I just want to say thank you guys for sticking with this story, and Happy New Years to you all. No matter what year it is, Samcedes lives on!

SAM

It makes me feel both reassured and guilty when Mercedes' grip tightens around my waist. I'm so glad I waited around for her to get safely inside. If I'd been just a few minutes earlier dropping her off or if she'd driven home by herself… The air cools the cold sweat that pops out across my forehead. I release the handlebars long enough to reach down and brush my fingers across the back of her hand. I want her to know that I know how scary this all is and that I'm here. In fact, I'm the reason she's even in any danger, which is where the guilt comes from. If I hadn't taken such an interest in her, if I'd left it at just a fling, like all the others, no one would think to threaten her to get to me. By caring for her, I messed up. Now they're on to me and, as a result, on to Mercedes.

I wouldn't wish anything bad on Marissa, she doesn't deserve to die. And I'm sure that's what they have planned for her. What they had planned for Mercedes. The thought makes my stomach clench. I speed up. My only concern right now is getting her someplace safe. And then I can work out the rest. I don't have a contingency plan for this; after all this time, I never thought they'd find out I have the books. Not until it was too late for them to do anything about it. But I'm a smart guy. And my dad's got real experience with these kinds of people. We'll figure out something. We have to. It's that simple. I take the most convoluted path I can think of to get downtown to the hotel I've got in mind. I check my mirrors constantly for lights or any other sign that someone's following us. I can't take anything for granted now. When I pull up to the extravagant front entrance of the hotel, the valet appears. He's young and looks eager to drive my motorcycle.

After we're off, I tip him and watch as he drives the bike into the gated, underground parking area. I figure, if we weren't followed, my ride won't be easily discovered there. I'll take as many precautions as I can think of. I grab Mercedes's hand, leading her into the luxurious lobby of the hotel. Holing up here with her will cost me a pretty penny, but she's worth every cent. Besides, she might never have had the opportunity to stay at a place like this before. If I can manage to make her feel safe enough, she might actually enjoy it. There's a brunette behind the reception desk.

"May I help you?"

"We're just passing through. No reservations. Do you have any suites available for the week?"

"A suite? Of course, sir. Let me check availability for those dates."

As she types on her computer, I glance down at Mercedes. She looks like she's holding up pretty well, all things considered. She's a little pale, but I'm sure she's scared shitless, so that's to be expected. She looks up at me and smiles. It's a small, tight smile, but a smile nonetheless. I'll take it. I squeeze her hand and bend to kiss her cheek. Before I straighten, I whisper in her ear,

"I promise I won't let anything happen to you."

When I lean back and look into her big, brown eyes, they're shimmering with unshed tears. Her chin trembles and my heart squeezes in my chest. I've done this to her. I don't know if it's fear for herself or Marissa's safety, or just the shock of what's happened on top of everything else that's happened in her life lately, but something is overwhelming her. I can see it and I feel responsible. She squeezes my hand back. I take that as a good sign that maybe she doesn't completely blame me. Well, maybe that she doesn't completely hate me. Because the blame, no doubt, falls to me.

"Sir, we do have a suite available through next weekend. Do you have a rewards card with us?"

"No."

"Yes, sir. I'll just need your driver's license and the credit card you'd like to use for payment."

I notice she doesn't mention a rate for the room. I suppose it's understood that when you ask for a suite at a hotel like this, it's going to be exorbitant. I hand her the card for Dual. It's listed under the name of the corporation that owns Dual, which is hidden behind a couple of other shell corporations, so no one should be able to track its usage. Also, I specify that I want the reservation under that same name, for billing and tax purposes. She nods her head in understanding. For most people, that would seem completely reasonable. And she's no exception. Several times, I see her eyes flicker to Mercedes. No doubt she thinks I'm a businessman having an illicit affair on the company dime. I don't care what she thinks, though, as long as it's nowhere near the truth.

