37. Sam

I'm perched on a cold metal bench against the cement wall, the chill seeping through my clothes. Beside me, the only other soul in this holding cell is curled up and snoring, the scent of alcohol wafting over. Time feels suspended here, especially with the clock outside our cell stubbornly stuck at five o'clock. It's almost laughable, but I find I don't have the energy to care.

Everything leading up to this moment has blurred together, yet the visit from Penny stands out. The embrace we shared, the release of all my pent-up fears and the overwhelming relief of seeing her soothed my frayed nerves. I half-expected anger or rebukes, but all I found in her arms was unconditional support.

The cold bites at me again, and I instinctively hug myself tighter, seeking warmth in the absence of anything else to do. Finally, giving in to exhaustion, I stretch out on the bench, much like my cellmate, and let my eyes close, clinging to the memory of Penny's hug for comfort.

My name cuts through the haze of near sleep. "Elaine Williams?" It takes a moment for me to register that they're calling for me. I sit up, rubbing my eyes. "Yes?"

"You're out. Let's go," comes the terse reply. The sound of the lock disengaging and the door sliding open pulls me to my feet. I straighten my shirt, craving the simple comfort of a shower to wash away the feeling of violation. They weren't gentle or respectful with their check for contraband.

For the first time in my life, I'm being treated like a criminal. Even if it has been earned, I hate it. Innocent until proven guilty can't possibly be real. I understand the need for jail, but can a murderer at least get a smile or apology? I mean, no one can truly enjoy performing a cavity search.

I'm led to an interrogation room where a man waits with an ankle monitor. His instructions on its care and the limitations it imposes on me blend into a background hum, barely registering. They hand me a paper with everything written down, a small mercy for my overloaded senses.

With the monitor now attached, I feel marked and tainted in a way that no shower can cleanse. But then I see Penny, standing just out of reach in the waiting room. Tears threatening to spill over again. I'm led out and post myself in front of her, a manila folder in my hands.

"Nice jewelry," she teases, her smirk lifting the heavy atmosphere for a moment.

I give her a playful shove. "I asked for diamond studs on the strap but they must not have any on hand."

"Shut up, brat, and let's go." She's still shaking her head at my ridiculous joke, and together, we head for the exit. Thankfully, no one is waiting outside. The media is gone, and I'm more than happy about it.

We navigate the parking lot until Penny's car comes into view. "A Tesla?" I can't hide my surprise as we approach the sleek vehicle.

Penny's smile is wide, tinged with pride. "A lot's changed, little sis." Inside, the car feels like a leap into the future. There weren't many Teslas in Costa Rica, and I am certainly in no position to buy one. I'm still staring in awe as she taps on the giant screen. The car begins to move on its own, and Penny swivels to face me.

"So, this Greg guy? He's like, your boyfriend, right?" she asks, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

Heat creeps into my cheeks, and I turn to the window, seeking refuge. "Erm, yeah, I think so," I admit, feeling a mix of emotions at the acknowledgment.

"You think? With the way he stares at your ass, I'd hope so! Otherwise, he's a giant pervert." That's pretty blunt and for a second, I'm back to my teenage years when she's telling me my make up looks ‘clownish.' Deep down, its always a trait I admired, and it reminds me of how well she and Tilly would get along—they're both so straightforward.

"Why didn't he come with you?"

Penny shrugs nonchalantly. "I don't think the police know you guys are an item. He's at my house. My Annie is already a huge fan." That explanation fits; despite Greg being the one to officially bring me in, his delay in doing so if they knew, would get him in trouble.

"Annie? That's your daughter, right?" I ask, eager to know more about Penny's life now.

She nods, her expression softening at the mention of her family. "And Tilly?"

"Sleeping. She looked a little torn up, so I gave her a Benadryl. I think she's out for the night. Her room is on the same side of the house as yours in the west wing."

"West wing?" I repeat, my voice laced with disbelief. The idea of a ‘west wing' in Penny's home is utterly foreign to me. When I left, she lived in a leaky apartment, eating ramen and mac and cheese for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Our mother dying left a lot of bills that fell on Penny's shoulders. A fact I'm ashamed to admit I haven't been much help with.

