Chapter Thirteen: Sam
I wake up to Zara asleep on my chest. Her breath lightly breezes across my skin, her face serene as she dreams. I don’t want to wake her up, so I wait, looking at her until she is ready to wake up. While she sleeps, I think about last night. A lot happened. The sex was… amazing. I don’t usually do it… like that. It was like I was trying to connect with her. Or I think I was. The two of us keep a lot of ourselves hidden. I’ve begun to realize that we haven’t opened up much to one another. I know it’s been a short time, but there still seems to be a very present wall between us. Outside of telling Zara about my Mom thinking I’m selfish, I’ve been pretty vague about my life. Even when I told her about my Mom, I did my best to keep it hard to read. It could be a defense mechanism – never letting anyone get too close to me. That way no one can ever really hurt me – kind of like how my Mom did. It’s kind of like I have all the answers to my problems – or at least the reasons – but no plans to actually solve them.
Zara’s the same way – I mean with how vague she is. I don’t really know anything about her. All I do know is that she wants to raise some money so she can go back to upstate New York and renovate the bakery she owns with her Mom. I probably could have asked more questions, but if I opened those floodgates then I might have to reveal more parts of myself – and I’m not quite there yet.
Things did take a turn last night. I was being weird about using a condom. She said we didn’t have to and instead of moving forward with that great news – to be inside of her unsheathed would have been magnificent – I told her not to trust me in the most enigmatic way possible. And honestly, it might even be too much to go into her bare. The sex we had last night is testament to that. But ever since my Mom got into my head with all her talk on how I live my life – I feel like I might not be the great guy that I think I am. I’m definitely not someone Zara should trust so implicitly. I can’t let her trust me until I trust myself. I didn’t want to hurt her – I’m worried I might have because she asked me about it earlier – but I think after we spoke a little, I figured she wasn’t offended. She told me some innocuous fact about herself. It was because I commented on how little we know one another and I feel like that’s opened the door for us to explore each other as people.
Zara starts to stir and she lifts her head up, rubbing her eyes as she gets reaccustomed to the setting. I can tell she’s a little confused, so I say, “Good morning.” She blinks a few times, yawns, and then says,
“Good morning, Sam.” I sit up and she follows suit. She looks around my room and then over at me. “What time is it?”
I look at the clock on my nightstand. “It’s only ten.” I’m usually out of bed by now, but having a lazy Sunday is kind of nice – especially because I’m having it with her. We stay in bed for about a half hour, just talking. She goes back to how I can speak French.
“So, can you say other fancy French things?” I laugh at how fixated she is on this. I never thought of it as something particularly interesting.
“I can. I can also say fancy Spanish things.” That causes her eyes to light up and I have to come up with random phrases to say in both languages. We spend a lot more time on this than I thought possible, but I’m not annoyed, just amused. Her fingers keep touching my face, rubbing her fingers on my mouth. She’s kind of an odd duck, but it’s a part of the charm.
“You’re quite amazing, Sam.” I’m not used to people complimenting the way Zara does. She really looks at what I can do and responds thoughtfully. That’s one of the reasons why I love baking with her. She’s just such a thoughtful person. I should work harder to understand her more, then maybe I can show her I’m interested in her past just baking lessons and sex. This is a little weird for me. I’ve never put in a significant amount of work to get a woman to like me. Usually they either do or they don’t – more often than not, they do – and I sleep with them until they want something more out of the relationship. Maybe I am a bit of a cad and my Mom was right. I shouldn’t be so dismissive of the women in my life. I should be considerate and think about their needs, what they want. I can start right here with the girl in my bed. “Are we baking today?”
“Why not? I’m already here and I’d like to spend some more time with you.” She looks down into her lap, her cheeks turning a soft shade of pink.
“I’d like to spend time with you, too.” She looks up at me with an expression that shows some hesitancy. But she doesn’t say anything, instead giving me a peck on the lips before getting out the bed. I follow her and we go to the bathroom to clean ourselves up for the day. I give Zara some extra toiletries I have and find a pair of joggers that she can wear. She has to tighten the tie really tight, but she gets them to stay up. We go to the kitchen and she drops a challenge on me. “Today, you’re going to bake a cake all on your own. I’ll just sit back and watch.” I feel some apprehension about this. I don’t know if I’m ready to go at the completely on my own. But Zara seems to think I can do it, maybe I can?
