Fearless (The Story of Samantha Smith #1) (34 page)

Christos merely grinned at us, and ate another salsa-covered chip.

Romeo sputtered, and shook his head violently. “So, does that mean the ugly-bumping is in full swing?”

Christos laughed deeply. “No, not yet.” He leveled a probing look at me through lowered lashes. “Sam’s in charge of that department.”

I. Uh. Wait. What? Slow down. Swoon? Faint? Suffocate? Fall over dead of embarrassment and giddiness? I was completely confused. What the hell-all had he just said? I needed to go back and review the crime scene tapes.

Madison broke the silence. “Oh my god, Sam. That was some kind of Shakespeare sonnet or something.”

“I wouldn’t go comparing him to the Bard,” Romeo observed dryly, “but I think I’m wet.”

Kamiko grimaced. “Eww, Romeo. You never told us you went through with the sex change operation.”

Kamiko delivered the line so perfectly, and it was so out of character for her, everyone in the group erupted in belly laughter. I think the gravity of what Christos said enhanced the releasing affect of Kamiko’s joke. Especially for me.

I still couldn’t completely process the fact that Christos had publicly declared the essence of the same sincere sentiment he had conveyed to me in my apartment.

“So, anyway,” Madison said, “you guys dating, or what?”

Everyone laughed again.

“Did you hear something, Samantha?” Christos asked.

I was confused. “Huh?”

“I thought I heard something just now, but since all other women have ceased to exist, I wasn’t sure.” He pecked me on the cheek.

“You mean Mads?”

“Who’s Mads?”

Madison chuckled. “This one has potential, Sam.”

Chapter 20

That evening, Christos came over. We had dinner together, and he spent the night. There was some kissing before bed, but mostly we were so busy talking about all kinds of things, joking around, and having fun, we were both worn out when we hit the sheets.

I really liked that. There was no pressure from Christos for things to always end up physical. My experience with dating in high school had been all about fending off the gropers.
 

Not with Christos. He simply wanted to be with me.

We also hung out Tuesday and Wednesday evenings. When I wasn’t studying for my other classes, Christos gave me extra drawing instruction. I would have loved nothing more than to drop all my classes and study art full time with him, but that was pure fantasy.
 

I wasn’t an art major, and probably never would be.

But I made sure to enjoy every moment I had a stick of charcoal or mechanical pencil in my hand.

Thursday night, we stopped at Christos’s house to pick up something. He didn’t tell me what it was.

Spiridon was in the living room reading when we came in. “Christos! I thought you’d disappeared! You haven’t forgotten your grandfather, have you?”

Christos smiled lovingly at Spiridon. “Sorry, Pappoús. I’ve been super busy. I’ll be right back. I have to grab something from the studio.” He left the room.

Spiridon smiled at me. “Have you stolen my grandson, Samantha?”

I smiled. “No, Mr. Manos, I mean Spiridon. He’s stolen me.” I noticed he was calling me Samantha now. Had Christos been talking to him about me?

“The way Christos talks about you, I thought you might have.” He smiled.

There you go.
 

Christos walked back into the room. He held a gift-wrapped package with a bow and offered it to me. “For you.”

“Oh, Christos! You shouldn’t have. It’s not my birthday or anything.”

“So? Open it up.”

I removed the card and read it. It said:

“Samantha—

You are more than you realize. Discover how far you can go by exploring your passions. Dream big. Don’t let anyone stop you from fulfilling your wildest desires. Be Fearless.

—Christos”

My eyes watered. I smiled at Christos. “Thank you, Christos. This means a lot.”

“You’re welcome, Samantha.” He gave me a big hug. “Don’t forget to open the rest of the present.”

I tore the wrapping open. It was a box of 96 Crayola Crayons. The kind with the sharpener in back. After the crayon drawing we’d done together, and working with the kids at the library, it was the perfect gift.

“Remember I told you that you needed to start painting?”

“Yeah?”

“Start with crayons. Start putting color into your sketches. A little at first. By the time you start working with actual paint, you won’t be wondering about what to do with color so much.”

