“Thank you.” I slip my left hand out of his encasement, and gesture down my body. “This is my camouflage actually,” I giggle. The just above the knee, white, twisted neckline dress, with my white Louboutins allows me to look sophisticated and feel like a chameleon, as I blend with the pallet of the room.
Hayden offers a tightlipped grin. I feebly mirror his expression, before I am surrounded with nous of awkwardness. I hang my head and my mouth relaxes from the strain of the curvature I bore.
“Hey,” his deep, tender voice shatters the silence between us. I peek up at him from under thick lashes. “You’ve had this face most of the day. Do you want to talk about anything, Sam?” I hear the vibration from deep within as he speaks. It is such a sensual sound, makes me want to smile and laugh lively. Makes me want to take his face in my hands and kiss him passionately, and feel him beneath me as the vibrations from his voice travels through my body as I sink onto him. But also makes me realize how much I love him, and makes want to sob as I contemplate the achievement of our relationship.
I shake my head distracted. “I just feel, a little…overwhelmed, and um…” I push back the mass in my throat and swallow hard. I struggle to find the words as to what I am feeling. I frown deeply. “Um…” I lift my hand a fraction before releasing a burdening sigh as I let it fall back onto the smooth hard surface with a raucous thump.
“Samantha,”––Hayden eclipses my hand with his and he holds it closely––“are we in a relationship?”
“Of course we are,” I scowl, slightly offended at his question.
“Is it customary to buy things, and treat your partner, if you’re in a relationship?”
I slowly shrug my shoulders. Battering my eyelids, I open my mouth several times to say something, but my words are stuck, still being processed in my mind. I don’t know? Is it? The one and only relationship I was in was a fucking disaster, I was too blinded by love and pride. I had no idea I wasn’t being treated right.
With tears in my eyes, my vision swims, and a burning sensation claims my sinuses. I shake my head and whisper, “I don’t know.” As I blink, twin tears flow freely from their containment, and streak down my cheeks.
Hayden’s eyes flash as he comprehends my blight and he instantly pushes away from his seat, and crouches down at my side. “Oh, Samantha…I am idiot,” he admonishes himself. Holding my hands in my lap, he brings them up to his mouth and kisses each of my knuckles.
I recover my right hand, and savor pushing it through his floppy hair.
He looks up at me.
“No, you’re not, Hayden. Your generosity, the way you show your love for me, it’s still new. And having you flashing your credit card, and the whole, ‘money is of no object’ speech…” I trace my hand down to the side of his face, and stare into his eyes, losing myself in him. “I haven’t had this before, whereas, this is all you have known. I guess I feel guilty because of the reasons why you feel the need to be extravagant. I don’t want you to feel that this is all I want. It’s not about the money, it’s about you. Having
you
in my life, looking into
your
eyes, hearing
your
voice, cuddling up with
you
at night…that’s all I need.”
Gazing into each other’s eyes, the world around us falls away, becomes nonexistent as we sync our breathing and emotions.
“Sir, ma’am, I have the Lobster Risotto…”
“That’s me,” Hayden mutters, not even acknowledging the waiter as he holds my stare.
I hear the plate clash with the surface of the table, then, “and the chicken breast on roasted garlic, seasonal-veg.”
“And that is for the lady,” Hayden retorts, and the plate is set down before me.
“Enjoy your meal.” And the waiter disappears back to where he came from.
“I love you so much, Samantha. I know you are not like that. I want to please you, and treat you the way you should be. Please, don’t think that way whenever I want to buy you something.” He shakes his head melancholic and his pained, wounded stare cinches at my heart. “I promise, I am not even thinking about that.”
I nod delicately. “Okay. I will try.”
Framing my face with his hands, he pushes himself up from his squatted position, and tips my head back minutely. His lips met mine in a fluid movement and just like the effect they always have on me, all negativity is cast aside, and I’m filled with clarity and assurance.
HAYDEN
Setting the silverware on the empty plate, Samantha sips the remaining Sauvignon Blanc that swims at the bottom of her wineglass. She swallows the golden liquid and a sound of approval travels from her throat, filling the space between us.
“That hit the right spot,” she mutters from across the brim of her glass.
