by S. M. West
“That’s the problem, she’ll end up getting hurt.” Drew sighs, rubbing his hand down his concerned face.
It’s my turn to frown, stopping at the implication of his words. Whatever is going on between Pete and Drew is about Olivia, and I don’t like the sound of that.
Before we even reach the living room, Olivia calls from the front door, “Hey Drew, was that your dad’s car backing out of the driveway?”
When she rounds the corner, my gut clenches at the sight of her. I could look at her all day, all the time. Her lightly bronzed skin glows in a turquoise summer dress that falls to just above her knees. Shiny tendrils randomly fall from her messy bun, prettily framing her face.
Her eyes widen when they land on me. “Sam,” she says in a high-pitched voice.
“Mom,” Drew says, an undeniable warning edging his tone. I’d sensed something was up from when I first got here, but now I know something is. The way mother and son are eyeing each other, their gazes laden with meaning, says it all.
“Olivia,” I say, nearing them. She briefly looks at me, a small smile tugging at her lips before she averts her eyes to the door where someone is knocking.
She apprehensively looks to Drew and one more time to me before swinging back to the door. Is she worried that it’s Pete? What on earth is going on?
Drew opens the door, and a tall man in a suit with salt and pepper hair and a slight paunch beams back at him. Then he spots Olivia and his already incredibly big smile grows. I can certainly understand his reaction, but I don’t like it. It’s too friendly, almost like he knows her, as if they’re more than friends. My back stiffens and my jaw ticks as I grate my teeth and my lips tighten. I know what this is.
“Olivia, can I see you tomorrow?” he eagerly asks. “I was thinking we could go to Niagara-on-the-Lake. I’d love to spend the day with you.”
He steps inside as Drew glances back at me, pity etching his tense face. Sympathy for me? No fucking way—I don’t need his pity. His heart’s in the right place, but I won’t take this lying down.
With a weak smile for me, Drew says to his mother, “I’m outta here. I’m staying at Ken’s tonight. Sam, thanks for dinner. I’ll catch ya later, man.”
With a curt nod, he grabs his keys and runs down the walkway like he’s being chased by zombies.
Olivia shuffles from one foot to the other, her gaze refusing to settle on me. “Ah, sorry, I…”
“She already has plans,” I sharply interject, stepping between Olivia and this man. “Sorry pal, we haven’t met. I’m Sam.” Extending my hand, I deliver the blow with a smile. “Olivia’s boyfriend.”
His eyes expand and shock covers his face as he looks to Olivia, who is now scowling at me. “Damn, sorry, I didn’t know,” he stammers while giving me a weak handshake. Now he’s the one who looks like there are zombies after him.
Pursing my lips, I fight the laughter bubbling in my throat. He thinks I’m going to hit him, which I’m not. Violence isn’t my thing. Besides, I’ve made my point.
“Hank, this is my friend Sam,” she says. The word ‘friend’ carries such force, it’s as if she punches me in the gut.
“Sam?” He nods. “Is this the guy from Montreal?” Judgment lines his innocuous words.
Olivia’s taken aback at his accusing tone, as she should be. I don’t like this dick.
“Listen, asshole, I’m her boyfriend. That’s all you need to know. Goodnight Hank.” Widening the open door, I gesture for him to leave.
“I meant nothing by it. Goodbye Olivia,” he says, clearly disappointed. She continues to glower, now at both of us, refusing to acknowledge him as he leaves. I close the door loudly behind him and she folds her arms, all her ire now directed at me.
“What the hell?” My tone carries a sharp note.
“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be here tomorrow,” she says, stating what we both already know.
Wanting nothing more than to call her on this shit, I grit my teeth and instead grate out, “I know. Your boyfriend. Me.” I point to myself. “Your boyfriend wanted to see his girlfriend, wanted to spend more than three hours with her since he has to go back tomorrow afternoon. So, your boyfriend thought he’d surprise her and come the evening before.”
I hate talking about myself in the third person. It’s creepy, but it seems to keep me in check, distancing my emotions from what’s going on.
