effect was whimsical and elegant. It looked like a professional had made it.

  When I looked up to tell her that, she bit her lip, her eyes darting away from me. She stared at the TV for a moment, even though the episode was paused. “I dunno. Just didn’t seem important.”

  I blew out a frustrated breath. I tried to be patient with her when she downplayed her art. But it was getting harder and hard
er every day. She was such a skilled artist, whether she was drawing, painting her nails, making graphics, or even painting on canvas. She could easily make a living selling the things she made, especially since she had a fine arts degree to back up her talent. But it didn’t matter to me one way or the other whether she ever did. Ultimately, I just wanted her to be proud of herself.

  “I want you to share this stuff with me,” I said, trying not to sound too harsh. “It obviously is important to you. You’ve been working on this all night.”

  She winced. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been rude.” She shifted in her seat, looking uncomfortable.

  I shook my head. “I’m not mad that you’re not paying attention to me.”

  “It’s just, I really need to finish this,” she continued like she hadn’t heard me. “But I know you wanted to watch,” she said, gesturing to the TV.

  I swallowed another sigh. “Jamy, I turned the TV on because I wanted you to relax.”

  She’d been tense for days – weeks, even – and it was frustrating the shit out of me. Things had been going really well between us, for the most part. We’d been together almost every night for the last couple of months, doing whatever she wanted. I had definitely learned my lesson about pushing her too far outside her comfort zone. I’d been letting her dictate the pace of our relationship, and it seemed to be working so far.

  It was better than I’d ever imagined, finally getting to be with her. And I’d spent a lot of time over the years imagining it. We didn’t even have to do anything special. Most nights, we stayed in, watching TV, or even just listening to music together. We both loved Fleetwood Mac, and I loved to listen to her sing along to her favorite tunes. But it wouldn’t have mattered if she’d chosen hip hop, or Justin Bieber, or something else she liked and I didn’t. The details didn’t matter; just spending time with her was enough to make me happy.

  And of course, the sex had been spectacular. I honestly thought I’d had good sex, even great sex, before this. But sex with Jamy was on another plane altogether. Every touch, every look, every single time with her was meaningful. Brian had actually told me once that sex with someone you love is just better. And while that conversation had made me really fucking uncomfortable, since he was talking about sex with my sister, I understood now what he meant. Sex with Jamy was better, because I loved her like I’d never loved anyone before.

  That’s why it upset me to know she was unhappy. And worse, she wouldn’t tell me what was wrong.

  She frowned at me now. “I’m relaxed,” she said, but she sounded like she was trying to convince me – or herself.

  I stared at her for a beat, trying to get a read on her. I couldn’t tell if she was lying to me, maybe trying to make me worry less, or if she was just in denial.

  I sighed. I could ask her to elaborate, but I knew the direct approach wouldn’t work. I would just have to get to the bottom of it another way.

  “You’re tense,” I argued gently. I set the tablet on the table behind me, out of her reach. She made a noise of protest, but I shook my head firmly and pulled her toward me. I spread my legs so she could sit between them, turning her until her back was facing me. Then I laid my hands on her shoulders and began to gently knead the muscles there.

  “Mmmm.” Immediately, she melted under my touch, and I grinned. The way her body responded to me made me feel like a fucking god.

  “See?” I whispered. “Just let me take care of you.” She hummed again as I dug my thumbs into a particularly large knot, right between her shoulder blades. “Forget about everything for one night.”

  She made a noise halfway between a moan and a sigh as her head dropped forward. “But I have so much to do.”

  I pressed my lips to the back of her neck. “I can help.”

  “It’s okay.” She shook her head. “I can do it on my own.”

  I tsked. “I know you can,” I replied. “But you don’t have to.” I kissed her again, right behind her ear, and she shivered beneath my hands. “Let me help you, my love.”

  At that last word, she froze. I bit back a groan of frustration. Yeah, so I hadn’t exactly told her yet that I loved her. She got overwhelmed really easily, so I was taking it step by painstaking step with her. It was fucking torturous, but I knew it was what she needed.

  “Come on,” I murmured, trying to get her to relax again. I nibbled at the junction between her shoulder and neck, grinning when she shivered again. “Tell me.”

  While I waited for her reply, I continued with the massage, doing my best to work through all her locked-up muscles. Jamy carried so much tension in her shoulders. It got so bad that I could actually see it. There were so many times when she was just wrecked by all the anxious thoughts running through her head, and it carried through to the rest of her body.

  I hated it. It killed me, knowing she was like this, knowing she fought her own brain just to make it through the day. It made me feel helpless. She was fighting a battle only she could win. I couldn’t make it go away, couldn’t fix it for her. All I could do was be there.

