Saving Sam (The Wounded Warriors Book 1) (7 page)

“Um, Sam?” she asked in a gentle, wheedling voice.

“Yes, baby?” He was watching the game on one of the big-screen televisions, only half paying attention.

“I'm a little hungry,” she admitted.
Only a little, after chicken fried chicken, mashed potatoes, okra and cornbread.

“Okay, when the waiter comes back, get yourself something.” He still wasn't paying close attention.
I wonder what he would do if I pinched him?

She scanned the menu for something she could eat. It had to be something she could also tempt Sam into eating.
Chili cheese fries? Yeah, that should work; he was always a sucker for those.
They would taste terrible with her wine, but what could she do? She would have to think ahead in the future.

Before long, everyone was sipping from icy bottles, and Amy from her glass. The other soldiers, upon hearing her food order, had suddenly become ravenous, and the fries were joined by hot wings and burgers.

“Sam?” Jack said, and her boyfriend turned towards his friend. “Did you do… what Jorge asked?” The man's deep voice sounded flat and hollow, Amy noted.

The color drained from Sam's face at his friend's words and he took a large gulp of beer, appearing to be contemplating an answer. “Not yet,” he said at last. “But I will.”

“If you'd rather… I could do it. I've been corresponding with… her a bit, you know, writing letters and stuff.”

Sam's pinched expression turned relieved. “If you would, Jack, I'd really appreciate it.

I wonder what that's all about,
Amy thought, her eyes traveling between Jack and Sam. Then she glanced at Ray and was startled to notice his clenched jaw and narrow, suspicious eyes.
What's stuck in his craw?
“What's going on?” she asked, knowing she was being nosy, but too curious to care.

“Nothing,” Sam replied quickly. “War stuff. A conversation between people you don't know.”

“Okay.” Amy accepted the prevarication.
There's more going on here than he's telling me.
But she let it go, returning her attention to tempting Sam's appetite. Amy picked up a thick-cut potato stick, ran it deep into the chili and caught Sam's eye, taking a slow bite and closing her eyes.

“Good?” Sam asked, eyeing the fries with more interest than she'd seen.

“I never eat this stuff,” she admitted, “too fattening.” Then she hummed in appreciation of the rich, greasy flavor.
No wonder he likes these. They're amazing… and I won't be able to fit into my jeans later.

“So, good then?” Sam repeated, pestering her with an unrepentant grin.

Amy didn't respond. Instead, she bit her lip and tried to look enticing… without looking enticing, hoping Sam would take the bait.

Ray glanced at her with thinly veiled lust. “You don't need to worry about that. Curves on a woman are a good thing.”

Sam smiled knowingly, at least until he heard Ray's comment. Then his grin turned to a scowl. She shot the man a shy smile, both flattered and disturbed by his open appreciation and flirtatious compliment. Sam narrowed his eyes, his expression turning predatory.

“Don't glower, baby,” she told him, placing one hand on his chest, demanding his attention. “Here, try it. They hand make these fries fresh, right here in the kitchen. They're not frozen in a bag.”

She extended the delicious, greasy mess towards her boyfriend, silently urging him. He nipped the fry off right at the edge of her fingers, letting his lips brush her skin. Then he chewed thoughtfully.

“Pretty good,” he admitted. “Not as good as Janie's, but…”

Amy giggled. “No body's cooking is as good as hers.”

Sam smiled, “true.”

Though she had to act like a siren to do it, she was able to get most of the fries into Sam. It felt bizarre to do this naughty stuff in front of his friends, but she wanted to be sure Sam ate. She was acting totally out of character, so much so that she even surprised herself. She had no idea she was capable of behaving in such a seductive and manipulative manner.

Even more amazing, once she decided to be outgoing, just like that, she was. It gave her an incredible sense of freedom to allow herself to be open and direct, even fun. To her surprise, she discovered the only thing holding her back was herself. Once she had committed to jumping in whole-heartedly, it wasn't hard to talk to the soldiers. They were built and hot and everything that usually scared the hell out of her, but they were people too. They had interests they liked to talk about, personalities… it made it easy for her to engage in conversation.