“I agree,” I press myself back in the satin-padded seat and pat the side of my mouth with the napkin. “That was better than sex.”
I’m immediately pinned by her stare as she darts her eyes and rests them upon me with a feigned, wide-eyed, and scandalized expression. “Mr. Wentworth,” she screeches.
I snicker at her overstated air.
“What? You started it, I merely followed suit.”
She glares at me, and it takes a moment for me to realize that I may have actually offended her. I sit forward and cover her hand with mine. Humbling and rueful, I gaze deep into her guileless eyes. “I was joking, I’m sorry, beautiful. I didn’t mean to offend you, it was unintentional. Forgive me?”
Depositing her glass back on the polished surface, she rests her left hand over mine. She gives way to an acquiescing grin and nods her head. “It’s okay; you can make it up to me with dessert.”
“Of, course.” With my free hand, I reach for the menu and begin to browse through the assortment of sweet courses. “What do you fancy?”
“You,” she answers simply. I whip my head up to be hailed with an expression so solemn, so… definitive, that all I can do is rise from my seat, take her hand and lead her from the Hall.
Samantha lays her hand upon my shoulder, using me to steady her balance as we ascend the empty elevator back to our suite. I overhear the loud intake of breath hit between her teeth as she gasps and readjust her weight.
I glance down at her, and see her face contorting.
“What’s the matter? Are you okay?” I can’t overlook the concern puncturing through my voice, and begin visually examine her for injury.
She rolls her eyes. “My feet are,
killing me
.”
As the elevator doors part on our floor, I sweep her up into my arms. She offers a delighted squeal, and encircles her arms around my neck.
“I think a nice, long soak is in order, Miss Kennedy.”
“Well, only if you join me. You did after all promise that I could do whatever I wanted to you, when we came back.”
My mouth curls into a conceding grin. Thoughts of bathing with a beautiful woman…my beautiful woman, instantly fuels my interest; we’ve showered before, but never bathed.
“And in that case, you bring me another first, Miss Kennedy.” She wrinkles the bridge of her nose in that adorable way, and sinks her teeth into her lower lip as we stand, paused at the door of the Grand Suite. “Can you get the key-card, Sam? It’s in my pocket.”
“It would be my pleasure, Mr. Wentworth.”
Dropping her left arm from around my neck, she reaches down and fumbles with the pocket of my pants. I gasp and close my eyes, relishing her touch as she deliberately wanders around the concealed area. My breathing is fueled as her fingertips graze along the side of my scrotum, sending a delicious, appealing shock through my body, and causes my cock to waken. Dashing my tongue over my parching lips, I muster the energy to block out the arousal she is inciting, as she continues to fondle with the contents she has fall upon.
I hold my breath, and with overriding reluctance, I husk, “It’s in my breast pocket.”
“OH.”
After her treasure hunt, she fishes out the key-card and waves in slowly in front of my face. “Found it.”
“Put it in,” I rasp, and she answers me with a brief chuckle then sounds a low, dreamy, moan at my unintended innuendo before slipping it in the lock.
“You can put my down now if you want, Hayden.”
Shaking my head, I ignore her offer and carry her over the threshold, and into the privacy of our suite to indulge in my dessert.
I am deafened by the reverberation of cascading water throughout the cream and gold tiled bathroom. There’s something about watching running water…it’s hypnotic, and the sounds of it pooling and deepening with every passing second sends me into a trance-like state.
I sit on the edge of the bathtub, utterly engrossed and inhale the sweet aroma of vanilla oil as it foams in the deep, oval tub. I’m momentarily startled by Samantha’s robe-clad arms encircling my waist, before her lips caress the bare flesh of my back.
“Did I ever tell you, how much I love you?” she whispers as I twist off the faucet.
I stand straight. Turning to face her, I begin disrobing her of the fluffy material. “Oh, you may have mentioned it once or twice,” I smirk.
“Once or twice isn’t merely enough. You’re going to get bored of me saying it sooner or later.”
Letting the robe drop from her body and gather at her ankles, I place my hands on either side of her pale, oval face; her eyes bright, and expressive with her post-orgasmic glow.
