Flailing my arm to the side, I hit the button of the clock, effectively killing the alarm, before turning back to spoon Samantha.
“Good morning, beautiful.”
“Hmm,” she emits a dreamy moan. She always looks so peaceful, so placated when she’s asleep. Watching the diminutive twitches from her brow, the bridge of her nose or the side of her mouth––it’s amusing in an innocent, entrancing, riveting kind of way. Even when I attempt to stop watching, there is something that’s so persuasive which causes my scrutiny to linger; anticipating what she does next.
“Come on, sleeping beauty. It’s time to get up.” I kiss her shoulder, and she twists around to face me. Her eyelids flutter open under the softly, streaming light piercing its way through the window.
“Good morning,” she murmurs unfocused. The corners of her mouth quirking into a self-effacing grin, and I take every second to admire the soft, graceful movements of her profile. It is as though she is in slow-motion…even half asleep, she is mesmerizing. “It is too early to stare. Stop it,” she chides and buries her face into the pillow.
I capture her chin delicately between my fingers, encouraging her to release herself from the concealment.
“Don’t hide from me, Samantha.” The vibrancy emanated from her guileless, shy, aquamarine gaze is stunning, captivatingly beautiful. I feel the intensity of my stare––of my words, as I bore myself into this woman, my eyes raging with insistency, with adoration, with keenness.
Coiling myself around her, I push her into the mattress. I hover above her, my knee, parting her legs. She giggles and sets her hands upon my shoulder blades.
“Don’t ever hide from me,” I repeat my entreaty, then press my mouth to hers, uncaring that neither of us has yet brushed our teeth. Our tongues explore the familiar territory, which is each other’s mouth, consuming one another with wet, sensuous licks. Vehemence and ardor both drastically hit spiking point, peaking to full-bodied, exacting, unrelenting ferociousness. Incinerating everything in its path, until the only things outlasting, is smouldering carnality, and unadulterated desire.
God, what this woman does to me.
My cock lies hard and heavy between her dampened thighs. I thrust my hips into her, the velvet surface of my straining erection teasing at her exposed, smooth folds. She thrusts her hips up to meet mine, before digging her nails into the flesh of my back. The burning that is diffused from the deepening, crescent indentations impels me, spurs me, goading me to take her and ravage her until we are both spent and breathless.
“Hayden,” she mutters breathlessly against my lips. “My bladder is the same size as a bowling ball.”
My eyes alight with wry amusement at her depiction. I chortle and sigh, before dropping my head into the crook of her neck,
fantastic timing.
And begrudgingly free her of my towering body.
After five minutes of Samantha occupying the bathroom, I hear the faint sound of cascading water.
Has she left me high and dry?
No pun intended. I kick the comforter off, and take long strides to the en-suite. I lightly knock on the door, before pushing it open.
Standing naked in the doorway, I rest my shoulder against the doorframe, losing myself to the view that is Samantha under the torrent of the shower cubicle. The haze of the glass surround is already developing, offering an opaque view of her silhouette. Her back arched minutely, as she lifts her head in greeting to the steamy downpour.
Tease.
I meander into the room, my strides calculating, purposeful. With deft, silent hands, I open the gold trimmed, glass door, careful not to make a sound. I step inside and shut the door behind me. With her head inclined back, I take another step so my front is to her back. Snaking my right arm around her waist, she jolts, startled by my unexpected touch.
“Shush…” I soothe, and sweep her long, sodden tresses over her right shoulder. “Are you deliberately trying to escape me, Samantha?” I purr in her left ear. The falling water bounces off her surface, creating a light mist that blankets my body.
“Never,” she breathes. And my lips meet her shoulder and her neck. I kiss and graze my teeth along her flesh, teasing and heating before I cleanse the shimmering beads of moisture off her flesh with my tongue, drinking her in, in every possible way. “I was hoping for the, two birds, one stone scenario.”
“So, you want this?” I mutter darkly as I press my cock into the small of her back, ready and hard, just for her…only for her.
“Yes…always.”
She moves her arm behind her back, and the slightest contact of her thumb smoothing over the aperture of my tip, sends my head spinning and my muscles clenching, as my first spurt of pre-come is emitted over her.