How much of my shyness
, she wondered,
is really just a choice
? Had she consciously withdraw into herself rather than choose to talk to people? Maybe she had, but why? It didn't seem like it was necessary after all, and it left her pondering.

The hardest one to be friendly with was Ray. His dark eyes reminded her of Sam's, but he was overtly flirtatious, and that confused her. She was with Sam. Why would his friend be trying to flirt with her?

* * *

Amy wasn't the only one who noticed Ray's increasingly inappropriate behavior. After a while, Sam started to give him some hard looks that Amy's gentle teasing couldn't erase. Eventually, she left to use the bathroom and when she did, Ray leaned back in his chair in order to check out her backside as she went. This not only left her with a self-conscious grimace on her face, but it infuriated Sam.

“Hot,” Ray said.

“Listen, Lozano,” Sam snarled snarling, “quit checking out my girlfriend. You're starting to piss me off.”

“Chill,
Wallet
,” Ray replied, unconcerned with his friend's warning and using a nickname an old military friend had created for him. “I can look, right? I just can't touch.”

“Don't. Call. Me. That.” The steam was almost visible as Sam threatened to combust.

“Ray,” Jack said, “I think you'd better quit. He's not going to be reasonable where this one's concerned. Leave Amy alone.”

“Come on, guys, what's the big deal? I
looked
at her. I didn't invite her back to my apartment.” He sipped his beer, but Sam noticed his fingers were tight on the sweaty bottle.

“I've had enough,” Sam said. “Keep your eyes… and your comments to yourself.”

“Jeez, what's your problem, man?” Ray rolled his eyes, irritated.

“You're my problem.”

“Okay, okay,” Jack extended an arm out to steady both of the slightly intoxicated airmen. “Stand down, gentlemen. This is getting out of hand.”

“Dude, you're not the boss of me anymore,” Ray barked at Jack, but his words had little bite.
Not to mention you just sound childish, prick
. “Besides, I'm not doing anything wrong here. It's Wallace having a fit.”

Jack sighed, scrubbing the dark skin of his forehead with one massive, calloused hand. “I thought you two were past this petty shit.”

“I can't help it if Sam's the jealous type,” Ray snickered, unrelenting.

Sam clenched his fists, whether to hit Ray or prevent himself from doing so, he wasn't sure.
That jackass better watch his mouth.

Amy returned from the bathroom, and her arrival managed to halt Sam's internal rush towards violence.

* * *

Jack looked from her to Sam to Ray. She was a pretty girl, and he could understand being a little possessive of her, but Sam was going too far. And Ray was pushing it. It seemed the innate competitiveness between the two of them was going to focus on this one slender woman. He hoped Amy had the sense not to respond to Ray's flirting.

All the men stood as she approached the table. She grinned and waved them back to their seats, except for Sam. She walked close to him and slid her arm around his waist, laying her head on his shoulder. He hugged her gently.
Wow, I think he must love her. He's never acted like that with a girl before. It was always dirty groping and sleazy comments. No wonder he doesn't want Ray flirting. This isn't a conquest. She's something much more to him.

“Are you ready to go, baby?” he asked.

“Yes, I think so, if you are,” she replied.

“Yeah, I'm done here. Later, guys.” Sam gave a short wave and began to escort Amy toward the door.

“It was nice to meet you all,” she said softly over her shoulder.

“VERY nice to meet you,” Ray said in a seductive voice, accentuating his Spanish accent just a little, making himself sound like Don Juan.

“Mister Lozano,” she said, her voice hesitant at first, but with growing firmness, “you're not going to get anywhere with that, so you might as well give it up. You can't take me away from Sam, so don't try.”

Good job, Amy-girl,
Jack thought as Ray slumped, scowling into his seat.

* * *

Sam stared, stunned again. Not that many years ago, Amy would never have confronted someone who was teasing her. She would have run away, uncomfortable and embarrassed. Hearing Amy express her disinterest in his friend, Sam not only felt reassured, but also impressed by her strength.