I threw my arms around him. “Thank you Christos. I—” I almost blurted out something I would’ve regretted. “You’re, amazing Christos.” I pulled away so I could look him in the eyes. “You really are.”

He held me by the waist and touched his forehead to mine. “You are too,
agápi mou
.”

I frowned. “What was that word you used?” It sounded like gibberish.

“Nothing.”

“Was that a Greek word?”

Christos pulled back from our embrace.
 

Had I said something wrong? I glanced around and noticed Spiridon’s eyebrows were raised high. I saw Christos exchange a look with Spiridon. My eyes darted between them. “Am I missing something here?”

Neither were going to answer. Spiridon’s eyes dove back into his book. He placed a bookmark in it and closed it. “Do you two want dinner? I was about to make some.”

“You never told me you spoke Greek,” I said to Christos.

“You never asked.”

“What did you say?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

Spiridon stood up and walked over to Christos. He put an arm around his grandson, clapped his shoulder, and led him out of the living room.

“Join us, Samantha,” Spiridon called from the kitchen.

I followed, crayons in hand, totally confused.

Christos and his grandfather whipped up a pile of Greek cuisine. They worked together like a well-oiled team, joking and elbowing each other affectionately during the entire process. I had never seen behavior like this between anyone in my family. I envied Christos the bond he shared with his grandfather. I wonder if things had been like this with his dad as well?

When dinner was finished, I did the dishes. Spiridon tried to help, but I refused. “You guys did enough already. Sit down while I clean.”

“Thank you, Samantha. She sure is considerate, isn’t she, Christos?”

“The best,” he said.

I hid my blushing smile by focusing on the dishes.

“Has an amazing ass, too.” Christos said.

I turned around and gawked. “Christos! You shouldn’t talk like that around your grandfather!”

Spiridon chuckled. “My grandson is very forthright, Samantha. He says what he feels. You can’t slight him for his honesty.”

Christos arched his brows. “See? I’m just being honest.”

I had definitely never had anything approaching a conversation like this with my parents. I couldn’t imagine telling my mom about Christos’ amazing abs in front of people, or alone with her in private. We never talked about guys and feelings and romance. We talked about dating rules and birth control and curfews.

Had I been born into the wrong family?

Spiridon said goodnight and retired to the upstairs of the house, which I still hadn’t seen.
 

Christos and I went outside.
 

He looked up at the night sky. “Full moon out tonight. It’s super bright.”

“Yeah.” I gazed up at the glowing silver ball.

“Wanna see something awesome?”

“Okay.”

Christos led us to the trailhead we had used to go up to his family’s private view before.

“Isn’t it sort of dark? Don’t we need flashlights?”

“Can you see the trail?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Then we don’t need flashlights. Come on.”

“Is this more of your ‘Fearless’ stuff?”

“I hadn’t thought about it, but I guess it is.” He smiled back at me.

We hiked up the hill, the trail a pale line in the darkness. My eyes slowly adjusted and I could see enough to avoid tripping. When we reached the lookout, I was out of breath.

I worried about being up here with him again. The first time, which I’d feared would be the last, I had been a total bitch. I prayed I wouldn’t crap-stain things tonight.

Christos was already sitting on the bench. I was warm from the exertion. I sat next to him and he automatically put his arm around me while I snuggled against his side.

Then I looked at the view. “Oh my god. It’s beautiful.”

The moon reflected off the Pacific Ocean. Scattered clouds floated past the giant silver orb, outlined in thin lines of pure mercury. The black waves were capped with flickering silver tinsel. I felt like I was viewing a window into an alien world. Everything was familiar, but limned with magic by the haloed moon.

“I always preferred this place at night. Everything’s so quiet.”

“I’ve never seen anything like this. Thank you, Christos.”

“Anything for you, Samantha.” He pressed me into his side with a firm hug, then went back to gazing at the view. It was worthy of long, silent contemplation. Words couldn’t do it justice.

Eventually, the warmth of our exertion wore off. I shivered.
 

“You cold?”

“Yeah, a little.”

“Let me warm you up.” He reached over and pulled me onto his lap so that I faced him. Because of the seat back on the bench, there was no place for my legs to go. I was forced to straddle him with my legs wide apart, knees high, feet resting on the bench.
 

