The energy built in me until I was shaking. He sucked and licked, moaning once when my legs tightened around his head. His finger joined his mouth, spreading my wetness around before diving into me. It sent me soaring. Stars appeared behind my eyes and I felt dizzy. I was sure I was dying.
“Do you like this?” Walker asked, his voice warm against me.
“God, yes,” I moaned.
“Good, because you taste so sweet,” he said, glancing up my body. Keeping his eyes on me, he lowered his mouth again, his tongue doing wicked things to me that I never imagined possible. It flicked and licked. Circled and skimmed. When it delved into me, I lost it. My body arched and I exploded, the orgasm hitting me so hard I bit my lip, drawing blood to keep from crying out.
He didn’t stop. He tasted me hungrily as I trembled and shook. I grabbed the sheet on either side of my hips, holding on tight.
Walker growled as I came, saying something I didn’t understand. I tried to roll away from him and escape the wonderful torture but he held my hips tightly, keeping me open for him. One last cry escaped me as he licked at me gently.
As I floated back down, he lapped at me slower, taking all of my wetness in his mouth. I hardly knew when he crawled up my body, his lips leaving a path on my skin.
“I could do that forever,” he said in a throaty rasp, his teeth grazing my nipple.
I shuddered and licked my dry lips, wondering when the room would stop spinning.
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” I whispered, half teasing.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m saying it to you now,” he said, moving up my body. His eyes locked on mine, seriousness making them darker.
I laughed but it held no humor. “You really know how to romance a girl, Walker.”
He lowered his mouth to my neck, hiding his emotions from me. “It’s who I am, Sam,” he said against my skin. “Take me or leave me.”
“I think I’ll take you,” I whispered.
Walker let out an animalistic sound. “Goddamn, Sam, I’m losing my fucking mind around you.”
Nudging my legs apart, he settled between them, sending need spiking through me.
I reached for his belt buckle but he stopped me.
“I don’t have another condom,” he whispered, wrapping his fingers around mine.
“I don’t care. Can’t you just pull out or something? Isn’t that what guys do?” I asked, sounding desperate and out of my mind. My body was screaming for Walker. I had been given a tiny taste of what being with a man was like; now I wanted the whole package.
Walker buried his face in my neck. “Christ, Sam, you don’t know what you’re saying. I’m on the verge of losing control and then you talk like that. It’s so goddamn tempting, but you don’t know how much danger you’re in.”
“Then tell me,” I whispered, closing my eyes to the sensations of him between my legs. “What happens if you lose control?”
Walker’s voice turned fierce, full of possession and warning. “You could lose everything to me, Sam. Your body. Your heart. Your soul. I would eat you alive, sweetheart. I don’t love and I don’t like. I lust. That’s it. And the only thing I give back is a fucking good time. You deserve more. Remember that.”
A second later he was gone, leaving me lying on the bed. My body still humming. My heart still pounding.
And me wanting him more.
Chapter Twenty–Four
-Walker-
I crawled off Sam’s body like I’d given her the best damn orgasm in the world - arrogant, smug, and proud of it. Heck, maybe I had. Sure seemed that way to me. She had wiggled and squirmed under me, crying out and coating my lips and chin in wetness. But the truth was I had to get out of there. She was driving me crazy. I could still taste her in my mouth, a sweetness I wanted to have forever. But the feeling in my heart … it was killing me.
I flung open her bedroom door and let it hit the inside wall. I heard the bed squeak as she jumped but I didn’t let it get to me. Let her be frightened. It’s how she should be.
I charged down the hallway like the devil was on my heels. And maybe he was, trying to drag me back into that bedroom and force me to take what I now determined was mine.
My cock was so hard, I could hardly think straight. I swear if I brushed up against something, I would explode, embarrassing myself like some teenage boy with his first girl. I needed a release and fast. Sam’s wetness was still on my mouth and I needed it off before I lost all control.
I knew just the thing to help with that.