He walked her out to the car, his arm still around her, and, before he opened the door for her, pulled her even closer and kissed her within an inch of her life. He left her weak and breathless, not to mention shocked by his unexpected display of affection. Her muddled expression made him want to shout with triumph. Amy bit her lower lip, giving him a sideways smile which left him feeling more intoxicated than the beer.

“Did you like meeting my friends?” he asked as he loaded her into the car.

“I would like it better if they had girlfriends. Single guys compete too much,” she replied.

He thought about her comment as he walked around to get into the driver's seat. He threw the car into drive and started for the ranch. As he pulled out of the parking lot, he asked, “And just where did this bold, confident Amy come from?”

“I didn't want to embarrass you,” she replied, in that tiny, timid voice he knew so well.

He glanced in her direction before returning his attention to the road. “You never could. I liked you just fine when you were shy for everyone but me.”

“Would you rather I went back to that?”

“Amy,” Sam said seriously, “Please, don't be anything
for me
. Be yourself. Be what you want to be. If you're not real, how can we be together? There's only room for one screwed-up mess in this relationship, and I already claimed that title.”

“Sam,” she said hesitantly, turning the conversation in a direction he didn't like, “if you're so… screwed up, why don't you… talk to someone about it? I know the military has people who can help. You're going back next week, right?”

“Yes.” His answer was terse.
I don't want to lie on some couch and talk about my feelings. Besides, soldiers only have five feelings anyways; happy, tired, horny, hungry, and angry. If I'm hungry then I eat, if I'm tired, I sleep, if I'm horny then I'm happy I have Amy, and if I get angry, well, I can work out. What else do I need?

“There are all kinds of options available to help. There are chaplains, counselors, everything. If something really horrible happened, if it's too much for you, don't keep it bottled up, don't just suffer. I don't like seeing you hurting.” She touched his hand.

For Sam, Amy's touch was more soothing than any counselor could ever be.
I have everything under control I'm dealing with everything just fine.
Hadn't all his training been meant to prepare him to handle just this kind of thing?

What soldier hasn't faced the nightmares of war? I'm not a pansy ass; I'm a United States Security Forces Member!
He thought to himself.
I can't blame her. She doesn't understand and I can't tell her. I don't want to open her eyes to the horrors that exist in the world or the demons that live inside so many of us.

“I don't need that, Amy. Do you think I'm broken? I can handle it.” His tone was curt, an aggressive bark that sounded far angrier than he had intended.

She withdrew from him physically, though she did not stop. “Can you? You're not eating and you're barely sleeping.”

Damn it, gentle, Wallace, remember?
“I slept well enough last night.” He tried to distract her from her pestering with a leer.

“I'm sure,” she replied wryly, a twist of her lips revealing she was aware of his attempt to prevaricate. “And I'll be happy to join you if that makes it easier for you to relax.”

“I'd rather join you. What do you think, Amy? Can we just make sleeping together part of the plan?”

“I thought we did.”

He grinned. “Well, yeah, sex of course, but I meant actually
sleeping
together. Like we sleep in the same bed.”

“Ah. Yes, we can do that.” Now Amy sounded excited.
Liked it that much, did you, baby? You ain't seen nothing yet. I have a thousand more ways to make you scream
. “Oh, Sam, stop here,” she urged, pointing at a pharmacy. “No matter what definition of sleeping you're using, we need some protection.”

“Right,” he grinned then he pulled in to park the truck in a spot next to the entrance. “Stay here. I'll be right back.”

He was back in a moment, a little plastic bag dangling on his arm.

“Make a doctor's appointment, sweet Amy. I hate these things. They're not for us.”

“Okay,” she responded.

If only,
Sam thought,
if only things were different. It would be so sweet to forget about birth control altogether, and just let things play out the way they would.
Last night had been beautiful and hot, but introducing a layer of latex between them would not be as intense, and it brought a note of… wrongness. It was like saying there was a lack of trust between them. He would just as soon not use them, but he wasn't ready for all that meant. Not yet.