"Like I said, things change," she replies, a note of mystery in her voice.

When we arrive at her home, the Tesla effortlessly parks itself near the front door. What greets me isn't just a house; it's a mansion, styled like a beautiful cottage but expansive, situated right on the beach. The transition from pavement to sand is seamless, and the property ends where the beach begins.

"We have a gate, and it's a private beach. I hate being so close to the water now with the kids. I always worry they'll escape," Penny says. The problem seems so minuscule, but I'm not a mother. I can only imagine the fear she must associate with the ocean, even if it's my best friend.

Stepping out of the car, I'm awestruck by the view. "Penny, this is gorgeous! How the hell—"

"Later. Come meet my family." She grabs my hand, her excitement palpable, pulling me towards the front door and into this new chapter of her life that I'm just beginning to discover.

Before we can even reach the front door, it swings open to reveal Joshua Bennett standing in the foyer, with a little blonde girl shyly peeking from behind him. Penny introduces him, "Elaine, you remember my husband, Josh. And this..." She gently pulls the little girl forward into her arms. "Is Elaine," Penny introduces, but the girl quickly adds, "But everyone calls me Annie." Every word is perfectly enunciated. I'm shocked that such a tiny thing can speak so clearly. I'm staring at Annie, but I can't help it. The little girl looks so much like Penny.

"Hello Elaine, nice to see you again. It's been a while," Joshua extends his hand toward me, pulling me from my reverie.

"Erm, you too." My voice barely comes out, overwhelmed by the sudden depiction of a family life I've longed for. Imagining future moments with Annie—teaching her to surf, taking her to a movie that's probably inappropriate, sneaking her back from parties—fills my mind. Stuff I did with my aunt as a kid. Yet, I know these dreams are on hold, not just for Annie to grow older but for me to sort through my legal troubles.

Penny, still carrying Annie, suggests, "Can I give you a tour?" I nod, and she guides me through their expansive home, from the vast, bright kitchen to the luxurious master bedroom, a gym that rivals professional setups, and the children's rooms.

When we pause at Clark's nursery, Penny's voice catches. "He's at the hospital. Joshua is going to stay with him tonight." She closes the door with a soft click and leads me to the guest room. "I didn't know if you'd be sharing a room. He's in there…" Ignoring her hesitation, I whip the door open. Greg is sitting at the desk, absorbed in something on the screen of a small laptop. Even though his face is bathed in an eerie blue glow, he still looks like the most handsome man I've ever seen.

My heart races, and the few hours apart feel like an eternity. I yearn to be close to him, to let out all my pent-up emotions. He turns, and our eyes meet, his giant smile lighting up the room better than a million-watt light bulb. Before I can say anything, Annie squirms from Penny's grasp and runs to Greg, climbing into his lap. His smile at her intrusion shows a side of him that's more tender.

Women all over the planet have fallen in this trap before; a man being good with kids has some sort of special allure. And even though the idea of starting a family has never occurred to me before, it's now incredibly appealing. There's something about finding a partner that triggers a primal instinct. It's as if millions of years of evolution are conflicting with my feminist beliefs. Considering my ovaries are currently producing eggs at a rapid pace, it seems like feminism has taken a backseat. There's nothing inherently wrong with desiring to be a family-oriented woman; it's just not something I ever envisioned for my future.

And yet this man has got my insides and mind so twisted up I'm suddenly picturing it. Kids and babies everywhere, all mine and his.

I'm staring at him and, yes, most likely drooling when Greg bounces his knee. "Annie doll, have you met your auntie yet?" Greg stands up with her on his hip and approaches me.

"Yes, momma says they're sisters, but I don't get it." Annie's confusion is charmingly innocent and genuine.

Greg, feigning deep thought, points out, "Really? But look." He draws attention to the dimple in my smile, then to Penny's, highlighting our shared trait, making the connection between us tangible, even to a child.

Annie's excitement is infectious as she notices, "And they have the same hair color!" Her voice is filled with delight, but then it shifts to a more contemplative tone. "Clark doesn't have hair yet. Do you think he looks like me?" she asks, her big eyes searching for confirmation.