"Here are your keys, sir. Your suite is on the fifteenth floor. Suite elevators are just behind the water wall. Wave your key in front of the infrared eye once the elevator doors close. It will take you to your floor. Your room will be to your left as you exit the elevator. If you have need of anything, my name is Angela. It would be my pleasure to assist you."

"Thank you, Angela. One question: do you offer twenty-four-hour room service?"

"Yes, sir. In-room dining is available at any time to our suite guests."

"Fine. I think we're all set for the night, then."

"Yes, sir. Enjoy your stay."

After taking the keys and the packet of information Angela gives me, I put my hand in the small of Mercedes's back and guide her to the elevators. Once we're inside, her silence continues. I don't try to urge her into conversation because I know she has only questions, questions about things we shouldn't be discussing in a public elevator. When the car comes to a smooth stop and the doors open with a muted whoosh, I usher Mercedes out and to the left. I open the suite door and let her precede me into the room. I can tell by her expression she's never seen accommodations like these before. Despite her shock and fear, she's still clearly impressed. And the suite they gave us is pretty upscale. It makes me happy I've got the money to treat her to something like this, even though the circumstances are less than desirable. The first thing I notice when I walk through the door is the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the impressive Atlanta skyline. They are the backdrop for the living room straight ahead, as well as the dining room to the left. Both rooms are done in a beige color and dark red. The lighting is soft, which has a soothing effect. As a guy, I totally approve. There's a huge flat screen at one end of the living room and, beyond that, double doors that open to the bedroom. I walk straight to the leather-bound hotel guide on the coffee table. Opening it to the menu, I hand it to Mercedes.

"I'm sure you're hungry. Why don't you pick something to order from room service? I'll wait until they deliver it to leave."

"Leave? Where are you going?"

"Someone will be calling me back in another forty minutes. I want to be at the club when they do, just in case they can track my GPS. After the call, I'll get us burner phones to use until I can get this taken care of."

"Taken care of? Sam, tell me what's going on."

I sigh. And I think again, Damn, I hate that I dragged her into all this. If I could've just stayed away from her…

"They've got Marissa. They want me to bring the books. They're going to call back one hour from the first call."

"You can't take them the books by yourself, Sam. They'll kill you both! You need to call the police. My uncle is a very influential man. He'll have people moving heaven and earth to get his daughter back."

"Which is why he can never know. Until it's over, that is. It'll be a greater risk to her if we draw attention to it. They'll have more reason to clean up their mess. If I can get this done quietly, get Marissa back, I can figure out a new plan."

"You're going in there alone? To give them what they want, and then you expect them to let you go? And take Marissa with you? Sam, I don't even know these people, but I know that's not what they'll do. Criminals don't work like that."

I want to grin at her. Like she has a lot of experience with criminals. Ha! No doubt, this is all based on some classic mobster movies.

"Mercedes, my father knows these people. Better than anyone. I'm not doing anything until I can talk to him. The books are hidden. I'm gonna tell them that they're in a safety-deposit box and that I can't get to them until Monday when the banks open. I would've already told them that, but I didn't have a chance. They said they had Marissa, to go get the books, and they'd call me in an hour with a place to meet."

"So, you're gonna leave Marissa with them until Monday?" The look in her eye plainly says she thinks that's something a monster would do. Flattening the binder up against her chest, I step closer to her and cup her cheek with my palm.

"If I had any other choice, I wouldn't do this. But I don't. I need time. They won't do anything to her until they get what they want. And I have to be damn sure I've got my ducks in a row before I give them the only leverage I have."

She searches my eyes. And I let her. I know she has trust issues, anyway, thinking I'm the bad boy through and through. The reality of my situation only makes things that much worse. If she can just stick with me a little while longer…

"Can you trust me? Please! I know I've not given you many reasons to, but this one time, just go with your heart. I promise you, promise you, I won't let you down."

Even as I say the words, I know there's no way I can make a promise like that. But what I can promise is that, if I do, it won't be because I didn't do everything in my power to live up to being the kind of guy she deserves. I want to be worth the risk. I want her to finally fall for the right guy.