“Sam.” Her tone softens, arms falling to her side. “Shit, I’m sorry. It was nothing. Just a date. Mrs. Preston was pushing me to go out with her cousin, so I did, to keep her happy and get her off my back.”
“A date?” My eyes narrow on the woman I want to both devour and punish. “It’s actually simple, Livvy. You tell Mrs. Preston you have a boyfriend—that’s how you get her off your back.”
“Boyfriend?” she counters. “Sam, this is casual.” We’re not casual, not by a long shot, but I’ll give her what she wants to hear—for now.
“It may be casual, but we both know we’re exclusive.” The sharp edge of my voice is not lost on her, and both her eyes and mouth open at my harsh response.
We both stand tall with our arms folded, backs straight, eyes laser focused on the other. The growing quiet is deafening. With a sigh, I break our childish staring match.
“Olivia.” My voice is tender; fighting with her is the last thing I want to do.
I’m not happy and she’ll know it, but fuck, all I want is her. She relaxes, rubbing her temples and shaking her head before returning her gaze to me.
“Sam, I’m sorry. I should have, at the very least, told you.”
“Damn straight.” I want to impress upon her how wrong she was to have even considered going on a date, but my time with her is limited. I’ll drill that very important fact into her when the time is right.
Pouncing, I pin her against the door. My hands cage her torso, the pads of my thumbs lightly grazing the undersides of her perfect breasts. Gasping, her cheeks flush and her nipples harden. Unable to control myself, I bend down so I’m almost eye level with her chest. My tongue flicks, feather light against the thin fabric, over her tight nipple.
Her hand dives into my hair, holding me in place as she calls out and curses her enjoyment. Through the fabric, I lick, suck, and nip as she shimmies and squirms with small gasps and moans. Once I’ve whetted my hunger and teased her enough, I pull up to standing. I glance down, and the wet spot of the fabric where I marked her breast pleases me to no end. In this moment, I get the primal nature of the caveman, the insatiable drive to mark what is yours.
“Did you kiss him?” I ask. My tone is razor sharp, and I don’t even recognize it as my own.
Her eyes widen, staring up at me. “No,” she’s quick to say. “I told him I was seeing someone else. I told him about you, which is how he knew you were from Montreal. I told him I wasn’t looking for a relationship, that it wasn’t a date.”
My fingers skim the soft ridges of her cheeks. So soft. So sweet. “He obviously didn’t get the message.”
“Ah, I think you fixed that. He heard you loud and clear.” She snorts with a grin.
Deciding we’ve already wasted too much time on that bozo, I move on to what’s more important: us.
“I missed you, mon trésor,” I murmur before crushing my lips to hers in an intense kiss. My tongue, lips, and teeth brand her, punishing her and teaching her that she’s mine. Only mine. Making sure she never forgets what this is. What we are. We belong to each other, no one else. “Only you and me, Livvy.” My tone is demanding and her appreciative sounds imply understanding, but I want to hear it. I need to hear it. “Say it. Show me that you understand.”
My patience is thin. Tasting her, touching her has me wound tight, burning with need. If I don’t get what I want, I’m liable to snap.
“Only you and me,” she whispers into my mouth.
I devour her, taking, grazing, nibbling. She tastes like heaven, like mine. Now, with her open and pliable, at my mercy, I pus
h the point of our relationship.
“We’re not casual, Olivia.”
She stiffens, eyes wide and confused. “What?”
“We’re not casual. We’re dating. Boyfriend sounds silly, but we are an us. I know you don’t want labels and that’s fine, but we. Are. Us. Livvy.”
“Sam.” She attempts to push me away but I grind into her, connecting with the apex of her thighs. She gasps and sighs.
We stumble, fumbling with our clothes up the stairs and into her room. With Drew gone and Paige at her dad’s, we’ve got the place to ourselves. I intend to use this scarce time alone to show her there is no other. Only me. Only her. Only us.