I had polished off half of Ms. Ross’s Mad Dog plus a few shots of vodka before I hit the hallway, seeking Sam out. I had no intention of pulling her pants off and eating her out. It just happened that way, I guess. A lot of things happened around Sam that I never expected. But now the thirst was back. The one that really never left. What I needed right now was another good stiff drink.
I headed for the kitchen. Any minute, I expected Sam to come running out of her room, demanding that I take back what I said – that I only lusted; I never loved. And maybe I would take it back. If I could get between her legs, I might just say anything. Hell, I’d ask her to marry me for a chance at that.
I froze, my hand reaching for the bottle of Crown hidden in the cabinet. Where the hell had that thought come from? Marry Sam? I had to be losing my frickin’ mind. I had just told her I couldn’t love anyone. I sure as hell couldn’t marry anyone.
I grabbed the whiskey from the cabinet and rummaged around for a clean glass but gave up when I couldn’t find one. Instead, I grabbed a coffee mug with a crack in the side. Turning it around, I frowned. It had a picture of Sam as a kid on the side, something the school probably made her make for Mother’s Day or some other shitty holiday our parents couldn’t care less about. I slammed it on the counter and poured some Crown about halfway to the rim then headed to the fridge.
My stomach clenched when I swung open the 1980s fridge door. There was nothing inside. Nothing. Just a twelve-pack of Coke and a bottle of wine. I wanted to wring Ms. Ross’s passed-out skinny, pasty neck. But instead I grabbed a Coke and popped the top, filling the rest of my coffee mug with it. Sam smiled back at me from the side of the ceramic cup, a shy grin on her face.
I remembered her at that age. She was so quiet. I had wanted to shake the shyness out of her on more than one occasion when we were kids. She shouldn’t have been that way. It wasn’t safe. Not in our neck of the woods. If the guys around here had gotten wind that little Samantha Ross wouldn’t fight back, it would’ve caused her trouble. And landed me with more than just the grand theft auto and minor-in-possession charges I had hanging over my head as a kid.
How the hell she stayed a virgin until nineteen, I didn’t know. She was too beautiful to be alone and too frisky to be untouched. Truth was I always thought she was like her mama, opening her legs to every Tom, Dick, and Harry that came around. That was the monster in me talking. The one that wanted to hate everybody. Damn, was I happy to learn I was wrong. Sam was a virgin. Now I wanted to be her first.
I remembered her squirming beneath me a few minutes ago, coming apart as my mouth and fingers drove her wild. I’d never been with a virgin and really had no interest in them. I liked women to know what they were doing. To not be afraid of what I demanded. But I wanted to be with Sam, in more ways than one I was beginning to realize.
I shook my head with disgust and took a long drink of my whiskey and Coke. Marriage. Shit. Even the word left me cold. Sam and I hadn’t even had sex. I didn’t love her. Fuck no. Never gonna happen. Not unless I wanted to ruin her life and mine. Because if I did the impossible and fell for her, if something happened - if she died like my mom or left me like her dad did – it would kill me.
I finished my drink and started on another. The best answer to my problem was alcohol. It was my go-to problem solver.
And Sam was the biggest, sexiest, most amazing problem I ever had.
~~~~
I woke up the next day with the moth
er of all hangovers. My head pounded and my body ached. My mouth felt like I had eaten a package full of cotton balls and my eyes were swollen and bloodshot.
I sat up and winced. Last night was the worst sleep of my life. The couch was too short, too broken down, and too lumpy. I rubbed the back of my neck and tried to massage the kinks out. Didn’t work. Rolling my shoulders helped but not much. I was a mess. Damn, how much did I drink last night?
The coffee table caught my eye. An empty bottle of Crown sat beside a bone-dry container of Bacardi 151. I remembered opening one but not the other. I’m surprised I was even alive much less conscious.
A full ashtray took center stage next to a crumbled package of Camels. I rubbed my fingers across my lip, wondering if any of those cigarettes had been mine. Hoped not. I hadn’t had any trouble kicking the habit but that didn’t mean I still didn’t want one. It was the addictive side of me. Just looking for another vice.