Back at the ranch, Amy returned to her apartment alone. Sam would be joining her shortly, but first he needed to pack up some clothes for the morning and grab his toothbrush. Nervously, she retrieved a few items from the mini-fridge in the kitchen where Janie kept her personal store of delights, popping one in the microwave briefly. She carefully swirled a little porcelain pitcher as she brought her prizes to her bedroom. Setting everything else on her bedside table, she dropped her clothes on the floor, dipped her finger into the pitcher and raised the sweet, sticky substance to her lips just as Sam opened the door.

The sight of Amy naked and sliding her finger into her mouth gave Sam a little jolt, she saw. The front of his jeans instantly appeared fuller.

“What have you got, baby?” he asked, feigning nonchalance and failing. His eyes had taken on a predatory gleam.

“Chocolate sauce.”

He quirked his eyebrow.

“I stole it from Janie.”

Sam's mouth twisted. “That's Janie's
homemade
chocolate sauce?”

“Yup.”

“She's going to kill you,” he said as he crossed the threshold.

“At least I'll die happy,” she responded with a devilish grin.

Sam opened his mouth as though to ask why exactly Amy had brought chocolate sauce to bed with them, but her finger dipped back into the pitcher, covering it with the sweet concoction, and then, as Sam watched, she coated each of her nipples with it. His question disappeared.

“Want a taste?” she asked in a sultry voice, biting her bottom lip seductively.

“Now I know you love me,” he replied, his expression utterly amazed.

“Why's that?” she cocked her head to the side.

“Not everyone would be willing to share Janie's homemade chocolate sauce,” he said, causing her to giggle.

* * *

Sam crossed the room quickly then wrapping an arm around her waist, lowering his mouth to one chocolate-painted breast. He wasted no time in drawing the nipple into his mouth and licking every sticky sweet drop away. Janie's chocolate sauce was one of the most amazing things he had ever tasted, balanced, rich, and delicious, but somehow it had never been as appealing as it had in that moment, as he teased and worried it out of the puckered folds of Amy's erect nipple. She sighed as he probed the sensitive tissue. She tipped her head backwards, eyes closed, and thrust her chest out a little more, giving him better access.

“Shy girl?” he murmured against her breast.

“Not for you. Besides, shy doesn't mean uncreative or unintelligent.” Her voice sounded a bit thin, proof of the effect he was having on her.

“Right,” he grinned. “I'll have to remember that.”

He released her and moved to the other side, lapping the chocolate away. In the breeze from Amy's ceiling fan, her wet, stimulated nipples rose even higher. Sam grabbed one in each hand and rolled gently, drawing a gasp from her.

“All right, sexy, baby,” Sam said in a husky voice. “Get on that bed and let's see what else I can do with this stuff to make you squirm.”

Amy winked at Sam and stretched out on the mattress, setting the little pitcher on the bedside table. He took in the rest of what was there; strawberries, a little bowl of whipped cream, and shook his head. “Does someone want to become a sundae?”

“Maybe…”

“The whipped cream?”

“Has amaretto mixed in.”

“Wow. Are you a foodie Amy?” he asked.

Amy waggled her eyebrows. “I don't think so. I just… considered the possibilities.”

“I guess. Boy are you going to be well laid tonight.”

“Good. I like the sound of that.” Her belly pulsed and Sam grinned, knowing what the anticipation was doing to her. He massaged, feeling her internal fluttering, and she moaned. Then he grabbed the little pitcher and poured a puddle of the chocolate onto Amy's belly. Scooping up a strawberry, he trailed it through, coating the tip of the fruit, and then pressed it to her lips. She took a bite, retrieved the rest of the berry and dipped it herself, offering it to him. He nipped off the entire fruit, only leaving the stem.

* * *

He chewed, swallowed, and made Amy forget her plot to feed him by leaning over her mouth for a devastating chocolate and strawberry kiss. He ran his mouth down her chin, down the center of her body and lapped gently at her belly, running his tongue in sexy, ticklish swipes over her flesh until she was burning up. When every drop was gone, he returned to her mouth.

