"Sammy."
When he said it, the world seemed to pause. Stop it's tilt all for that moment.
The deep honey tones seemed to curl around the word, making it something else, something beautiful.
When most said it, there was an edge to it that was disconcerting, an over-whelming familiarity.
No matter who spoke the forbidden title, your father, your friends, Jess. It was all wrong, like they weren't meant to speak it, weren't allowed.
All your life, from the very beginning, that simple phrase had taken on a new meaning whenever it came out of the bee stung lips. The perfect feature curling as he said it, teeth flashing white, corners tilting.
It was his.
He owned it, an unspoken bond that always was allowing him to feel that side that no one else knew, no one else ever saw.
The slight accent changed it, adding that tone to it, like he felt the wonder of knowing that he possessed the only thing that you could give.
A rasping quality that made his voice unique gave the word a roughness, a raw trait that no other had, that none could re-create.
He made it untouchable.
The resonate baritone cloaked underneath it all gave you chills, shivers running up and down your spine in a stroking motion. He was worshiping the name, letting it touch every nerve ending, fill his mind.
Every day those lips would curl around the letters and you would stare, captivated.
You would let those melodious tones fill your ears.
Become lost in the image clashing against your minds perception of rightwrong.
Breath in deep so you could catch a hint of that odd scent, oranges, mint, and something uniquely his.
Every time he says it, the world stops.