I reached for my boots at the end of the couch, careful not to move too fast. I couldn’t remember even taking them off. I must have blacked out at some point. Last thing I remembered was sitting in the kitchen alone, drinking and thinking about Sam. Next thing I know, I’m waking up. Sore as shit and sick as a dog.
I tugged my boots on, ignoring the urge to vomit, and grabbed the remote sitting nearby. Flipping on the TV, I winced when the sound hit my ears, leaving my head throbbing painfully.
I buried my face in my hands and rested my elbows on my knees as I listened to the weatherman rattle on about storms and rain chances. He said something about having the wettest year on record. I muttered a curse and dropped my hands away from my face. Rain was making my paycheck shrink; just one of the many downsides of construction. If it rained, I didn’t work. If I didn’t work, I didn’t get paid. If I didn’t get paid, I didn’t go to school. Don’t go to school, end up like my dad, barely eking out a living. It was a vicious cycle that had me by the balls most of the time. But no matter how much I might have to nickel and dime it, I would never be desperate enough to go back to a life of crime. Yeah, I missed driving the high-end cars that people used to pay me to steal, but I was done with that. Juvie was hell but I’m sure prison would make it look like a walk in the park.
I rose to my feet gingerly and waited as the room stopped spinning. The sun was just rising, peeking in through the dirty living room curtains. I tried not to look directly at the rays, afraid my eyeballs might just implode if I did.
I promised Bent I would watch Sam for the night and that’s exactly what I had done. Now it was time to leave. I had a hangover to nurse and a cold shower long overdo.
I headed down the hallway, taking my time and letting the walls help me. The back of the trailer was blissfully dark, the only sounds the moaning of the floors as I walked across them.
Holding onto the wall, I passed Bent’s old room, empty of every single thing. Next was Ms. Ross’s room. Soft music played from behind her closed door. The faint sound of snoring could be heard through the thin walls of the trailer, proving she was sleeping off last night too. I continued walking, thinking I was heading to the bathroom. But in my hangover state of mind, I found myself standing in front of Sam’s closed bedroom door instead.
Shit.
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, imagining Sam on the other side. She would be asleep, the covers wrapped around her legs. Her hair would be spread out on the pillow, looking like strands of black ribbon against her pink sheets. Innocent and erotic at the same time.
I scrubbed a hand over my face in frustration. I hated her. I wanted her. I might even love her, as fucked up as that sounded. But right now, I had to leave her.
I wrapped my hand around the doorknob and started to turn it but stopped. What was I doing? I couldn’t just walk in, hung over and smelling like the inside of a bottle. Wake her up and tell her goodbye. Act like nothing happened between us. Because something had – something more than just sex - and I wasn’t sure what to do about it.
I let go of the knob and put my hand flat against the door, leaning into it. I couldn’t let her see me this way. Fucked up. Hung over. A mess. It might be who I was but that didn’t mean I was proud of it.
I dropped my hand and took a step back, staring at her closed door.
It was time to face reality. This taste in my mouth – the one of sour alcohol – represented who I was. Distasteful. Bitter. Disturbing. Just the leftover effects of something that could do nothing but ruin a life.
And I wasn’t going to ruin hers.
I turned on my heel and retraced my steps to the living room, fighting the urge to return to Sam’s room. She didn’t need someone like me and I didn’t need someone like her. Someone that made me feel things I thought I was incapable of feeling.
I gave the rundown trailer one last look then shut the front door quietly behind me, locking it. I would call Bent later and tell him to watch Sam himself. Or send her to a hotel. I couldn’t trust myself around her anymore.
The fresh morning air felt good in my lungs. Much better than the stale smell of alcohol and cigarettes in the tiny house. I headed to my car, absently noticing the stillness of the neighborhood. Not many people around here attended church on Sunday mornings. Most were probably trashed or hung over like me.
Dew covered my car, making the faded black paint glisten in the morning sunlight. I took my time walking to it. Each step I made was painful, sending shooting agony through my brain. All I wanted was to get in my car and go home. Take a cold shower and crash in my own, full-size bed.