“Okay. Do I just pick a recipe?”
“Yeah. It’s totally, one hundred percent what you want to do. If you have any questions, you can ask, but I’ll stop answering if all you’re doing is asking me how to do stuff.” I nod and try to think about what kind of cake I want to make. I don’t want to do something the two of us have already done. I want Zara to know I’m willing to take risks. I want to surprise her. She’s such a professional and amazing baker and I want her to be impressed with me.
I think back to some of the stuff she was listing last night and remember that she mentioned a spiced carrot cake. I ask a few questions about it – like how it’s made and what I’ll need. It sounds like something I can make on my own and I start out and organizing the ingredients that I’ll need. It’s a little more involved than a simple vanilla cake, but it’s still a relatively easy recipe.
I start off slow, taking the utmost care to measure out everything carefully. Zara seems pleased with my progress so far and that gives me the confidence I need to move a little faster. Soon, I’ve gotten into a rhythm, not needing to look to Zara for constant validation. The prep takes a little longer than the recipe suggested – I’m not as assured as Zara – but I get through it without too much trouble.
I finish the batter and place it into the oven to bake. I lean on the counter and Zara joins me, standing on the other side.
“How did that feel?” I know she’s asking about whether or not I think I did a good job, but there’s more I want to say.
“I really enjoyed it. I didn’t expect to like baking so much.” I was never the creative type in my family. My Mom and my sister were always artsy and whatnot. I spent a lot of my time gearing up to take over the family business from my Dad. It’s not like he thought it would be me over my sister the entire time, but when she showed very little interest in the world of finance, he turned all attention towards me in that regard. I’m not mad about it, but I never thought to explore anything else that I might have enjoyed.
“I’m glad. You’re not half bad at it.”
“It’s all thanks to you.” Zara laughs away my suggestion “It’s true. You’re amazing.” She looks down at the counter. We talk until the timer goes off and I check on the cake. It looks done and I might even say it looks appetizing. I get the oven and take out the cake. We let it cool and I cut Zara a slice, she tastes it, moaning as it hits her tongue.
“It’s delicious, Sam! Take a bite.” She holds out the slice I just cut for her and I take a nibble. My eyes open a little more because I’m surprised by how good it tastes. It’s nothing close to what Zara can make, but it’s still yummy. “I’m not sure if you need me anymore. You’re getting to be really good at this.” I know it’s a joke, but it’s a glimpse into the potential future. What are we going to do once the baking lessons are done? I don’t want her to leave my life completely just because she isn’t working for me. I’d like us to maybe move beyond our prescribed relationship. We’ve already done it – since we slept together – but more would be nice. But I don’t say all that, instead saying,
“I wouldn’t say that. You’re my muse. I don’t think I’d have the will to bake if you left.” I try to pass it off as a joke, but there’s some truth to the statement. After baking this cake for my Mom, the only other reason I can think of continuing with all of this for Zara.
“I inspire you?”
“In more ways than one,” I say this suggestively. Zara picks up on it and puts the slice of cake she had back in the cake pan. She stands right in front of me, wrapping her arms around the back of my neck. She tilts her head and asks,
“Why don’t you show me?” Immediately, I pick her up and her legs go around my waist. I put her on a clear part of the counter and stay between her legs, kissing the side of her neck. “Is that all you got Mr. Master Baker.” I pull back and smirk because I know what she is trying to do. I pull her joggers off, massaging her legs as my hand goes down it. I kneel down, kissing the inside of her thighs.
“You have no idea what I got.” She giggles and scratches the top of my head. I pull my shirt over my head. I throw it on top of Zara’s discarded pants and then stand back up. I get the frosting we made last night from the fridge and place the carton next to Zara’s leg. I open it up and scoop some out on my finger. I put it by the edge of her mouth and Zara narrows her eyes.
