She stops talking but continues to stare at the coffeemaker. I’m cemented in place, leaning against the back of her couch, facing the kitchen. I hear her take a deep breath, almost like she’s bracing herself for something, before turning around and walking over to me, holding out a hot cup of black coffee. Looking up, I offer her a gentle smile which she returns.
“Thanks, sweetheart.”
I watch as she walks around and curls into the chair in the corner. I follow her around the couch, sitting on the edge of the gray, suede three-seater so that I can stay close to her. I hate the emotional distance stretching between us right now, like she doesn’t know how to act around me all of a sudden, like we haven’t been virtually living together for the past few months. Touching each other, loving each other …
I look at her, taking her in. Her sandy blonde hair is pulled back off her face, her high ponytail accentuating her high cheekbones and soft jaw line. Those gorgeous green eyes that I lose myself in daily … those biteable pink lips that I can’t wait to taste again…
First things first.
“Did you mean what you said?” I ask, refusing to let her pull away from me again.
“What?” she asks, her voice emotionless.
“Your voicemail. You said you loved me. Did you mean it?”
Her eyes widen minutely before narrowing, like she can’t believe I’d ask such a thing. “Of course I meant it, Sean. I meant every word I said.”
She leans forward, putting her cup on the glass coffee table in front of her before standing up. I look up at her and tighten my fingers around my mug as I fight the urge to grab her hips and bring her closer to me.
Bringing her hands up, she rests them on my shoulders, running them along my collarbone and cradling my neck. All of the tension that has been steadily building throughout the day dissipates and suddenly my whole body relaxes. Her eyes soften as she feels my muscles loosen under her touch. I decide that now is the time to swallow my stubborn pride and accept that the beautiful woman standing in front of me was right in doing what she did. She stood her ground and stuck to her guns. How can I ever be mad at her for that? She literally saved my ass by calling the cops. Now I can’t hold back, I place my hands on her hips, looking up at her.
“Sweetheart, I’m sorry.” She nods, her eyes softening as I see a spark of something in there. Something good. “I’m stubborn and I’m an idiot. I went to the club and got smashed on tequila instead of coming to you. I should’ve come straight home, but I was pissed off. I told you not to call it in and you did.”
I flex my fingers, inching them under her T-shirt so that I can feel her silky skin against mine. I stand up so that we’re on an even keel. “I love you too,” I say, leaning forward and brushing my lips against her mouth, my eyes locked with hers. I pull back slightly, “I’ve always loved you.”
I slide my hands under her top, cradling her back and pulling her chest hard up against mine. This time I run my tongue around her lips before slowly pushing inside her mouth when her lips part on a moan. Her hands snake through my hair, her grip tightening amongst my strands. I pour everything into the kiss. All the heat, the passion, the bedroom tricks I have … none of it means anything in this moment. It’s about Sammy, the woman I love, finally admitting what I suspect are long held feelings.
Pulling back, I rest my forehead against hers. “Am I forgiven?” I ask with a sly grin. She smiles, her lips twisting into a mocking smirk.
“I suppose I’ll keep you around.”
I laugh. “That’s good then. But I think we’ve still got a problem …” I stand up straight and rest my hands back on her hips again, pulling her away slightly so my c**k can come down from its seemingly permanent rock hard state.
“What?” she asks, her head jerking back in surprise.
I look around her living room, noticing how warm and homely it feels. “There are quite a few things in this room that would look awesome at the condo …” I wave one of my hands around, pointing at the couch, the chair, the old oak bookcase she has full of books. “That bookcase would look great in my office.” I stand up and turn toward the couch I was just leaning against. “This couch is much more comfortable than my leather one.”
She takes a step back from me so that my hand slips off her waist. “You want to take my stuff and put it in your condo?” Her hands are resting on her hips and her stance is definitely that of a pissed off woman.
“Well, yeah …” I joke. I fight back a grin as I watch warring emotions cross her face. Deciding to put her out of her misery, I step toward her, crowding her against the wall. “I’d hope you would want to bring your stuff to my condo since you’re moving in.” I give her a hard and fast kiss before walking toward the bookcase, perusing the books like it’s my god given right. There is a method to my madness, believe me.
“Oh, hell no.”
I school my face to look serious as I turn around to face her once more.
“You can just hold up right there, Sean Miller. You do not come into my house and declare that I’m moving in with you without asking me nicely. No f**king way. You can boss me around in bed, but you can never just decide what is happening in my life without asking me first. Fuck no!” Her eyes are breathing fire as she glares at me, and I know that this is the woman I want forever.
I stride over to her, pushing her with my body against the living room wall, holding her cheeks in my hand as I thrust my tongue in her mouth and kiss the shit out of her. I pull back just enough to wrap my hands under her firm, jean clad ass before lifting her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around my hips as I carry her through the doorway leading to her bedroom. Reaching her bed, I turn and drop back onto the bed, bouncing against her, causing an eager whimper to escape her mouth.
“Say yes,” I murmur against her neck as my lips lay wet kisses against her skin.
“Fuck yes,” she says, her voice breathy and uncontrolled.
Couldn’t have said it better myself.
Chapter 23: “Under Control”
Sam
It’s been a month since I’ve moved in with Sean. Thirty days of domestic bliss. Well, almost. He seems to love riling me up just to have the hot make up sex that follows. It’s almost predictable now. That’s not to say I don’t let him get away with it. It started off with little things—dirty dishes left in the sink, arguments over the need (or the lack of need) for a housekeeper now that I’m living with him, oh and Sean’s absolute refusal to let me pay rent. THAT was a good one. I ended up with my legs tied spread eagled to the bed, my hands still free to roam as Sean straddled me, first my face, then my hips, teasing and torturing me until I gave in and agreed to buy food, but not pay rent. Instead, he offered to accept payment in on call sexual favors. That earned a slap against his chest and a scowl for him, and earned me orgasm denial for a full hour until I was screaming at him to make me come or let me do it myself.