I felt his hardness pressing through his jeans against my softness. I mean, right where everything was supposed to go. Only the thin barrier of our clothes stood between me, him, and completion. His shaft strained against me. I worried that all my body weight was pressing down on it, and I didn’t want to hurt him. “Are you comfortable like this?”

“How’s this?” He pulled me forcefully toward him. It startled me, but I liked it. I gasped as my chest pressed into his. My ass thrust out behind me and he grabbed the bell of my hips with both hands. My hands were on his chest.
 

“Better?”

“Yes,” I murmured.

“I’ve been wanting to taste your lips all through dinner. I couldn’t stop staring at your mouth while you talked to my grandfather.”

“I noticed. You seemed quieter than usual.”

He snickered. “I had good reason.”

I leaned forward and kissed him softly. He responded with a low groan and slid his tongue into my mouth, searching for mine. We mingled them together and I indulged in the wetness of it all.

When I moaned and deepened our kiss, he squeezed my ass in a hypnotic kneading motion. Every time he squeezed with his powerful fingers, jolts of pleasure fired out from my center. I was instantly wet and antsy. I felt like my jeans were a chastity belt. Maybe that was okay, under the circumstances. I wasn’t sure I was ready to go beyond making out.

Not that I was disappointed with what we were doing.
 

He startled me by grabbing one of my breasts through my t-shirt. He massaged it gently. I writhed every time his fingers contracted. If he didn’t stop, it was very possible I was going to come.
 

Eyes closed, I threw my head back and released a long, uninhibited moan. No one could possibly have heard me on the remote hillside. I felt free to let it all out.

Christos shuddered and growled at the sound of my pent up pleasure. In response, he thrust his hips up into me. It was hard but good, like a huge bucking bronco beneath me. I didn’t realize I liked it hard.

Tease.

I felt my throat suddenly constrict in terror. I froze. No, not know. I didn’t want to think about that now. I tried to bury it under the same old mountain of avoidance I’d used in the past. Where was my ice cream?

“Samantha? Did I hurt you?”

I opened my eyes and leaned my forehead onto Christos’. Sliding into his gaze, my pain fell away. The voices in my head calmed. “I’m okay. Don’t stop.”

He tipped his head up and kissed me deeply. His tongue was ecstasy in my mouth. I ground my core down on him. He moaned greedily. I knew he wanted more. But did I? Was I ready? I was afraid to find out.

He lifted up my t-shirt until my bra and breasts were exposed. With both hands he squeezed me through the satiny material. He lapped the crease between my cleavage until it was slick. His tongue dipped lower, below my bra. Then he literally picked me up by my ass so he could run his tongue down my navel, to the tops of my jeans.

He was unbelievably strong.

I was intimately aware of how his powerful fingers pulled me apart. Down there. Another flood of energy swirled out from my core and climbed up to my breasts.
 

He lowered me to his lap, then slid the tip of his nose tickling up my cleavage. He brushed his fingertips across my ribs then thumbed my nipples through my bra. I needed more. My bra was in the way.

He pulled back. “I need to see your breasts. Please.”

Was he asking permission? “Yes.”

He unhooked my bra and folded it upward. “Oh my god, they are so perfect from this angle.” He dove at one of my nipples with his ravenous mouth. His tongue circled the tip, hardening it until it was tight and erect. I quivered down to my toes. I wrapped one arm around his neck and placed the other on top of his head, digging my fingers into his thick hair. I had never experienced pleasure like this. I made a stifled “uh, uh, uh,” sound. I was falling over an edge into a deep abyss.

Previous experiences had led me to believe foreplay was no more than some tingles, maybe a little tickle between the legs, and a lot of spit swapping. This was a trip to another dimension. An infinite world I’d never explored.

He switched nipples and a new fork of lighting shot from my core to the top of my head. I whimpered. He squeezed my other breast in response and thrust his hips up into mine powerfully, slowly, persistently.

He grunted, unfulfilled. I didn’t want him to be left wanting. I felt like I was having all the fun in that moment, and he was a caged lion, begging release.