She says nothing, only nods. I know it's hard for her, but the fact that she's willing to try gives me hope. Maybe bringing some familiar things will help ease her mind. I know she dropped her bag just inside the door of her apartment, and I didn't pick it up as we were leaving. I'll go by and get it on my way back. Maybe that will make her feel better. But then again, I'm a guy. What the hell do I know?

"Tell me what you want to eat. I'll order it. When it gets here, you can eat while I'm out. I'll go by your place and get your bag and some more clothes, and lock up. Is there anything specific you need?"

She pauses to think and then shakes her head. I'm not sure why she's so quiet, but I don't want to push her.

"Also, I'll need your cell phone. I'll take it to the club and leave it in the back, just in case. Until then, you can use one of the disposable phones I bring back for us. Okay?"

She nods again. If I know Mercedes, she'll be worried about her dad and her best friend slash ex-fellow bartender, April, not being able to reach her.

"You can call your dad and April in the morning. Just tell them your phone is out of commission for a few days and that you'll be calling to check on them. We'll throw that phone away after you talk to them and you can use another one to call later in the week." Her smile is agreeable but very tight. "It'll be okay. I'll make it okay.

She nods again, but still she doesn't speak. I refuse to acknowledge the possibility that I may already have screwed things up beyond repair. No, I'll just have to find a way to make her trust me, to get us out of this. Maybe then…

MERCEDES

I can't even remember the name of my meal. Something fancy and exotic and foreign that I've never heard of. The only thing I care about is that it's chicken. I like chicken. And this is great chicken. My taste buds are working well enough for me to be sure of that. But I don't really taste it. Or maybe it's that I don't really enjoy it. My mind and my heart are too troubled and heavy to enjoy much of anything. What in the world have I done? Not only did I do exactly what I knew I shouldn't— get involved with another bad boy— but I went and picked one who actually has a dangerous past. He's not just dangerous to my heart; he's dangerous period!

Obviously, running at this juncture is completely out of the question. It's not safe. Well, not for my physical well-being. It might be safest for my heart. But then again, maybe not. Even after all this, I still don't know what to make of Sam. Sometimes he's so sweet and sincere and… He treats me like I'm something important. He talks to me like I'm something different. Not like I'm the throwaway kind he's used to loving and leaving. He seems to value me— my safety, my happiness. Just… me. But I've talked myself into believing that before, into seeing what wasn't really there.

On the one hand, I know better than to take the chance. I know from long experience what the wild ones do to girls like me. But on the other hand, something tells me to take the risk. A voice I've never heard before, one that seems to speak from somewhere inside my soul, tells me Sam is different. The question is: What to do? What to do, what to do? That's always the question. And it's so much harder when everything's left up to me, when I'm the one forced to make the tough call, the tough decisions. But right now, these circumstances are dictating my actions.

I'm stuck.

For the moment, anyway. I need to stick with Sam until all this mob stuff is resolved, which hopefully will be very soon. And then I can decide. Then I can think.

After I finish part of my meal, I get up and wander restlessly through the room. I don't like not having a phone, not knowing what's going on. I don't like not knowing if I'll ever see Sam again, if Marissa will be okay, if a raccoon has made its way into my apartment through my wide-open door and torn everything to shreds. Yes, my mind works in very strange and nonsensical ways. I think it's so overwhelmed, it keeps coming back to whether the front door was left open. Like a broken record, it skips back to that over and over and over again. I'm sure it probably was. I mean, I was a little distracted. To say the least. Maybe Sam closed it and I just wasn't paying attention. Maybe I closed it out of habit and just don't remember it. Or maybe neither of us did, and everything I've ever owned is in some homeless person's shopping cart. Who knows? I guess time will tell. And if that happens to be the case, some stuff ought to be fairly easy to find. A homeless person who has recently redecorated their cardboard box with a two-thousand-dollar clock might stand out a tad, as would one walking the streets in Jimmy Choo shoes and a Prada evening gown. Of course, who'd want any of it back at that point? Not me! I say happy trails and I hope you enjoy Marissa's expensive thongs. The only thing I could identify would be my Tad's Bar shirts. How sad is that? Maybe I ought to have my underwear monogrammed from now on… I snicker and roll my eyes at my own wayward thoughts. I have very strange coping mechanisms.