Chocolate smeared his lips and he offered it silently to her. She licked it away, and then touched the line of his lips, urging them to part for her. He complied and she penetrated him, boldly, eagerly. She wanted to move forward. Already she was aching to be filled and taken, her body drenched and clenching in anticipation.

“Sweet girl,” he murmured, scooping up a dollop of cream and dotting it on the end of her nose. He licked it away and then pressed his mouth back to hers, adding the cool burn of alcohol to their passion-drugged embrace.

“Tell me, Amy,” he urged. “I need to hear it again.”

She didn't have to ask what he meant. “I love you, Sam.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

Guilt clouded his features. “You deserve better.”

“If I deserve anything good, then this is what I want,” she insisted, kissing his lips.

“Okay, fair enough. You know, the food thing is fun, but I need you right now.” He arched his hips, letting her feel the jut of his heavy erection.

“I know. I feel the same way. I'm ready for you, Sam.” She lifted her hips.

He cupped her and found her wet.

“I guess there's one more thing I need to lick before we get down to business.”

“Oh God,” she whimpered.

She parted for him and he lowered his mouth to her sex, savoring the taste of her honey as he traced every fold, wetting her more. His sensual touch made her pant and squirm.

“Purr for me, baby,” Sam begged. “Let me know I'm doing it right.”

It only took a few tender laps of his tongue to have her making soft, squeaking moans. She gripped the bed sheets tightly, rocking her pelvis to add to the intensity about to consume her. As soon as she started clenching, he reared up, parting her, and rammed his penis home in a single thrust.

It was too much, too fast, too hard. He was too big. Overwhelmed, Amy squealed, as much in protest as pleasure. He reared back and slammed into her again, this time causing a burning, tingling sensation, and abruptly the pain of his rough entry turned to wild pleasure. Amy was catapulted into a screaming climax the likes of which she had never imagined before.

* * *

Hearing her gasping cries of ecstasy only encouraged Sam. He closed his eyes as he kept pounding hard, driving his pleasure higher inside the shuddering sweetness of her innocent vagina. As Amy grew quiet, he became more ferocious, thrusting eagerly, greedily taking what he craved.

Sam knew it was too much for a girl who was having sex for exactly the fourth time in her life, but he couldn't stop. He couldn't, and he didn't. He took her until all thought was gone, the man was gone, and only the rutting animal remained, only the drive for orgasm. And he gave it to himself inside her, roaring in pleasure as he came hard.

Later, when the last shuddering, gasping moments passed, he began to worry about his girlfriend. Breathing hard, he looked at the fragile young woman. She lay still underneath him, stunned, tears streaking down her face.

“Amy?”

She sniffled, but didn't speak.

“Are you all right?” he asked, alarmed, chastising himself for his carelessness.

“What happened?” she whimpered.

“I… I lost control. I'm sorry.”

She swallowed.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded though he already knew the answer.

“A little.”

Given that this was Amy, a little probably meant a lot. He slipped out of her and she winced. Hating her discomfort, he pulled her close, cradling her. She cuddled against him, trembling. He kissed her forehead. She closed her eyes, whether to hide her tight expression of pain from him, or to avoid showing him her judgment over his cruelty, he wasn't sure.

“Amy?”

“It's okay, Sam. This was probably too much for someone who's been away in the military for so long. It's no surprise you lost control a little.”

How can she be making excuses?
Sam felt strange and disconnected. His ears were ringing as though too many mortar shells had fallen around him. But he knew what she was saying wasn't right. “A little?”

She was defending him to himself. There was no defense, not really. He had been too rough with her. He had given into his own selfish desires and forgotten to consider her needs. He had known while he was doing it that it was too much, and he hadn't stopped. He hadn't wanted to stop; he'd only wanted to find that release, that moment where he was lost in his pleasure, unaware of the world around him.

That's not how a man treats a woman he cares about,
he thought with a self-hatred that only seemed to be growing. His conscience produced a sour litany of all the wrongs he'd perpetrated in his selfishness.