Greg takes a moment, his expression turning solemn as if considering a profound truth. "Oh, for sure. You'll be like twins," he assures her with a seriousness that makes me want to believe him too. Annie's squeal of happiness is so sharp that Greg can't help but flinch, a reaction that sends a ripple of laughter through me.

Penny steps in then, her maternal instincts kicking in as she gently pulls Annie away. "Alright, that's enough auntie time for now. I'm gonna go start dinner. It'll take about forty minutes. There's a shower in the room if you need it," she says. There's teasing in her voice as she glances back at us, leaving the room with a knowing smirk.

I'm fairly certain my sister is trying to get me laid.

As soon as the door closes, I can't contain myself. I wrap my arms around Greg, peppering his cheek with kisses, unable to express my gratitude and relief in any other way.

"Woah, Sam…" he laughs, a bit overwhelmed by my sudden onslaught of affection. "Stop for a second."

"No, you brought me home to my family. I'm never going to stop," I say. My initial anger at Greg for deceiving me has completely dissipated, replaced by an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Tilly's words about the risks Greg took for me, coupled with the joy of being reunited with my sister, have shifted my perspective. I'm kissing him, laughing softly at the irony that I'm actually thankful he arrested me.

Greg's hands come up to cup my face, his voice dropping to a serious tone that immediately dampens my excitement. "We need to talk, okay?" he says, and I hear the gravity in his voice. "Look, I can't stay. The FBI is already investigating me. I can't be seen with you like this."

I pause, looking around the empty room with exaggerated thoroughness. "Erm, no one is here, Greg, and I'm pretty sure the door locks."

He sighs. "Well, I know that. I just mean, I'll need to distance myself from you in public."

Feeling a sting of hurt, I step back, letting my arms fall to my sides. "Okay, then."

"It's not like I want to, Sam! But both of us in trouble is worse than one. I could go to jail for not arresting you sooner." His words cut deep, and I can feel tears threatening, blurring my vision. "No, please don't do that. I hate it when you're upset. Come on, we'll get through this and never have to be apart again."

I scoff at his words. "Forever promised tomorrow is a lot less than being together right now."

"I'll stay for dinner and then head to my hotel. I can come by every so often. Whenever you need an escort, I'll volunteer. But…" he trails off, the unsaid words hanging between us.

"You can't touch me," I finish for him, crossing my arms defensively.

His hand gently brushes my shoulder, a gesture filled with longing. "Just not in public," he clarifies, and I feel a shiver run through me, his touch leaving a trail of goosebumps. The complexity of our situation, the need for this ridiculous secrecy is leaving me heartbroken.

"Oh." The disappointment isn't something I can mask. In my head, I had envisioned us together, physically close, as I navigated the storm of this arrest—his hand in mine or his arm securely around my waist, offering silent support in the face of adversity.

"You're upset." Greg says. He's always been able to read my emotions like an open book. Right now, it's not an asset. After everything he's done for me, I don't want to throw a fit over something so small.

"No, I understand. You don't want my drama to ruin your job." My words are bitter, and I find myself looking away as they spill out. The last thing I want is to cause him trouble, yet the sting of this necessary distance is hard to ignore.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I wish this was all different." His apology is heartfelt, and I manage a small, albeit forced, smile in return. Words fail me, choked by the swell of feelings his concerned gaze stirs within.

Then, he leans in, closing the space between us, and our lips meet. My fingers instinctively find the short strands of hair at the nape of his neck, and a warmth blooms from deep within me, spreading rapidly through every part of my being.

I know Greg's body well, each line and curve memorized in moments of intimacy, but it's his lips that I adore above all else. Their shape when he smiles, the way my name sounds when they caress it, but most of all, the sensation when they're press against mine.

His tongue probes between my lips, a gentle inquiry that I answer by tilting my head, allowing him better access. It's a dance of familiarity and discovery, our bodies leaning into each other, becoming a tangled harmony of longing and tenderness.

A hardness firm against my hip and the flood of desire is instant. It radiates through me, a painful throb building between my legs.

Oh, it's been far too long since I felt that. Slow and deep, a growl comes out of him. That's not helping the invariable waterfall of wetness pooling in my underwear. I'm ready to crawl up his giant body like a tree, but he pulls away.