“Rest both of your hands against the tile,” I command, and she obeys willingly. “Spread your legs.”
She complies without question.
Bending my legs, I sink down behind her. My hands encircle each of her slender ankles, and I begin to glide up their length at a painstakingly, tantalizingly, deliberate pace. I reach the summit of her thighs. I can already feel her body pulsating, squirming under my caress. With my hand sliding between her legs, I cup her sex with possessive, overbearing force.
“Ah…” Samantha breaths, pushing herself onto my hand as my grip tightens.
Placing a chaste kiss on each of her buttocks, I rid her cunt of my possessive clutch and starting at the base of her back, lick up the length of her spine, capturing the droplets that trickle their way down her body. She tastes sweet and warm with the purity of the heated, stream.
“Are you sure you want this?” I line each of her shoulder blades and her neck with feather-light kisses, ensnaring her with the coiling of my right arm around her middle.
“Yes.”
With my left hand on her hip, I pull her back carefully, striving to maintain her hands position against the golden tile. I push her legs farther apart with my foot, before positioning myself at her entrance, and gradually sink into her tight, warm, steeped depths.
“Oh, God…” she cries, whilst her legs buckle under the extent of her fullness. She tips her head all the way back, and rests it against my chest.
I bury myself in her, driving into her with my soft, determined rhythm, while the heat from the flowing water of the shower cools my overheated, frenzied skin. My right hand drops over her baby-bump, and delves covetously to her sex. Skilful fingers avidly fondles her saturated folds, making work of issuing tiny, persisting circular motions over her swelling clitoris, while I maintain steady lunges.
“I can never get enough of you, Samantha,” I assert breathlessly, darkly, desperately, and she responds with a high-pitched, pleasure-enthused cry. I push her higher, the goal of her imminent release only a hairs breadth away.
I feel her body quake, her walls constricting and quivering inexorably around me. And it feels fucking amazing; knowing that I am the reason that her body responds this way, knowing her pleasure is at my hand. And the thought is an inducement to my climax, luring me unreservedly and hungrily to my body’s own, intrinsic crescendo.
Lacing Samantha’s back and neck with passionate kisses, she cranes her neck, and I soon meet her lips. With the heated prickles of each droplet meeting its fate on our flesh, with deepened muscles rippling and tensing, and the force of pending orgasms, we intentionally become victims to all-consuming, ultimate sensations. My grip around Samantha’s middle tightens, as her legs start to crumple under her weight, her muscles giving away to the delicious spasms of her orgasm as she calls out my name.
And I am soon following. I thrust into her one last time, and then still. My own raging muscles tense, and allow the constriction of her walls to drain me dry.
“I sincerely hope that is decaf you’re consuming, Miss Kennedy.” Advancing to the kitchen island, I press my sapphire tie against my shirt and fix my tie-bar in place.
She hands me a steaming mug of freshly made coffee. “Yes, Mr Wentworth,” she raises her mug in the air, as if making a toast, “and I have never tasted anything as disgusting in my life. But it beats herbal tea.” She takes a tentative sip, her contorted facial expression, alongside the upturn of her lip confirms the assault her palate is enduring.
I attempt to disguise my throaty chuckle with a sip of black coffee.
“Oh, you think this funny, Mr. Wentworth?” she glowers at me. “Maybe I should demand you switch from the good stuff”––she gestures to the black mug in my hand with her brow––“you know, for moral support.” She strolls to the faucet.
“As much of the gentleman I am, beautiful, and as much as I love you, it’s safer for everyone if I stick with actual caffeine. You wouldn’t like me without it.”
“Really?” After she tips the remaining contents out of the cup, she rinses it and places it on the drainer. “Going all, Hulk on me now are you, Mr. Wentworth?”
She leans against the counter and brushes her scarlet wrap dress over her hips. My hands tingle, my pulse hastens, and my throat is suddenly dry. Steadily placing the cup onto the granite, I carry out my muted appraisal with a voracious glare. The material clings to her body, emphasizing her swelling belly along with her breasts, and those matching red suede, heeled pumps are more than enough to set in motion certain audacious thoughts.
