And yet, I didn’t.
And Cooter Clementine was very, very dead.
It was time to bury all of him.
“Okay, Sam,” I agreed quietly.
His hand in my hair moved, taking my hair with it, it glided along my jaw as his eyes roamed over my face.
Then his fingers slid out of my hair, he wrapped both arms around me and rolled, I went over him then to my back and Sam was on top of me.
“Right,” he said softly, “now, you were in the middle of usin’ your mouth on me when I interrupted to fuck you. Let’s go back to that.”
Oh yeah. That sounded good because he felt good and he tasted good.
I wanted to go back to that.
“Okay,” I breathed.
Sam grinned.
Then he kissed me, hard, wet and deep.
Then he rolled us so he was on his back and I was on top.
Then we got back to what I was doing before he interrupted to fuck me.
After awhile of further exploration and discovery on my part, which I enjoyed a whole heckuva lot and, considering I significantly widened my search area and was relatively thorough, Sam enjoyed more, Sam broke out another condom.
By the time Sam finally let me pass out, the sun had started kissing the sky and he’d broken out two more.
So, I already had proof, when God was handing out talent, he was generous with Sam in a lot of areas.
One of them was stamina.
Good to know.
Chapter Nine
Unclean
My eyes drifted open when I felt the covers drifting down.
Then I felt Sam’s lips at the small of my back, his hand light on my bottom and his lips drifted up while his hand drifted down.
I was on my belly and I turned my head just when his lips drifted over my shoulder and his hand pressed between my legs.
I sucked in breath.
Sam’s eyes caught mine.
“Mouth,” he growled.
Without delay, half asleep but fully turned on, I lifted up and gave him my mouth.
* * * * *
Twenty minutes later I was grinding down on his cock, Sam’s head was tipped back, mine tipped forward and our lips were brushing, our heavy breaths mingling.
I moved to glide up but his arm around my waist tightened, holding me down.
“Baby,” I breathed.
“You’re stayin’ an extra day in Italy, I’m takin’ you to Parma to see the da Vinci,” Sam declared on a rumble that I heard as well as felt… straight through me.
“Okay,” I agreed instantly and tried again to push up but he kept me down.
“Then I’m goin’ to Crete with you.”
I froze; my half-mast eyes opened to full and looked into his.
“Really?” I whispered, uncertain whether to laugh or cry with glee.
“Really,” he whispered back.
I held his eyes and didn’t laugh or cry. I just experienced the glorious feeling of my heart leaping with joy.
Then I agreed, “Okay.”
He smiled.
I smiled back.
Then I tilted my head and kissed him, hard.
His arm loosened and I moved.
* * * * *
I was standing in front of the full-length oval mirror, swiping mascara on my lashes when I heard a key in the lock.
My eyes went to the reflection of the door in the mirror and I watched Sam walk in wearing another pair of faded jeans that fit really well and another shirt, this one light blue, and I knew it was made of linen because it was already wrinkly.
We’d showered in my room and he’d gone to his room to change, leaving me to do my gig in my room.
And I had, including blowing out my hair, doing the Celeste perfume business and donning a sundress I bought with Celeste. This one was shorter than the one Sam had seen, clingier, a lot like a tank top but in dress form, lotus pink and clearly it had Sam’s approval considering his eyes moved to it the minute he cleared the door and didn’t leave it (or, I should say, the ass vicinity of my back in it) as he walked across the room to me.
I also had most of my makeup done.
This meant one of two things. One, Sam primped like a girl, though when he made it to me, I registered he smelled good so I figured he put on some cologne or aftershave, but other than that it didn’t appear his toilette was extensive except to shave. Or two, something held him up.
I watched him in the mirror as, eyes still on my ass, he slid a hand along my ribcage, he fit the front of his body to the back of mine and his eyes moved to my reflection in the mirror (specifically, the breast vicinity).
Before I could figure out whether or not to ask what took him so long, Sam, just like Sam, told me.
“Luci called,” he said, his gaze moving from my breasts to my eyes.
“She okay?”
“I don’t know. I’m not a woman. She wants to shop and bein’ a man that would indicate she’s not.”
I grinned then leaned forward a bit and went back to swiping mascara while explaining, “She’s perfectly fine.”
“Right,” he muttered and my eyes went from my wand to him watching me and suddenly I felt funny so I stopped.
“Are you saying she wants to shop with you or with me?” I asked.
“She wants to shop with both of us.”
I blinked into the mirror because not only was this voiced with dread; Sam was wearing a borderline look of dread on his face.
Yes, the mighty, huge, hot guy, ex-commando Sampson Cooper appeared to fear shopping.
“Are you…” I hesitated, studying him closely, “scared of shopping?”
His eyes had drifted down to my breast area again but at my question, they shot up to my face then both his arms closed around me, he shoved his face in my neck and burst out laughing.
Hmm. Maybe I read him wrong.
“Scared of shopping,” he muttered into my neck then burst out laughing again, his arms going so tight, they squeezed the breath out of me.
Yes, it would seem I read him wrong.
It appeared he didn’t fear it. He loathed it.
So noted.