I'm half expecting him to tell me we shouldn't get physical. Things are complicated enough without diving back into a relationship we never defined in the first place. Instead, his face showed pure arousal, like his eyes alone could undress and ravage my naked body. Like fire. I never understood that saying before, but it's as clear as day. He's literally burning for me.

Yeah, that's enough of waiting for him to make his move. I reach down and fist my own shirt, yanking it over my head. His eyes widen like a wild man, and both palms are instantly on my breasts. Grabbing one of his hands, I pull it up, kiss a knuckle, and then stick his finger in my mouth. I give my best bedroom eyes to him while I slowly suck and pull it out from between my lips.

If I thought I saw the fire before, it's nothing to what that slutty little move did. With a lunge, his mouth attacks mine.

"Oh, that dirty little mouth," he says, his voice low and rumbling like a diesel engine. Hands are pawing my body, smooth but firm. "Lemme get us to the bed, sweetheart."

But my fingers are yanking the button open on his shorts. I know there's nothing underneath them; I know his beautiful cock is ready for me. I lower myself to my knees, and his hands go to my hair. Shoving the fabric down, his girth flops out.

I'm almost in awe at seeing him naked again. For a moment, I stare at his manhood, resisting the temptation to tell Greg's cock that I longed for him just as much as his sexy owner. Rather than diving straight into the matter at hand, I lean in closer, letting my barely covered breasts graze against his dick.

His head tips back, a long groan on his lips. "Fuck. Sam, the bed!"

"No," I manage to say. Explaining my plans any further would be too much. But I love the sounds that are coming from his mouth. Noises made just for me, because of what I am doing.

Taking it as my cue, I flick my tongue out, licking him from his balls right up to his tip, then swirling my tongue along that thick, gorgeous vein.

A rumble of pure thunder shudders through him. "Baby, God. Fuck," he groans. He's trying to grab me and pull me up, but not this time. My appreciation for all he's done will be given and well received.

I rest my hand on his tight abdomen as I took his entire length into my mouth. Suctioning with my lips, I slowly pull back. At the tip, I swirl my tongue around the head, and his grip tightens in my hair. The small buzz of pain on my scalp makes me moan around his dick.

Working him up and down faster with my mouth, I feel his hips piston against me. My nimble fingers go to the base of his dick, massaging at his favorite spot. The one that was guaranteed to make him lose control.

Knowing what works on him, how to make him come like a firehose, and how to let him slip away from that control his personality loves so much, is intoxicating. I know this man. I adore this man. More than anyone else in my life.

Tightening my lips, I move faster, wanting to taste him, feel his release in my mouth. Just when I think it's time, he stops moving. His entire body is trembling with the effort of resisting.

He pulls me to my feet, his dick slipping from my mouth with a soft pop and brushes some precum off my chin with his thumb. That fire in his eyes magnified to an inferno. "Bed. Now."

With a slow, graceful step that was torture but probably looked as sexy as it felt, I walked backwards toward the mattress. Once there, he grips around my waist and lifts me in the air, pressing his lips to mine in a forceful, nearly bruising move.

This is how I like him best. When his passion is almost painful. Just enough to show me he's a man and strong enough to toss me around, but sweet enough to never actually hurt me.

There goes another point to evolution. My body doesn't care about being an independent woman, she just wants a burly man to protect me. I might really need to rethink my feminism standpoint. I was never the kind to want a man to come in and rescue me. But as we continue ravaging each other's mouths, I really don't give a shit how it looks. Maybe I didn't ask for a man to save the day, but that's what I got. Help when I needed it the most. Without ever asking. Without judgment.

Love.

I know I don't deserve it, but fuck if I care while his lips are sucking on mine.

Greg is panting when he finally pulls away. His fist encloses his cock, fisting the shaft while his other hand points to my legs. "Off."

I nearly salute and yell out, ‘Yes, sir!' There's no way I'm not doing exactly what he says. I obey, shucking off my thigh-length jean shorts and panties in a clumsy move. The demanding lover wasn't something I had seen in Greg before. But maybe it was his way of finally showing the last piece of himself. He had hidden his job from me for months, but its clear now, this is who he is. FBI Greg was somehow even sexier than surf bum Greg.

