24. Sam

Iwake up early, feeling the weight of a heavy arm across my waist. It takes a moment for the memories of last night to come flooding back. He knows everything now, and instead of running, he told me he loves me. My heart flutters as I recall the desperation in his eyes, his plea for me to stay. Turning towards him, I see a tuft of brown hair obscuring his face. I smile as I gently brush it aside.

His eyes blink open, and his look of innocent confusion makes me giggle, reminding me of a prince awakened by a soft breeze. "Hey," he murmurs. I lean in, pressing my lips to his with conviction.

"Morning," I say, pulling back slightly.

"Anything on your mind?" he asks, and I almost laugh at the understatement.

"A few things."

"Like?"

I hesitate, the weight of my question pressing on me, but I need to know. "Were you serious? Do you think you love me?"

He doesn't hesitate. "I know I do. There's not a doubt in my mind, Sam."

I reach out, cradling his face in my hands, feeling an indescribable closeness to him. He leans in, our noses brushing. "You okay?"

With a nervous nod, I wrap my arms around him. Never in my life has anyone made me feel so seen. Even my sister Penny didn't understand my reasons for staying with Kevin as long as I did. But Greg didn't ask why. He didn't demand I explain my cowardice or ask for more details about that night.

He only told me it was okay. Promised it. Made me believe it.

And I know I'm ready. Maybe not to say those terrifying words back to him, but to connect to him like I haven't before.

We've had sex previously, sure, but it was a purely physical connection. Now, there's more. So much more. I pull him to me with a single tug and capture his mouth with mine. My fingers tangle in his hair, his groan sending waves of warmth through me. Despite our past intimacy, this moment feels profoundly different. After weeks of holding back, his declaration of love has changed everything for me. I'm ready to surrender to him completely.

Our kisses deepen, fueled by a shared desire that seems to have been simmering just beneath the surface. As he slips his tongue between my lips, I open up for him in more ways than one. A low moan escapes me, a sound so primal it seems to resonate from the very core of my being.

It's like a starter's pistol has gone off, and Greg growls as he paws at my body, pushing his hands up under my shirt. Rough skin explores my stomach. Heat is pooling in my stomach quickly. How in the hell did I resist this man for three weeks?

Greg slept in his briefs, and his bare chest looks glorious in the dim morning light. My fingers are touching everywhere: down the ridges of his sculpted abdomen, up his firm biceps. But I can't get enough. Touching isn't enough.

Like he's reading my mind, his head dips as his hands push my shirt up. Licks and nibbles trail all over my stomach. A greedy whimper escapes my throat, and my legs fall to the side. His hand quickly slides up the inside of my thigh. When he stops at my hip, his fingers dig into my skin, so hard and powerful that I know it will leave a bruise. But for some reason, the idea he's leaving a mark on me only makes my heart rate pick up more.

A bruise made in love is so different from anger. Almost like a declaration to the world. To me. ‘You're mine.' And any sore spot will be my own beautiful reminder.

"Greg…" I say, surprised at the quiver in my voice.

"Is this okay, Sam?"

A swallow and nod. "Please." It's begging, but I don't care. My desperation meter is full. Overflowing even. If Greg doesn't touch me where I need it most in the next half second, I'll be forced to take things into my own hands. Literally.

The thin fabric of my skirt is shoved up until his fingers are tracing circles around my most sensitive area. Within seconds, I'm tilting my pelvis up, trying to get more of the touch I so need.

"Where do you need me, Sam?" he asks. His voice is husky, straining against the words.

"Everywhere. Here, now," I say, not sure if I'm making any sense. Without any warning, he slips my panties down. I grip overhead onto the pillow, knowing what's coming, or rather what will be coming as soon as he touches me. The anticipation of it hits me, and my body starts to tremble. But instead of feeling his warm, wet tongue on me, a breeze of cool air is blown onto my pussy.

It's torture but in the best way. I thrust my hips up, trying to feel his touch.