Releasing a weighted sigh, a ghost of a roguish grin dances across my lips. As appealing as she looks in her outfit, I can’t quash my urge to slowly strip her bare, and after last night’s and this morning’s exhortations, I know she wouldn’t object. Her spoken words of a time ago swirl around my mind like a whirlwind, sucking up any reasoned thought and expelling them into the neighboring district,
Temptation cannot exist without the agreement of desire and opportunity.
Damn temptation.
As she walks past me, and heads for the exit, I snare her in my arms and lock my hands against her ass. “On a serious note, I have no idea how I am going to get any work done today.” Staring amorously into her powder blue, widened-eyes, I tuck a lock of auburn hair behind her ear. Leaning forward, I press my lips to hers and bestow her with a lingering kiss that makes the world stand still. As I pull away, I mutter against her, “You look beautiful.”
Her hands caress my upper arms as she steadies herself. “You’re too kind, Hayden,” she grins, and hangs her head. Her discomfiture is tangible.
I pithily recall the earlier days of our relationship when embarrassment and self-consciousness radiated from her in waves with every compliment I bestowed her. We both acknowledge that there will be significant changes to her body at this time. Although she may not witness, she is always my focal-point. I’m incapable of coping if my eyes are starved of her radiance for more than a few hours––even then, that’s too long.
With every passing day something new is happening, another part of her body alters. For me, it’s exciting to see what will change next and how, but for Samantha, someone who needs to feel sexy all the time––someone who befell victim to an eating disorder in a hasty attempt to lose weight…
Nothing can ever possibly make me feel disgusted with her form. To me, she is flawless. I just hope that my words and displays of affection are enough, and will aid her in embracing the changes, and not shy away from them.
With our hands laced together, Samantha and I make our way passed the white marble reception desk, through the lobby to elevator four. I punch the button and focus on watching the numbers dwindle from overhead of the elevator doors, while waiting anxiously for the car to greet us.
The deathly silence which hung between us during the journey to work continues to loiter like ravenous piranha’s waiting to strip to us to the core––a deathly silence, an awkward, secretive silence, to which I have no indication as to what prompted such diffidence. Last night was amazing, this morning has been sensational. There is no reason as to why I have once again stumbled on involuntary negativity, caught unprepared by unpleasant, sombre suspicions. I find myself detained, an awaiting target ready to be shot down as the sense of foreboding and the gut-churning awareness that something menacing is looming in the distance, riles my anxiety and paranoia.
“Oh, that reminds me,” I fight through the uncommunicative fog and glance down at Samantha. My rebellious lock unbinds and falls onto my brow. She peeks up meekly from under her mascara-coated lashes. “No pulling the same stunt you decided to pull yesterday. Understand?”
Brow knitted together, and pursed lips inform me of her befuddlement. Unclear as to my words, she shakes her head and raises her shoulders.
The elevator pings, the doors effortlessly glide open. Loosening my clutch, I slip my hand from the warmth and softness of her palm and splay it at the small of her back to steer her inside.
“What stunt?” her voice is firm and heavily perplexed as she turns to face the doorway. I push for the twenty-first floor and the doors immediately shut behind us.
“You know exactly what I am referring to, Samantha. Don’t be so obtuse.”
Once again, she shakes her head briskly. “I’ve no idea what y––”
I glower at her, my eyes flared and stern, halting her in her tracks.
“Oh, do you mean…”
“Yes, Samantha. And I mean it, you stop it. You have to stop being so careless.” Her face falls with rueful indication, and I instantly chide myself for my blatant level of inconsiderateness. I sigh with what seems like the weight of the world being ousted from my body and settling in the confinement of the elevator. “Oh, beautiful…” I step towards her, sealing the space between us and drop my leather briefcase at my feet. Clearing her profile of her thick mane, I sweep it over her shoulders so it tumbles in waves down to the middle of her back.
With both of my hands, I frame her face, my thumbs smoothing over the arch of her cheekbones then trace the plumpness of her lips. I hold her with the seriousness of my regard.
“I’m sorry, please forgive me…” my gaze softens and soon falters to her mouth as she licks her lips, then back to the wounded expression displayed in her shimmering, sea blue eyes.