And when the two combined into this controlling, lust-filled sex God in front of me? I'm a goner. Dead. Bury me overlooking the ocean cause I'm done. Tossed into a towering one-hundred-foot wave without a board.

Okay, so really, I'm just breathless and having some sort of epiphany. Maybe a part of me finally understands why I haven't been able to tell him I love him because I was missing this part.

Something changes in my chest. A squeeze turns into a warmth. Terrifying as it is thrilling. My chest is rising and falling too quickly. But neither of us has moved. We're standing inches apart, both of us barely able to control our breathing. The shift in my feelings must be showing on my face because he looks like he's truly seeing me for the first time.

He breaks first, attacking me like a demon. His kissing everywhere, touching everywhere. We tumble onto the bed.

"Greg," I moan, wishing, hoping, needing him on every inch of my exposed skin.

"Where, baby?"

I've forgotten the names of all human anatomy, so I just point to my pussy. But his mouth doesn't immediately go there. Instead, kissing a path down my stomach. "Yes, Greg."

He blows hot air right where his lips were and I'm bucking my hips. "More?" I can't answer him; I only arch my back to try to get the touch I crave.

His hand flies down and split between my slick folds. I gasp. "There, too?" he asks.

I'm nodding and moaning and riding his fingers like the perfect glassy peak of a dawn patrol wave. All smooth and polished rhythms.

But all that is gone when his head lowers between my thighs. Soft kisses work along the inside until he's licking. With his fingers still inside me, he tastes my clit, tongue caressing and moving over it.

"Greg!" I scream out, my hand flying to my forehead.

"Come for me, Sam. I wanna taste you, baby."

The words send me over the edge. My arms fly out, slapping onto the quilt beneath us, tangling into the fabric to desperately cling to something. Hips bucking, Greg growling, my own voice making incoherent sounds; it's all a sexy blur. And still, he's lapping faster and harder, his hand thrusting into me.

A yelp bursts from my throat, white spots dancing in my vision as I crash over and over. Finally, he slows and pulls his hand away. But I can't close my eyes or shrink into a puddle of goo. Not yet. My man hasn't gotten what he deserves yet.

His other hand is working double time on his cock. Desperate to help, I lean forward at the same time, freeing my breasts from my boob jail of a bra.

I let them dangle forward, and he gets the idea. Both his hands shove my tits together before he thrusts his dick between them.

It takes one thrust before he's roaring like a lion. Warmth spills from his tip, coating me in a slick, sexy mess. His body relaxes, but he pumps into my boobs a few more times, coming down from his sex high.

Releasing his grip on my chest, he flops back, not caring about the mess that was on us both. "Fuck, Sam." He said, chuckling between raspy breaths. I crawl up to him and lay my head on his chest. The rapid thump of his heart is somehow soothing. "Yeah," I say, in a lame attempt at speaking.

"And I'm supposed to leave after that?" he asks.

I make a harumph noise and look up at his face. "No one said you had to leave. Pretty sure you made that rule up." He laughs a little, but there's no real energy in it.

As I nestle closer to him, seeking refuge in the warmth of his chest, my kisses land softly on his salty skin, gentle as a whisper. Despite the jokes, the very thought of him leaving slices through me. "Don't go," I whisper, my voice trembling with an intensity of emotion I've never allowed myself to show. Near him, I'm fortified with a strength that eludes me when I'm alone. The prospect of navigating life without his presence, even just for the public eye, sends a wave of nausea through me.

"I need you, Greg." These words slip out, not just as a testament to my physical desire but as a deep, soulful confession. I've uttered these words before, yet they were always entwined with the physicality of our connection, veiled by the intimacy we shared. Now, they spill forth as a raw admission.

This confession strips me completely bare, like a nerve exposed to the harshness of reality. However, amidst this vulnerability, there's a strange sense of relief, as if I'm finally releasing the emotions I've been holding back for so long. The air around us seems to grow heavy with my confession; my heart races to my throat, seized by the fear he might reject me.

Then, with a deep exhale, he answers, "Okay Sam. I'll stay."