Greg doesn't disappoint. His mouth plunges onto me, tongue diving inside me as his nose moves up and down on my clit. A yelp of pleasure, of pure shock at his divine touch, bursts from my mouth. I've never made that sound before, and for a moment, I'm almost confused if it's really my voice.

My hands slap down onto his head, tangling my fingers into his dark golden locks. I tighten as he licks and sucks, whining, begging for more. His mouth is magic. I'm convinced. Whether he sold his soul to the devil or was just born some sort of mythical oral pleasure wizard, I don't know. All I do know is I need more.

I buck against him as he clamps down on my clit. This man needs to be inside me now.

"Please," I say again in a whisper. But as soon as the words leave my mouth, he stops and sits up. I don't wait for his questions or any further teasing. My thumbs hook into his briefs, ripping them down.

His cock is rigid and beautiful, glistening with precum. It is like a trophy just for me, from the man that loves me. As I stare at it, almost overcome with desire, it twitches. I lock eyes with him, seeking the permission I need. ‘Can I?' my eyes ask.

‘Yes please,' the lazy, sultry smile says. Grabbing on, I slide my hand up and down the shaft, paying special attention to the slickness at the tip.

His growl heightens my arousal in an instant if that's even possible. I've never been so turned on in my life. But he bends forward, and our lips collide. The kiss turns animalistic immediately. Our movements mash together, finding a rhythm that keeps time with my hand pumping furiously as his manhood grows even thicker.

But he suddenly grabs my wrist, panting as he stops my motion. "Not like this," he says, shaking with restraint. I stop, but my face is worked into a curious expression. The signals he was giving were more than clear. He wants this as much as I do.

Without explaining, he lowers my hands down in a smooth motion and then pushes me onto my back. "I want you to feel it, Sam."

With his eyes locked with mine, he hovers over me, guiding his cock into me with his hand. My eyes close, but I feel his fingers touch my chin. "Look at me," he says. When I do, I almost want to run away. There's an intensity in his gaze that's so strong that it burns me from the inside out.

I shudder but don't break away. When he pumps all the way into me, my hands fly to his ass, gripping in and shoving at the same time. Deeper and deeper. I want to feel every inch of him.

But he moves slowly, caressing my hair with his one hand while propping himself up on his other elbow. Leaning down over me, his forehead touches mine.

The look he's giving me is so completely vulnerable and raw that my heart slows. I finally understand. He's purposefully slowing the experience down, sticking to his promise, and showing me he loves me, even in the midst of our shared passion.

"Stay?" he asks, repeating the request from the night before.

My hands move to his chest, the touch tender. "I'm here." But he stops moving and looks at her expectantly. I almost laugh. He wants more, a bigger promise. "I'm not going anywhere, Greg." It feels like my own declaration, making sure he knows I have no intention of ever leaving him. A wide smile breaks out on his face before he's kissing me again. The weight of his body lays completely on top of me, but his movements remain gentle. Each pump into me is like another admission of his feelings.

I wrap my legs around his waist, my arms flying around his broad chest. Nails claw at his back as he confidently rocks us back and forth.

"Sam…" he moans out, his cock pistoning into me slowly, again and again.

We're both drenched in his sweat, but I love the euphoric feel of our wet skin sliding together. It won't be long; the tingles are building through my body like a slow fire spreading up and down my arms. Engulfing every inch of exposed skin. I clench my walls around his cock, like I'm trying to grip on and never let go. I need this moment full of such emotion to last forever. I've never had it before, and now that I have it, I don't ever want it to leave. But his body snaps rigid, his brows low and serious.

"Greg. Greg, please," I say. My arms are hooked around him like some sort of horny spider monkey. His thrusts grow jerky, and lightning speeds through my veins. Everything feels like it's falling, floating, and spinning out of control all at once. Like popping up on a wave that's so steep, I have to cling on for dear life until I reach the bottom.