“Words can only express so much beautiful; you have
shown
me that you love me more times than I can count.” She takes a breath and I seal my mouth over hers, placing all of my love, my affection, and desire for her into one single connection.
Samantha exhales as we allow our lips to linger for a second or two and a tiny, high-pitched whistle escapes her nostril. The unexpected noise transforms our kiss into small, regaled smiles and we begin to pull away.
“Yes, I love you, too,” I pout and plant a kiss on the tip of her nose.
If it wasn’t for the fact that Samantha has just drained me of all my energy, I wouldn’t have stopped there.
We sit at opposite ends of the bath. With my arms outstretched and propped on the rim of the egg-shaped tub, we watch each other closely and carefully. Samantha slowly tracks one of her legs between mine. I clasp hold of her foot before she meets her goal, and begin massaging her sole.
“Hmm…” She tips her head back against the edge of the tub. With her long locks piled haphazardly on top of her head, and the bubbles tantalizingly covering her assets, she looks like she’s about to shoot a commercial for women’s razors––sat in the bath, leg raised, toes pointed––very seductive.
Before I can even contemplate the effect of my words, I ask, “Have you ever thought about kids, Sam?”
Straining her neck, she pulls her head back up to face me. Her playful and relaxed demeanor of only a moment ago is now overflowing with alarm, anxiety and intimidation. I suddenly regret opening my mouth.
“Kids?” she husks with clenched teeth and flutters her eyelids in dismay.
“Yes. Have you ever considered having children?”
To some degree, her expression softens as she processes her thoughts. With her brow arched minute, she focuses on the swaying water and shakes her head. “I don’t know.” Diverting her stare from the mass of white foam, she peeks up and holds my gaze. “Maybe one day, but definitely no time soon, thanks to this baby.” She rubs the inner section of her left bicep.
“Okay, now I am confused.”
“I have the implant. Here,”––she pushes herself onto her knees and wades closer to me–– “feel it.”
Taking my hand, she presses my fingertips against the embedded, foreign object.
“Jesus,” I yell, pulling my hand away from the rigid, hairpin-length object as my stomach continues to flip and roil.
Giggling at my overreaction, she pushes herself back through the water and bubbles to resume her former position at the narrower end of the tub.
Searching blindly, I dig around in the bubbles and finally retrieve her opposite foot and begin massaging the aching tissue.
She giggles as I graze my thumbnail down the center of her sole; I never knew that was a ticklish spot for her. Her giggle soon turns into decadent groan as I bore my thumbs into her heel, and I idly wonder about the aspects of Samantha that I don’t know. I know all her unhappy periods, what she indulged in at those horrific times––which still forms that knot in my stomach and shatters my heart into a billion pieces––and what initiated them. But what about her happy memories, surely she has some stored somewhere. I know nothing about her family, she never talks about them. Does she even have a family?
As I ponder my queries, I am astounded by the notion that, I don’t actually know her––not as well as I want to. I want to push the boat out a little further; I want to learn more about her past…
“Okay, what is your favorite childhood memory?”
Making circular motions with my thumbs on the heel of her foot, she cocks her head and stares at me like I have grown three heads, or asked her a question in Swahili.
I study her crystal eyes as they darken, betraying a hidden pain, a secret anguish. She scowls at me, and I immediately feel a swell of guilt form and solidify, as I recognize that I have made her open a box she obviously wanted to remain sealed.
After what seems like a lifetime, her lips curl into a minor wistful, yet contented grin. She stares at the white foam that surrounds us. “Going into my Nan’s house and smelling her fresh, homemade cherry pound cake.”
I smile along with the happy memory that she is rehashing. I knew there was some there, amongst the mass of negativity.
I open my mouth to speak, but as I see her beginning to open up, I think better of it, and allow her to continue.
“I remember, my friend’s birthday was a few weeks before mine, and…” she gazes vacantly into the tub. “I was able to go ice-skating with her and her family. I was about nine, and I’d never been before so I had no idea how to dress. Well, I went overboard with my layers,” she chuckles shy and embarrassed. “A boy scared the shit out of me, and I remember stumbling. The blade cut through my jeans and my leg. But even 'til this day, I’m still baffled as to how my thermal pantyhose remained intact.” She shakes her head, seeming perplexed even still at the memory.