Amy's assumption that he was pent-up, as she was, due to years of abstinence was inaccurate. A soldier could usually find a girl to sleep with if he wanted one, and Sam had not exactly deprived himself. Amy was special to him, and sleeping with her was amazing, but she was far from his only partner. Even her memory had not kept him chaste in her absence, after he took her virginity on that long ago Christmas. Now that she was his, he intended to be faithful; he'd try to make up for all of his indiscretions.

Sam knew he wasn't worthy of her love, and to prove it, he had already hurt her again and again. That conversation about his history would be painful… and pointless to pursue. She didn't need to know about it, so he wouldn't tell her. He would spare her feelings and try to protect her from another of his many sins and failures.

“Aw, shit,” Sam growled.
I'm still not thinking straight.

“What?”

He indicated the bedside table where the sealed box of condoms sat forgotten. He'd done it again. Aggravated with himself, Sam rose to his feet and headed to the bathroom to shower, unintentionally slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Amy lay on her bed, aching and still a little stunned, wondering what had just happened. They'd been having such fun, sweet sex. The chocolate and strawberries and the kissing had been intoxicating. The touching had been gratifying and decadent, but then her precious Sam had suddenly disappeared, replaced by a rough, almost cruel stranger who had used her painfully.

Though she'd found pleasure in the pain initially, it had been short-lived. What had been intense and wild love-making had transformed into something more akin to abuse. She touched herself gently, wincing at the ache, and her fingers came away covered in pink-streaked semen. She swallowed hard.

She was bleeding. She wasn't a virgin, so there was no reason for there to be blood. It was concrete proof of the aggressive violence their coupling had become. At the sight of it, she choked suddenly and began to cry.

* * *

With the door shut and the water running, Sam couldn't hear Amy's horrified sobs. It was probably a good thing he couldn't hear her because he was already angry at himself, tense and antsy.
You would think I'd be relaxed after
coming the way I did,
he thought to himself.
Was it worth it?

Sam swung at the water, really wanting to hit himself. He wanted to scream, but only managed to purse his lips as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut; his hands clutching the nothingness in front of him, looking like claws. He inhaled deeply and slowly, loudly exhaled as he opened his eye. He glanced at the ceiling for a moment and then back towards the streaming water.

“Have I ever showered so much?” Sam demanded of the showerhead as it poured water over his shaking muscles. “I don't know and I guess it doesn't matter. I can't seem to get clean enough. If only hot water could wash away memories.”

He scrubbed his body with more vigor than necessary, but he still felt dirty. He couldn't seem to wash away the filth or the guilt.
You can't rid yourself of the scum because it's what you are
, he thought.

When he finished washing and rinsing off thoroughly, Sam exited the shower stall as he wiped the water from his body with a big, fluffy towel, which he wrapped his towel around his waist. Leaning forward, he shifted his weight to his arms as they supported him over the sink vanity. His head hung low as he contemplated the rough, greedy way in which he had taken Amy. Looking in the mirror, seeing a man he despised, Sam's rage flared again.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Sam demanded from his reflection. He closed his eyes momentarily, feeling like the ass he knew he had been. He didn't deserve Amy; she was far too good for the likes of him. He couldn't understand what she saw in him; what made her love him?
After all, God knows, you're not worth loving.

“You're a selfish prick!” Sam chided himself bitterly. Looking into the mirror again, he thought to himself,
why can't I do anything right?

Turning away from the sink, his hand struck his electric razor, knocking it from the vanity. The razor struck the side of the porcelain toilet bowl and then clanked to the ground. Sam winced. The clatter catapulted him right out of his bathroom and into a mass of twisted rebar and crumbled stone.

The scream of mortar shells rang in his ears and the warmth from his shower transformed to the sweltering atmosphere of Afghanistan. Everywhere he looked he could see the wreckage of what had once been a charming middle-eastern town. The kind with laundry strung in courtyards and goats wandering the streets while women with hijab scarves over their hair regarded the soldiers out of the corners of their dark, sultry eyes.

It had changed in a heartbeat, the bucolic town rendered into crumbled bits, studded with shrapnel, among which the injured whimpered and women screamed. Somewhere a dog was howling. Somewhere, a child wept. In a blink of an eye, the mundane room had become a living nightmare.