We spend the next day in bed. At first she’s concerned about Drew coming home, but after texting him and learning that he’s headed to Wasaga Beach for the day, she yields. Giving in to my desire to stay in bed until I must leave, we talk, laugh, eat, and make love. We avoid all talk of Hank, her ex, or anyone else.
We do need to talk about them; I need to make sure she understands it’s her and me, but not now. Not when these moments, just us, alone, are few and far between. Not when we both have busy lives and distance, obligations, and stresses constantly banging on our door. For now, all I want is her. I’ll deal with all the other crap tomorrow.
Olivia
The remainder of the summer flies by and Sam and I have fallen into a comfortable but no less exciting routine. In addition to our countless daily texts, occasional sexting, and phone calls, we try for weekly visits, each of us taking turns traveling back and forth. Sometimes it doesn’t work out, but we make do.
Even though this setup is working for us, I miss him when we’re apart. I miss him the minute we say goodbye. I miss him the second I hear his voice. I miss him when one of the kids says something funny and I wish he were there to share it with. I miss him late at night when I lie in bed, alone, the other pillow cold and empty.
I want more, but I’m also grateful for the distance. It helps keep this thing, this relationship we have from getting too serious, or worse, Sam pushing for something I’m not willing to give.
I can’t lose myself to a man, again, and with Sam, it would be so easy to do so—even more so than it was with Pete. Sam’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a man. If this got too serious and our relationship crashed and burned, I’m not sure what that would do to me.
It’s Labor Day weekend and I’m minutes away from Sam’s. Paige is with her father and Drew’s up at a friend’s cottage before he heads back to school. I spent last night with them, both Paige and I getting our fill of Drew before he leaves. Who knows when his next visit will be, most likely not ‘til Thanksgiving.
Leaving my car at Sam’s, I take an Uber to the bar on Crescent Street where he is waiting. I find him sitting with Bas and the Thibaults—yes, Yasmine too. My stomach lurches as the blonde waif clutches Sam’s forearm, looking up at him longingly. Back off bitch. Both of them catch sight of me at the same time, and Yasmine noticeably stiffens as Sam rises to greet me.
No matter how sure I am of Sam and how much I know without uncertainty that he has no interest in Yasmine Thibault, I can’t help but feel sick at the sight of her, each and every time. I haven’t seen a lot of her since that fateful dinner where she cornered me and made it known that my presence may cost Sam their investment, but any time since, she drops subtle hints, echoing her warning.
I told Sam about her threat and he laughed, telling me not to listen to her and that he was still unsure about whether he wanted them as investors. I took that opportunity to point out that he may already have his answer given he’s not able to come to a decision. Obviously the Thibaults haven’t been able to put his reservations to rest. I wish he’d walk away from them, especially since Bas is also against it.
“Mon trésor,” he whispers with light kisses to my lips and neck. “God, it’s fucking fantastic to have you in my arms.”
My chest rapidly rises and falls as I snuggle into his strong, inviting hold. His warm breath hits my neck, sending shivers skittering down my spine as I grow hot, my core throbbing for him.
“Sam,” I moan.
All too soon, he steps back, eyeing me skeptically. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I quickly respond. I must have inadvertently shown my displeasure at the Thibaults being here.
He eyes my features, resting on my lips longer than necessary. His eyes darken, lids heavy as his smile grows. I’m used to his appreciative perusal of me, especially my lips, but every time my stomach flutters and my cheeks flush.
“We’ll go soon. I don’t want them here either,” he whispers. He knows me so well.
“Samson, my turn,” Bas demands, standing at my side. His friendly grin is all for me.
Turning, I hug him fully, but not too tight. He’s thinner than when I last saw him, and my heart aches at what it means. Though I’ve only known this man for a few months, I love him. It hurts to see him like this, and I so wish I could help him more. Sam is holding it together so well but there are moments when he thinks I’m not looking, when his smile falls and sadness clouds his gaze. My man is hurting and all we can hope for is time. How much or how little, we don’t know.
“Bas, how are you?”
“Ma chérie, I’m wonderful now that you’re here.” His gruff voice is laced with tenderness. “Help me, let’s get out of here,” he whispers.