“Sam, I need to finish with my mascara,” I told him, his head came up and he kept chuckling as his eyes caught mine.
“So finish,” he invited, his voice still vibrating with residual laughter.
“I can’t, you’re putting me off.”
His brows drew together. “How?”
“I don’t know, holding me, watching me, being hot. That puts a girl off.”
His brows relaxed but his body started shaking again, his mouth spreading in a huge grin through which he asked, “Me being hot puts you off?”
“Not, say, when I’m sitting, drinking wine next to you or, uh… other times. But when I have to concentrate on something important and get it right and you’re watching then, uh… yeah.”
His big grin became a bigger smile. “Mascara is important?”
“Sam,” I snapped.
His eyes left mine in the mirror because his head dipped and his mouth went to my ear and I watched as I listened to him whisper, “I was watchin’ you go down on me and I was a lot hotter then, baby. Now that was important and you didn’t seem to have any problem concentrating.”
Heat rushed between my legs, hot and wet.
Oh God.
“Sam,” I breathed.
“Fuck.” His nose brushed the skin below my ear as his hand at the side of my ribs slid up to the side of my breast. “You smell good.”
Apparently, Celeste’s perfume discovery tactic worked.
Also noted.
“You feel good,” he went on, his thumb extending and gliding under the swell of my breast.
I bit my lip and locked my shaking knees.
Sam’s arm around my belly dipped low, his fingers curled into the hem of my dress and his eyes came back to me in the mirror.
“And you look good,” he murmured, his hand ducking under my dress.
>
Oh God.
“Sam,” I repeated on a breath.
His hand slid into my panties.
“Can’t keep my fuckin’ hands off you.”
Oh God.
“Sam –”
I stopped talking as I sucked in breath and my head dropped back to his shoulder when his finger hit the spot.
Oh man. That felt nice.
His finger worked me, I moaned, turned my head and pressed my forehead into his neck and his other hand pulled down the top of the dress taking with it the cup of my bra and his fingers started working my nipple there.
God.
That felt nicer than nice.
“Jesus, fuck, look at you.”
I pressed my forehead in his neck.
“Fuckin’, look at you.” His finger at the spot slid down and filled me. “Beautiful.”
Both of my hands went to both of his, he kept playing with my nipple and finger fucked me before going back to my clit, pressing and rolling. I felt it with my hands and I felt what he was doing and both felt freaking great.
I whimpered.
His finger moved to slide back inside.
“Gotta have that again, baby,” he growled in my ear and I twisted my neck and did my best to focus on his eyes.
“Take it,” I whispered.
His hands moved away instantly, both going to yank up my skirt. Mine went to yank down my panties. He lifted me up, they fell from my ankles then I found myself on my hands and knees in the unmade bed, Sam on his feet behind me, his hand brushing my ass as he worked the fly of his jeans then he was inside me.
He drove forward.
I reared back.
He did it again. So did I.
We’d had a lot of sex so this lasted awhile.
A good long while.
A freaking fantastic one.
I came on a moan, my hands going out from under me, sliding forward as my back arched into the bed, my ass to the ceiling. I heard his growl then his grunts as he powered in harder, faster then I listened to his groan when he came.
After, I remained in position, getting my wits sorted, feeling him glide in and out while the fingertips of one hand drifted over my behind and hip and the other hand stayed curled around my waist and I liked that, he did it often, showing me tenderness after he took me hard. Then he pulled out, hauled me to my feet, back to him, yanked my dress down, then he held me close to his frame with an arm around my ribs as he righted his fly.
Then he turned me, lifted me, stepped in, put a knee to the bed then we were down, me on my back, Sam on top of me.
And it was then he kissed me, long, deep and sweet.
I liked that too. A lot.
He lifted his head and I looked into his satisfied, beautiful, dark brown eyes, liking that they were satisfied but liking it more that I could give him that and I informed him, “I think I dropped my mascara wand.”
He blinked.
Then he grinned.
Then he muttered, “Tragedy.”
I grinned back then went on, “And my mascara tube.”
“I’ll notify the media.”
My grin turned to a smile but I said through it, “Shut up.”
He shut up but he did this by kissing me again, longer, deeper, sweeter.
Yeah, I liked that a lot.
He released my mouth but kissed my nose.
Oh. Wow.
He’d never done that before.
That was sweet too.
Very sweet.
Then something occurred to me and I whispered, “I have to go clean up.”
“Yeah,” he murmured, touched his mouth to mine and rolled off.
I rolled the other way, got up, tagged my panties from the floor then went to the bathroom and did my thing.
I was washing my hands and looking in the mirror when it hit me Sam always put on a condom. Always, no matter how heated it got and, so far, each time, it got seriously heated.
And he clearly didn’t just now.
This was not a big deal. I was on the pill.
But Sam was so careful he was probably concerned I wasn’t and was too much of a gentleman to ask.
I needed to set his mind at ease.
I wandered into the room to the mascara wand and tube I’d dropped, I retrieved them, inspected the wand, all seemed well then I slid the wand into the tube, turned to the mirror and went back to swiping.
I did this while, hopefully casually, noting, “You should know, honey, I’m on the pill.”