“Do you want me to lick it off?” Instead of answering, I run my covered finger, along the edge of her jaws, smearing frosting on her face. She makes a surprised sound, but then sticks a couple of her finger in the frosting and rubs it on to my cheek. I grab her wrists, caught off guard by such a bold move.
“What was that for?” She gives me an incredulous look and I know she’s wondering how big of an idiot I am. I guess she has no idea why I was doing what I was doing and – to her – I was coming off a bit childish.
“You rubbed frosting all over my face.”
“I was going to lick it off.” And before she says anything more, I take my tongue out, starting at the base of her jaw and cleaning off the mess I made. She shivers as I slowly move my tongue and when I’m done, she uses her tongue to get off what she smeared on my cheek.
“Well, I was going to lick it off, too.” I put my hand around the back of her neck and push our mouths together. Last night was unexpectedly slow and sweet, today I’m going to show Zara the other way I have sex. The faster and dirtier way. But before I can get down to business – and while we’re kissing – Zara slaps more frosting on to my cheek. I stop kissing her – this time genuinely surprised. She’s laughing and I bring my hands up her thighs, slipping them into her underwear and her folds. Her laughter turns to gasps as I slowly swirl my fingers. But then she says, “Wait!” and I stop. “There wasn’t frosting on your finger, right?”
“No.” She seems relieved and I’m wondering why. But she doesn’t leave me in suspense, explaining her mini-freak out.
“That’s good. I was just worried because I didn’t want to get a yeast infection. You may continue.” I smile at how forward she is. It’s good to know she’ll speak up when she’s worried about something. I start moving my fingers again and she puts her hands on my shoulders to steady herself. I put my face in her neck, grazing her skin with my teeth. The frosting on my face smears on to her as she wiggles against my hand. “Oh, Sam. Don’t stop, don’t stop!” I keep going, adding a second finger and then a third. I pump in and out of her until she’s gasping for air.
I bring my lips up and lick the frosting that has transferred to her face. She turns her head and kisses me, the sweetness of my tongue going to her. Her breaths get deeper and I put my thumb on her clit, applying a light pressure. Her lips leave mine, but our faces remain connected.
“Are you close, Zara?”
“Yes,” she nods and then her gasps turn into mewling, her walls pulsating around my fingers. Her eyes close even tighter and she shatters with the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen. Her hands run up into my hair and pull on the strands, the pain in my scalp further revving me up for when I’m inside her. She starts to come down, her eyes opening and looking into mine. Her hands come to my cheeks, caressing my face and lightly kissing me. I take my fingers out of her and lick Zara’s taste off of them. Once I take them out of my mouth – and rest them on my lips – Zara licks off whatever’s remaining, then pushing my hand down so our tongues can dance in each other mouths.
One of her hands leave my cheek and goes behind her back. Our lips break apart and I look at this woman in front of me. I don’t know what I’m going to do with her because I love doing everything to her so much.
“Sam?”
“Yes?” Her hand darts out from behind her and something cold shots on to my face. I flinch, stepping back because I’m so surprised. That’s when I’ve realized that she squirted chocolate sauce on to me. I swipe some off my face and suck it off my finger. “I’m going to get you back for that one.” Zara looks frightened for a second, but not like she’s genuinely scared. She jumps down from the counter and takes a hesitant step backwards while I take an equally slow one towards her. We play this dance of barely moving for about a minute before Zara tries to run away, but I’m way faster and I catch her almost immediately. I wrap my arm around her waist, picking her up and taking her back to the counter.
Laughing, she asks me, “What are you going to do to me?”
“Get my revenge, ma petite cherie.” Zara brought a lot of different sauces in different containers. I find the caramel – already out of the fridge – and open it up. I’m still holding her to my side with one hand around her waist, but she’s stopped struggling, so it’s easy for me maneuver. I scoop my fingers into the viscous substance and I put my hand up her shirt. She starts wriggling against me again.
“Oh my god, Sam! It’s so sticky!” When I’m done, I let go of her and she quickly takes off the shirt I loaned, so she can see what I’ve done. There’s caramel sauce all over her stomach and chest. “Well, now you have to clean me up.”