My orgasm bursts around him, spilling warmth onto him. At the exact moment, he roars like a man possessed, exploding his heat inside of me. But my pleasure is still going. He's still moving, and every single one of my cells is on fire, pulsing with him. My vision is blurring, clouded with the feeling, as if all my mind can take in is the sense of ecstasy.

When I think I'm going to lose all control, he finally collapses onto with a drawn-out growl. I'm unable to move, so I lay just like that, my blood still pumping far too fast as I try to catch my breath.

Instead of rolling off me, he props himself up just enough to kiss me again. It's urgent but gentle, filled with his love as much as the sex was. But there's a different kind of vulnerability on his lips, a needy hunger that has nothing to do with physical intimacy.

I can barely respond. It feels as though I have been wrung out like a wet beach towel. Every drip of pleasure had been released. But this kiss? Still, it speaks straight to my soul.

He eventually pulls away and rolls off, leaving us both panting. My hand flies to my forehead, my eyes wide, and I burst into laughter. I'm just so overwhelmingly happy, and laughter feels like the only way to express it. I've never felt this tenderly fulfilled in my entire life.

"What's funny?" he asks, his tone a little hurt.

Turning to face him, I calm myself down. "Nothing. I just... I wasn't expecting that." I shake my head, sitting up. "I'm sorry. It's not funny. It was beautiful."

He rolls onto his stomach, smoothing my hair gently. "And does this beauty want some coffee?"

I nod, but as he starts to get up, I press a gentle finger against his chest. "Oh no you don't. After that? I'm bringing it to you."

He chuckles and settles back onto the bed. "If you insist, my love."

Slipping out of bed, I throw on my clothes from last night and head to his kitchen. Finding the filters and coffee grounds is easy, and I start the pot brewing while checking my phone. Tilly's text wishing me a ‘well rounded evening' makes me chuckle—classic Tilly humor.

Once the coffee is ready, I prepare two mugs, adding half and half to both and skipping the sugar since he doesn't have any. Returning to the bedroom, I hand him his mug and climb back into bed beside him. He takes a sip and then just looks at me.

"Yes?" I ask, sipping carefully, but the coffee is still too hot for more.

"Just thinking I could get used to this every morning."

I grin, shaking my head. "Slow down there, turbo. We don't have to do everything so fast." I place my mug on the nightstand and cuddle up to him.

He frowns slightly. "I wasn't saying move in today—" I shoot him a playful glare, and he laughs. "I'm just saying, eventually, maybe a long way down the road…"

"Like in another decade?" I challenge, raising an eyebrow.

We both start laughing as he nods in agreement. "Yes, of course. Then I could get used to waking up next to you." He sets his mug down, too.

Nestling against him, I rest my head on his chest. "But you'll need to stock up on sugar if I do stay over again."

"If?" His tone is tinged with disappointment.

I clear my throat, admitting, "Not that I don't want to, I maybe... I guess I'm a little wary of commitments. I'm sorry."

He strokes my hair, his breathing steady and comforting. "Please don't apologize, Sam. After what you've been through... I'm just glad you're here at all."

Closing my eyes, I smile. Greg is truly the most patient and understanding man I've ever met. We sink into a comfortable silence, and I find myself silently rehearsing the words ‘I love you, Greg,' trying to muster the courage to say them out loud. But I can't. It's too much. The man might be brave enough for the both of us, so I swallowed the phrase and began to swirl a finger on his chest. There's a small patch of dark bonde hair, and I love how it feels beneath my hand. The perfect combination of manliness without being gross.

His voice breaks my contemplation. "Miss Sam? Can I disrupt your daydream?" Without lifting my head from his chest, I look up. "Wanna go surfing before work?" he asks.

The idea instantly excites me and is a snap alert. "God yes, but let's rinse off first. I don't want fishes trying to nibble at my bits." I'm already pulling him out of bed, laughter filling the room as we make our way to the bathroom and shut the door behind us.