  After a long moment, she sighed, her head dropping forward again. “I’m planning the bridal shower.”

  “That doesn’t sound too bad. Didn’t Hannah say she would close the restaurant early so you could hold it there?”

  “Yeah.” She hummed again. “But she wants all kinds of stuff that the restaurant doesn’t already have, and I have to make it all happen.”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  She sighed, sounding resigned. “Okay, so, she wanted a sunflower theme, just like the wedding. I need to make floral arrangements for all the tables, plus more flowers to decorate the doorways and stuff in the restaurant.”

  I frowned. “Yeah, I saw the sunflowers on the invitation. What’s up with that?”

  She chuffed. “It’s her favorite flower. She’s loved them since she was a little girl.”

  “Ahh. I forgot that.”

  She shook her head. “Scatterbrain Sam strikes again,” she chided, but I could hear the smile in her voice.

  “I’m hopeless,” I agreed with a grin.

  She was quiet for a bit, other than the occasional groan or sigh when I worked out a particularly tough muscle. But after a few minutes, she took a deep breath, like she was working up the nerve to say something. “Plus there’s all the stuff I’m doing for the bachelorette party. And helping her with planning stuff for the actual ceremony and reception.” She bit her lip. “And I made the wedding invitations, too.”

  “That does sound like a lot,” I agreed, frowning. It sounded kind of like Jamy was standing in for an actual wedding planner, in fact.

  She hummed again, but otherwise made no answer. I worked in silence for a few minutes, and bit by bit, she turned to putty under my hands. Score one for Sam. But I was still bothered by the amount of work she’d taken on, and I just had to ask her about it.

  “So why are you doing everything?”

  She groaned softly as I rubbed the silky skin behind her ears. “I’m the maid of honor.”

  “Sure,” I agreed, plunging my fingers into her hair to massage her scalp. “But why are you doing it all yourself?”

  She let out a deep moan as I rubbed her head, and I couldn’t help but grin. “Who else would help?”

  “Celia,” I immediately suggested. “She’s a bridesmaid, right?”

  She grunted. “She’s pregnant.”

  I chuckled. “So she can’t make phone calls or go on the internet in her delicate condition?”

  She huffed softly. “I dunno. She’s just got a lot going on,” she mumbled. “Doesn’t seem fair to ask.”

  It didn’t seem fair to ask Jamy to do everything by herself, either. But I had a feeling that argument would go nowhere.

  “Okay, then ask Sabine.” I pulled out her messy bun, and she shook her head out, her soft hair falling all around her. “She’s in the wedding party, too.” I slid my hands down her arms, massaging her hands.

  She tipped her he
ad back to rest against my shoulder, her eyes closed and her features slack. “She’s busy. The band picked up a bunch of shows at this new jazz club in Phoenix. They’re playing tonight, actually.”

  Excellent, I thought. No one to interrupt us.

  Jamy bit her lip as I snaked my fingers under the hem of her tee shirt. “And I think she’s seeing someone,” she added.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

  She nodded, sighing as I moved my hands up, my fingertips skimming over her nipples for a moment before I plunged my hand inside her sports bra. “Yeah, but she’s being very secretive about it,” she replied, sounding peeved.

  I smiled. “How dare she.”

  “Mmmm.” I couldn’t tell if she agreed with me, or if she was just reacting to me rolling her nipple between my fingers.

  “You know what I think?” I whispered.

  “Ungh?”

  I chuckled. I’d take that as a plea to continue. “I think you should tell my sister she’s putting too much pressure on you.”

  She cleared her throat. “But she’s busy, too. She can’t do it all herself. She has the restaurant.” Her voice was breathy and distracted, since my hands were now pushing her bra up until it was bunched just below the neckline of her shirt. God, I loved her tits. The perfect handful for me, with pert, rosy nipples that I never got tired of sucking.

  “You have a full-time job, too,” I pointed out, my tone low and seductive. Compelling. This was tricky. I wanted her to be so relaxed that she wouldn’t even notice what I was saying.

  “But, ungh-“ Her argument was cut short when I sucked her earlobe into my mouth. She dug her hands into my thighs, and I welcomed the sting.

  I loved it when she got a little rough with me. It had taken a while to convince her she wouldn’t hurt me, that I just wanted her to let go, to be bold and daring when it was just the two of us. And most of all, that it really got me off. I was pretty sure it was that last one that had finally swayed her. Jamy was a people pleaser to her core.

  But I was pretty sure she was actually into it, too. She screamed in ecstasy when I pulled her hair or slapped her ass. She begged me to fuck her harder, to grip her hips tighter, to pinch her nipples. She smiled whenever she found a new love bite or stretched well-used muscles. She loved it when I fucked her mouth, pumping my hips in and out of that tight, wet heat…