“With pleasure.” I motion for her to hop back on the counter and then I start at the base of her stomach, licking my way all over her torso. She laughs whenever I bite at the skin on her belly, her hands streaming through my hair. I get off what I can before we’re kissing again. I pull down my underwear and then remember I don’t have a condom with me. I pull them back up and break away from Zara. She looks at me questioningly and I tell her, “I have to grab a condom.” Something flashes over her face and I wonder if she’s thinking about last night and our conversation. I can see she wants me to just push forward – and usually I have – but, for reasons I know, but don’t fully understand – I can’t just do what she wants. I’m about to run to the bedroom, but I come back to her and rain kisses down on her face. She starts giggling and I know we’re okay. I quickly grab a condom, rushing back to her arms.
Her hands go to either side of my face and while we’re kissing, I pull down my underwear, once again, and roll the condom down my shaft. Next, I remove Zara’s underwear, throwing them to the ground before positioning my dick at her entrance. Her feet hook behind me. This time around, I insert myself swiftly into her. She makes a sound of discomfort and I’m worried I’ve moved too fast. I look into her eyes and ask,
“Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?” She shakes her head. “Should I go slower?” One of her arms wraps around my neck and she strokes my cheek with her other hand.
“Go faster,” she whispers. I smile and anchoring myself by placing one hand, palm down on the counter, I fuck her with everything I got. Our bodies slap together, my balls hitting where we’re connected every time my dick goes into her body. Her moans grow louder and louder, her grip on me a deathlike one. “I love the way you fuck me, Sam! Please don’t stop.” Her words encourage me and I bring my hand to her clit, rubbing furiously while pounding into her. Her pussy tightens around me and I know she’s close. I make tighter circles, swiveling my hips when I feel her body spasm around me. She screams my name as she comes and that sets me off. I bite into her shoulder, my dick twitching inside her.
We both start to come down, our erratic breathing finding a balance. Zara leans back, placing her hands behind her. I break our connection, taking the condom off and throwing it into the trash. Zara jumps off the counter and finds the underwear she was wearing. She pulls them back on and without a word she goes down the hall to the bathroom.
While she’s gone, I question my decision to get a condom. I can tell she’s disappointed, but I don’t know what to do. I don’t really want to use one, but I’m so mixed up inside that I’m flying by the seat of my pants. Why am I doing something I don’t want to be doing? I want to feel her skin on mine in the most intimate way possible. I’m going to start working on getting over this sudden change in character of mine. I haven’t even given my usual speech on how I’m not a relationship guy because maybe, this time, I’m open to it. Knowing what I want should give me the confidence to do away with the pretenses. But just words won’t work. I’ve got to turn them into actions.
I hear Zara coming back to the kitchen and she smiles at me. She comes over and reaches up to kiss me. She looks into my eyes and says, “We made a mess.” She peeks behind me and I turn around to see the consequences of our lovemaking. We really did a number to the kitchen. “I can help clean up if you want.”
“You don’t have to. I have someone who takes care of this kind of stuff.” Or the building does. There’s always a cleaning person on duty, so I can just call down and I have them come up – once the two of us are dressed. But it would appear Zara has other plans.
“Come on, Sam. A little cleaning never hurt anyone. And I don’t want to make another person clean this up. We’re the ones who let things get a little out of hand.” Her mouth goes to one side as I look down at her and I realize that I’m about to get roped into cleaning the kitchen. I feel like Zara is always thinking about how what she does affects other people. Like before, with not wanting me to buy kitchen equipment, to right now. I shrug and agree to clean up with her and we start get rid of every bit of mess we made. I’ve never really had to clean like this, but it feels like a bonding moment between the two of us, so I’m not going to complain. It’s easy for me to forget how fortunate I am in my life. There were hard moments, but in the grand scheme of the world, I am one of the most fortunate people. Not only was I born into a comfortable living style, but my parents and family love me and, now, I have a woman who goes out of her way to make me happy. I need to do something to show her that I appreciate everything she has done and is doing for me.