“Don’t be silly.” He grinned. “That’s the army, love. I’m navy.”
Then he set about fucking me into oblivion. Over and over, he hit that one perfect place, sending me higher with each stroke. I clung to him, struggling for breath, body and heart turned inside out. As for my mind, it was total mush. Faster and harder, he fucked me against the wall, hammering my g-spot. Not stopping until I came again, shouting out a name. Someone’s name. Let’s not get into it. It didn’t matter. His hips ground against me, burying his dick deep as he came with a grunt. Yes. For all his honeyed words and carrying on, he’d come grunting at me. Pure romance.
This was why people shouldn’t get carried away with emotions etcetera. Even if the sex happened to be insanely good. Hormones can make you do stupid things like yelling out names of people you should probably only be friends with. Like, fuck buddies at best. Because once you start getting carried away, things get complicated. When you’re all wound up and feeling a million things including horribly exposed.
“You shouted my name,” he said almost wonderingly. The idiot.
“Should I have shouted someone else’s?” And while my lungs and heart might have been scrambling to catch up, my body was rigid, unyielding. “Put me down.”
Prudently, yet tenderly, he did so. “Martha, what are you thinking about?”
“Why do you always ask me that after sex?” I snapped, gathering up my clothing. “It’s unnecessary. The whole point of sex is not to think.”
For a moment, there was silence.
“What?” I snapped again.
“Is this about you saying my name?”
“No.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“So it’s about intimacy in general, then?”
I cringed. “Seriously?”
God knows where my panties had gone. Doubtless the completely wrong person would find them tomorrow and I’d be in for another round of humiliation. I pulled on the shorts then got busy collecting the shoes and socks. I could walk back to my room barefoot. It wasn’t like it’d matter.
Meanwhile, he just stood there bare-ass naked, arms crossed, watching me.
“What?” I asked, getting down on my hands and knees to try and find the fucking underwear. Shit. They’d disappeared. And he’d been totally right about the rough flooring. My back or hands and knees would have been shredded. Of course his being right and caring about me only made things worse. “Are you going to get dressed? And why are you giving me that look?”
“What look am I giving you exactly?”
“Blank face, but pissed-off eyes. It’s the one you use when you’re angry, but pretending as if you’re trying to hide it.”
“Well, Martha,” he said, pausing to pick up his shorts and pull them on, “I was giving you that particular look because we just had great sex, and before I can even catch my breath, you’re suddenly being a raging bitch. What I’m wondering is, why?”
“Why you’re bothering with me or why I’m being a bitch?” I asked, rising back to my feet. “Because I have a well-known reputation for being a bitch so I don’t see that stopping anytime soon. As for the other, there’s a very simple answer. We can just stop. We’ve had a few good fucks. Might as well end it while we’re ahead, right?”
He just blinked.
“What? What is it now?”
“Are you honestly that afraid of feeling something for me?”
I set my jaw, but it didn’t help. Neither did staring at the stupid floor.
“C’mon,” he said, voice softer. “Look at me.”
Surly as shit, I did so. God knows why.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
My shoulders slumped. “I can’t find my panties.”
He exhaled and looked around, inspecting the room. Next he crossed over to a collection of dumbbells and hooked my black thong with his index finger. Trust him to find them immediately. I held out my hand to take them, but he drew me in close.
“What else is wrong?” he asked.
And the words were there, but actually speaking them…
Arms wrapped around me, holding me carefully. Like I was delicate and might break. Like I had cracks in me already. “You can tell me, love. It’s okay.”
My throat tightened, eyes hurting. “The last time I was doing stupid things like yelling people’s names out during sex and getting all overemotional, everything went wrong. I made it go wrong.”
“You and Dave?”
I nodded, cheek pressed against his chest.
“That was a long time ago,” he said. “I think you’re a bit wiser now, don’t you?”
“No.”
He rubbed my back, kissing the top of my head. God, he was so good at this stuff and I was so not. My arms clung to him. “Martha, no matter whose fault it was, I know you got hurt last time. And I can tell you for a fact that I’m not going to hurt you. That is not going to happen. But only you can decide if I’m worth the risk.”
“I don’t want to hurt you either.” I hated the thought. He was such a good man. And this was all getting so complicated so quickly.
“Then don’t,” he said. “It’s that simple.”
I sniffled, taking a deep breath. “Honestly, Sam. It’s barely been twenty-four hours. How could things possibly get this difficult in such a short amount of time? It’s crazy.”
Without a word, he picked me up, sitting me on his lap on the bench. “Not really. I think we’ve been dancing around each other for a long time. By the time we finally got together, it was bound to be…well...”
“I guess so.”
“A bit more complicated then you intended, hmm?”
“You could say that.”
“Do you really want to just stop?”
“No.” I leaned my head against his shoulder, getting comfortable. Not hiding. Something other than that.
“All right then.”
“All right then,” I mimicked in a deep voice. “You’re so full of shit, pretending to go along with everything. ‘You’re in charge, Martha.’ ‘Whatever you say, Martha.’”
“I’m your servant in all things, love,” he said, the smile obvious in his voice. “I just try to help you along occasionally is all.”
“Yeah, right.” I sighed. “I’m not just using you for sex. I don’t know what it is, but…anyway.”
“Well, I’m certainly glad to hear you can admit it. Even if you are describing us as but anyway.”
“Shut up,” I grumbled.
He just laughed. Bastard.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“You cannot be serious.”
Sam smirked, keeping his gaze on the road. And looking very handsome in blue jeans, a gray T-shirt, and his black leather jacket. Though in all fairness, he made most things look hot. Despite my best efforts, I’d come to realize it was just a me and him state of being. The effect the man had on me had sadly, steadily escalated over the last few days of sleeping together. (Out in the pool house, not in my room. Gibby loved surprising me with an early wake-up and no child needed to see that much skin so soon in life.) You’d think us fucking like rabbits would have calmed things down, satiated the hunger, so to speak. But no. The desire for Sam was like a constant hum beneath my skin, a warmth spreading through my body at the mere thought of him or the sound of his name. Just as bad as some sappy love song. All in all, very disturbing. And yet…
“Lizzy, no,” I said, turning in the passenger seat to give her a glare.
“Martha, yes.” She flipped her hair, checking her makeup in a compact. Then she rested her arm on the empty kid’s car seat at her side. “This is happening. I mean, I told you, we’re going out for drinks. Isn’t that what I said, Sam?”
“That is indeed exactly what you said, Mrs. Nicholson,” he dutifully answered.
I gasped. “Don’t you dare take her side.”
“Sorry, love.”
“You two are so cute together.” Liz grinned. “Have I mentioned that? Because you are, you’re absolutely adorable.”
“Shut up,” I grouched.
The woman in the back seat just happy-sighed. “Anyhoo, as I was saying. It’s too late to back out now. I’ve told them you’re coming. You don’t want to look like you’re scared of them or something, do you? Big bad Martha afraid of having drinks with the wives.”