Unable to contain my laughter, he matches mine as both Thibaults watch us with keen interest.
“Soon,” I promise.
I give a brief and pretentious greeting to the Thibaults as I sit then ask Bas why he’s there instead of at home where he’d be more comfortable. He tells me Sam took him to a doctor’s appointment and on his way home, let it slip that he was meeting the Thibaults. Bas then insisted on being there.
Once I’ve finished my drink, Bas makes his discontent known by huffing and puffing about wanting to leave. I also think he should be getting home; he looks worn and fatigued.
“Samson, Olivia’s taking me home.” Sam attempts to protest, his hold on my hand tightening, but Bas stops him. “Don’t be long. You know where to find her.”
With that, Sam and I exchange a quick but heated goodbye. I can feel his displeasure at my departure in his heavy and bothered gaze, and as much as I want to spend time with him, I’m happy to take Bas home. I too want to leave. He knows this and promises to wrap up soon, although if Daniel has his way, it won’t be nearly as soon as Sam thinks.
When we arrive at his home, we’re met with surprise and joy from Alec. Blueprints are scattered across his large desk, but he leaves it all behind without a second glance to lovingly embrace Bas.
Feeling like an intruder, I excuse myself to the washroom and let them have some alone time. I flick my eyes over Alec’s face; the longing, love, and loss there is heartbreaking. He’s mourning for what they’ve already lost and likely preparing himself for the inevitable.
“Ma chérie, come here,” Bas playfully bellows from the living room.
I’m futzing around in the kitchen, taking my time making drinks, giving them alone time. Alec pops his head around the doorframe and says with a smile, “Olivia, come. His majesty wants you, and we know, what he wants, he gets.” He winks, taking my hand and a drink.
“Our boy was being an idiot tonight.” Alec laughs at Bas’s description of Sam. “Instead of leaving with his love and me, he stayed behind to listen to that blowhard, Daniel Thibault.”
“Bas, ease up. I know you dislike Thibault, but Sam’s got a lot riding on this restaurant. He’s got to do what’s needed,” Alec chides.
Sitting between the two men—which I only did at their insistence—my head swivels back and forth as they chat about their son. It’s sweet to see and feel their love for Sam. I’m always grateful for any chance I get to learn more about his life, and I’m also blessed to be loved and welcomed by these two men. They make me feel so special.
“Ah, you’re the one, ma chérie,” Bas oddl
y states, out of the blue.
“Pardon?”
He continues like I never said a word. “I’m glad I met you before it was too late.”
His words alarm and sadden me. Alec uncomfortably squirms in his seat, tsking at Bas and his blatant comment about the day when he will no longer be here.
“What are you talking about?” I’m baffled.
“Samson has a big heart and plenty to give, even with what this world has dealt him, even with knowing he was the result of a traumatic and soul-destroying event for his mother. It’s not something one easily comes to terms with.”
I gulp, barely able to swallow the lump in my throat that’s quickly formed at his blunt, honest words. I’m confused. “What are you talking about?”
“Did Samson tell you anything about his mother?”
“He told me she died just before his second birthday.”
Bas nods. “Normally, I wouldn’t share this—it’s Samson’s story to tell—but I’m a dying man and I don’t want that boy wasting any time.”
“Bas, would you cut it out already,” Alec interjects, exasperated. I gently squeeze his hand in reassurance. I understand his distress, but also understand where Bas is coming from too.
“I’m not going to sugar-coat anything, Alec. Ma chérie, I’m going to tell you like it is. Samson’s mother was a teenager, barely fifteen, when she was raped.” My stomach plummets to my toes at that horrific news.
“The gory details don’t matter, just that it was life-altering. The man was never caught and most importantly, Annick Samson was never the same. When she found out she was pregnant, she refused an abortion. She wanted the baby, and Samson was that child. She came from a poor family and didn’t have the support available to her to get help and therapy to wrestle her demons. A week before Samson’s second birthday, she committed suicide.”