I grimaced as I crossed the last remaining feet to my car, bile rising in my throat. I was sliding into the driver’s seat when I heard something. The sound of a truck door slamming. I glanced up, an unconscious reaction to a loud noise in this neighborhood. You had to be on your toes around here. Never knew who was going to sneak up behind you, trying to sell you drugs or swipe any cash you had, courtesy of a gun or knife to your ribs. But what I found instead was my dad, getting out of his truck.
I watched through the windshield as he heaved a bag of potting soil out of the bed of the truck. Sitting it on his shoulder, he walked a few feet to the front door and threw it on the ground beside the steps.
I started my car and put it into drive, keeping my eyes on him as I pulled away from the curb. What the hell was he doing? And why did I care? Must be the alcohol still in my system.
I drove along at a crawl, watching as he dropped to his knees beside the house. He had a small shovel and was digging at the dirt, creating a hole by the front door. I guess I was asking for punishment because I found myself pulling over to the curb in front of his house - the house I wanted to forget.
My dad didn’t look up as I got out of the car. I doubted he could even hear me. The old man had been going deaf since I was a kid.
“What are you doing?” I called out, walking across the dew-covered grass, my boots leaving footprints behind.
He didn’t look up, just kept digging in the wet dirt.
“Dad!” I shouted a few feet from him.
He turned around, surprise on his face. Gray whiskers dotted his sunken cheeks and sharp jaw line. His eyes were clear, no evidence of an all-night bender in them.
“Hey, son,” he said, climbing to his feet awkwardly, the shovel still in his hand.
I frowned, watching as the man who had hit me more times than I could count stood in front of me. Sam’s words from last night haunted me. He was still my dad, despite what he had put me through. As much as I couldn’t stand to look at him, there was still a part of me that wanted his acceptance, even though I knew I would never get it.
“What are you doing?” I asked again, my voice hostile.
He glanced down the street toward Sam’s house, ignoring my question. “You coming from Samantha’s?”
I crossed my arms over my chest and widened my stance, my frown deepening. “Yeah.”
“How she doing?” he asked, scratching an inch under his faded plaid shirt.
&nbs
p; “Just fine,” I answered, unwilling to discuss Sam with him.
He nodded and eyed me, giving me a onceover. The old man could probably sniff alcohol out on a person like a bloodhound. He knew I had been drinking. Just like I knew he probably had too.
“You fine also?” he asked, nodding at my wrinkled jeans and shirt.
I gritted my teeth and held back the biting remark I wanted to hand him. We had fought and exchanged too many harsh words over the years. More wasn’t going to do much except fan the flame and I was tired of the fire.
“Yep,” I answered, ignoring the anger in me. “You gonna tell me what you’re doing or should I just leave.”
He glanced at the hole near his foot. His old Velcro athlete shoes were covered with an inch of mud and more than a few years of wear. He kicked at a mound of dirt and rubbed a gnarled finger under his nose. “Planting a rose bush,” he said, matter-of-factly.
My eyebrows shot up. “A rose bush?” I asked with disbelief. This was the same man who never cared if we had one blade of grass in the yard.
“Yeah, a rose bush,” my dad said over his shoulder, turning back to the hole. He shoved the blade of the shovel into the dirt and started digging again. That’s when I noticed a bush sitting off to the side, leaning against the house. A bag was around the roots and a tag hung from one of the limbs.
“It was one of your mama’s favorites. Antique Mauve,” he said, flinging a shovel full of mud a few feet away. “Thought it would be nice to look at it when it blooms. Might remind me of her.”
At the mention of my mom on this man’s tongue, I lost it. All my anger rose to the surface. “And are you thinking of her when you drink a fifth? Or how about all the times you used me as your punching bag? Were you thinking of her then?” I shouted, my patience gone, my aggravation and confusion with Sam finding an outlet. “You really think Mom would have liked what you did to her son? How you left bruises on me that took weeks to disappear!” I shook my head with disgust, gesturing to the ground. “But go ahead and plant a damn rose bush in her honor. Jesus.”