Chapter Thirty-Two
Mia
I bent down and kissed him softly. The fact that he cared, the fact that he didn’t want to disappoint me was enough. It was the thing that reminded me most of Clint. It was the need to be the best version of himself for Renni and I that made me want him even more.
It was a long kiss, a kiss sealed with passion and heat and a slow burn that I knew would last us through the entire night. His hands were soft against my skin, pushing up the silk organza of my dress so that I could feel his hands on my thighs.
Slowly, Sam stood up and started undressing me. He took his time, kissing me, caressing me, and exploring me while he undid the buttons lining my back and peeled the dress from my skin. Once the dress was off, he admired my body for a moment, his eyes raking over my breasts and my stomach.
Then he unfastened my bra and slipped it off. Next, he hooked his fingers around my panties and pulled them down around my legs. I stepped out of them and my shoes at the same time.
When I was completely naked and exposed, I turned to him and started undressing him in the same slow, lazy way in which he had undressed me. It was part of the foreplay; it was part of the dance that would make the final moment of climax that much greater.
He was already erect when I pulled off his pants, and within moments, he was completely naked. We stood like that for a few moments, admiring each other’s bodies.
His was far more beautiful than mine was. His chest was perfectly sculpted, his arms beautifully muscled, and his stomach was flat and toned, ridged with hard abs that ran almost to his groin. I traced my fingers down the wall of muscle.
He mimicked my movement and traced his fingers along the swell of my belly. It was flat, but it had lost the kind of concave flatness I used to possess before I’d given birth to Renni. His fingers lingered on my stretchmarks, and his eyes seemed to examine them carefully.
“I always hated those,” I whispered.
“Why?” Sam said, looking at me in surprise. “They’re beautiful.”
“Beautiful?” I repeated, raising my eyebrows at him.
He smiled softly. It was a sincere smile that told me he was being a hundred percent honest. He really saw my stretchmarks and thought they were beautiful.
“They’re there for a reason,” he whispered back to me. “They’re proof of your past. They’re proof that you had a child. They’re proof that you carried that child for nine months. They tell your story. They’re a part of you. That’s why they are so beautiful.”
He could have been reading a poem, the way his words seemed to sing to me. I closed my eyes for a moment and stepped closer to him. My nipples brushed against his chest, and I opened my eyes again. I placed my hand on his chest and gently pushed him back onto my bed. When he was lying down, I got on top of him, straddling him closely as I took his penis into my hand.
“It’s funny…” he said suddenly.
I looked at him questioningly. “What’s funny?”
“It feels like the first time,” he replied.
“With me?”
“With anyone,” Sam said. “It feels like this is my first time.”
The moment he said the words, I felt a tingle in my spine and remembered the exhilarated excitement of my first time, too. Sam was right: the feeling was very close to the same.
I bent down towards him and kissed him just as I guided him inside me. The moment we fused together, I felt a gasp emanate through my darkened room. But I wasn’t sure if the sound came from him or me. It could have been either of us – both of us.
I looked down at Sam, and he had his head tilted back with his eyes closed. His hands were on my hips, aiding the rise and fall of each stroke as I slipped he slipped in and out of me. I placed my hands on his chest, anchoring me to him as I rode him gently, taking my time and allowing each stroke to stretch out as long as I dared.
I had forgotten how beautiful sex could be. I had forgotten how versatile it was. It could be an act of love just as easily as it could be an act of sadness. It could be an act of peace just as simply as an act of violence. It could be a means of relief, and at the same time, it could be a way to move on. It could be enjoyed in all its carnal pleasures, and yet, it could be savoured for its emotional depth.
And as the thought came to me, a realization dawned. This was the real reason I had stayed away from men since Clint’s death: after Clint, I hadn’t been interested in recreational sex.
I hadn’t wanted a meaningless night of passion that would be forgotten the next morning. I wanted a connection; I wanted a reason to give my body to a man. I wanted to feel things again. I wanted a reason to feel things again. And Sam had given me that reason.
Even with him inside me, I thought back to the first time. He had fucked me on top of a pool table in an empty bar. And at the time, it had seemed meaningless. But how could it have been? I had slept with the man who had saved my child’s life. It was naïve to believe that we didn’t have a connection, even at that point.
And afterwards… he had driven me home, taken care of me, and stayed with me because I had asked him to. I should have realized what was happening then, but I had been numb.
I was numb to romantic love because it was a necessary means of survival. I had to be numb to it, or the pain of my husband’s passing would have been too much to bear. And it was only in the wake of new love that I was able to confront the truth of my feelings again.
Sam’s fingers reached up and caressed my face. “You’re thinking,” he whispered to me.
I bent down so that my lips were at his ear. “I’m thinking of you,” I told him.
He smiled. “I’m right here.”
I felt his hand on the small of my back, helping me along. I could feel how deep he was inside me, and yet I wanted him to go deeper still. I was greedy for him, greedy for the pleasure I knew we could make together. I had been starved for long enough and now I wanted to be satisfied.
I straightened up and quickened my pace. I saw Sam shudder from the force of my movements, but he surrendered to me completely. He wanted me to take control. His hands reached up for my breasts and squeezed gently.
We changed position three times in the next half an hour. He took me in several different ways, and I felt my body respond to him more powerfully than before. We spent an hour devouring each other, intent on the act of love making and nothing else.
When we finally came, it was only because our bodies were spent and exhausted. We lay in bed for almost half an hour without ever saying a word. I just listened to his breath mixed in with his heartbeat as I let my body recover.
“You’ve been with a lot of women, haven’t you?” I asked out of simply curiosity, born out of a need to know him better.
“Yes,” he replied, keeping a firm grip on my hand.
“Some people can do that,” I said thoughtfully. “I never really could… I’ve only been with two men my entire life. Clint and now…you.”
Sam turned to me and smiled. “Would you believe me if I told you I’ve never been in love before?”
“Really?”
“Really,” he nodded. “Sex was never about an emotional connection for me. It was always…something that was separate from the person I was experiencing it with.”
“Isn’t that a little sad?”
He nodded. “It is,” he replied. “I just didn’t know how sad – until now.”
I smiled. “Until now?”
“Yes,” Sam nodded. “It’s true what they say: sex is better when it’s with someone you…have feelings for.”
I turned my face to his and kissed him tenderly. His hands stroked my face, and I felt myself melt into him, as though our bodies were programmed to seek each other out.
“Would you mind if I joined you tomorrow?” Sam asked suddenly. “To pick Renni up from Vanessa’s?”
I knew he would have no idea how much that request meant to me. Instead of explaining it to him, I leaned in again and kissed him again, until our bodies were fused together once more.