My eyes flicked to Sam reflected in the mirror, reclining on his side, elbow in the bed, head in his hand, eyes on me and I saw and heard him mutter, “Good.”
Right.
That was done.
Not hard at all.
I could do this, be in a healthy relationship, communicate, move on.
Easy.
I swiped the brush against the edges of my lashes. Three times one side. Three times the other.
Except for gloss makeup done.
I was screwing the wand into the tube and had moved to my cosmetics case to drop it in when Sam said, “Unless you’ve had one, we’ll find a clinic, here or Crete, get you a test.”
I dropped the mascara in my bag and dug for my pink lip gloss that would go great with my dress while asking, “A test?”
“AIDS, other STDs.”
I froze. Then I blinked at my bag. Then, woodenly, I straightened and turned to him.
“What?”
“AIDS and other STDs,” he repeated. “You already had one?”
Numbly, I shook my head.
Sam kept talking. “We’ll get you one. Make sure you’re clean. Then, since you’re on the pill, we can lose the condoms. Shouldn’t have done that just now, you in that dress, outta my hands. Won’t do it again until we’re sure you’re clean.”
I was… clean?
I didn’t know what to say.
But I knew what to feel.
Unclean.
I turned back to my cosmetics bag and blindly dug for my lip gloss. It was blindly because my eyes had filled with tears so I couldn’t see a freaking thing.
“Kia?” Sam called.
“Mm-hmm,” I answered but even my mumble sounded thick.
“Baby?”
I swallowed then answered, “Yeah?”
That sounded thick too.
I blinked to clear my eyes and my fingers had just found the lip gloss when Sam’s hand closed around my other one and he wrapped both our arms around my belly.
Then softly in my ear he said, “Your dead husband stepped out on you. It’s fucked but it doesn’t negate the fact that I’m fuckin’ you but I’m also fuckin’ whoever he fucked. I gotta be careful and you gotta make sure you’re safe.”
“Right,” I whispered, cleared my throat because my voice sounded croaky and then I requested, “Could you, uh… let me go? I need to finish getting ready.”
“Kia –”
“Just lip gloss, jewelry then my shoes and then I really need to get something to eat.”
“Kia –”
My hand holding the gloss pushed at his arm as my hand held in his tried to twist free even as I leaned away from him and assured, “I’ll be ready in two minutes tops.”
He pulled the gloss out of my hand, tossed it back in the bag then captured mine and he wrapped both arms around me.
I went solid.
His mouth went back to my ear and he deduced, “You hadn’t thought about that.”
I hadn’t.
No.
I already felt unclean enough at the hands of Cooter.
The thought of that, the thought that that was what was in Sam’s mind every time he made love to me, enough to remember to protect himself from me, made me feel filthy.
Of course, he was only being smart.
That didn’t make me feel any less contaminated.
I didn’t reply.
I listened and felt as Sam drew in a deep breath, his chest expanding against my back then
I listened to his long sigh.
Then he said, “I fucked up.”
Yes. He did.
He could have handled that subject with a lot more care.
He didn’t.
Whatever.
Onward.
“Really, let me just –”
He let my hands go, turned me to face him then his arms closed around me tight.
I lifted my hands to his biceps, put on pressure and I tipped my head back to look at him.
“Sam, really, it’s lunchtime. We slept through breakfast. I’m hungry.”
“I should have felt you out, been more aware.”
Yes. He should have.
He didn’t.
Onward!
“It’s okay. Now –”
“It isn’t.”
I snapped my mouth shut and glared up at him.
His eyes moved over my face and he whispered, “I’m sorry, baby.”
I nodded. “Like I said, it’s okay. Now, really, I’ve had some coffee in the room but I have to have some food.”
He stared at me.
Then he noted, “You’re pissed.”
I wasn’t.
I was unclean.
“No, I’m not.”
“You’ve got a right to be pissed, honey.”
“Do I have to be hungry while I’m pissed?” I asked, his eyes studied my face again then he slowly shook his head. “Good, then can I put on lip gloss and shoes so I can go get something to eat?”
“Yeah,” he answered but didn’t let me go.
“Uh… are you gonna let me go so I can do those things?”
His eyes studied my face yet again.
I sought patience.
Then he said quietly, “Yeah.”
Then he let me go.
I retrieved the gloss, walked to the mirror, put it on and, considering that our abbreviated conversation about Luci intimated that I would imminently be shopping with her, and my few times spent with Luci indicated she was a fashionista, as she would be, of the tallest order, I added dangly, spiky earrings, a couple of thick, jingly bracelets and a long, thin-chained necklace with a jingly, spiky pendant at the end. Then I unearthed my bronze sandals, sat on the bed and strapped them on.
Sam had seen them before but… whatever.
He was a man. He didn’t care about shopping; he probably didn’t care about shoes.
Once they were on, I got up, went to my purse, hooked the strap on my shoulder and looked to him.
He was standing where I left him except now his arms were crossed on his chest, his legs were planted slightly apart and he looked like a gladiator who was in the ring, they just let in the lion, it was weak, sickly thus easily defeated and he was disappointed with the challenge.