The posh bathroom in our suite has a deep marble tub surrounded by all sorts of bathing accoutrements. On the back of the door hangs a thick robe. Although I have no clean clothes and no toiletries, a bath is too tempting to resist, so I turn on the spigot and undress as the spacious room fills with steam. Thirty minutes later, I'm examining my pruned fingertips, thinking it's probably time to get out of the tub. The scent of the lavender bath products has permeated my skin and, after this long a soak, may very well have invaded my liver. But it's been worth it. The hot water seems to have drowned out a portion of my thoughts and worries. At least for the moment. My utter exhaustion has helped a fair amount, too. It's been a seriously long and emotionally taxing week.

I release the drain and let the water out of the tub, toweling off and wrapping myself in the soft, warm robe. The rich sure do have it easy. But I rescind that thought almost immediately. Sam comes from money, albeit the ill-gotten kind, and he might argue that some riches aren't worth the price. In fact, I'd guarantee he would. He's lost so much because of his father's pursuit of wealth. Granted, it began as an effort just to feed his family, but it soon turned into more than that. Yes, he wanted out, but he still benefited financially from his ties to organized crime. And look at them now— suffering on every front!

I make my way into the bedroom and slide under the covers to rest my eyes until Sam gets back. I push the worry over how long he's been gone to the very back of my mind. I refuse to think of him getting hurt, of what that would feel like and how it would affect my life. I can't think in those terms. I won't. Whether Sam and I have a future is one thing. Whether he'll break my heart is one thing. But his death? That's something else entirely. I can't bear the thought of a world without him in it, even if he's not mine.

I sit straight up in the bed when I hear a noise. My mind is instantly alert. I'm shocked that I managed to fall asleep. That's a testament to how fatigued I really was. I see a shadow pass through the living room; I left the lights on in there. My heart thuds almost painfully against my ribs as I wait and listen. I hear the soft fall of footsteps against the hardwood floors and I look wildly around the room for some kind of weapon. The only things I can spot are a vase on the dresser that I could crack over someone's head and a hotel pen on top of the bedside table I could use to stab someone in the eye. A Bible no doubt resides in the top drawer, although I'm not sure I could really harm someone with that. God absolutely could, but I don't think he works on demand like that. A presence fills the doorway and my heart jumps up into my throat. Within a fraction of a second, however, recognition calms me.

"I didn't mean to scare you," Sam says quietly from across the room. I reach over to turn on the lamp, but he stops me. "Don't. I want you to be able to go back to sleep."

Fat chance of that happening. I think dryly, but as tired as I still feel, maybe there is a chance. My pulse is just starting to return to normal when Sam turns to the side, reaches for the hem of his shirt, and pulls it over his head. The light from the next room gives him a gilded outline that highlights every rippling muscle as he moves and shifts this way and that to throw his shirt onto a nearby chair. Blood sings through my veins and throbs in my chest when he reaches for his belt. He says nothing as he unbuttons and unzips his pants. I hold my breath when he pauses with his fingers in the waistband. I see his legs move as he kicks off his shoes. I'm mesmerized. I can't help but watch him flick the material down his muscular legs and then step out of it. My heart stops and my mouth goes dry when I see that he's not wearing underwear. And he's hard. My mouth is the only thing on my body that's dry, though. My skin feels dewy, and warm moisture is gathering between my thighs. Breathlessly, I watch him drape his jeans over the back of the chair and turn to walk to the bed, folding back the covers and sliding in next to me. I don't move a muscle. And, at first, neither does he.

After a minute, he reaches for me. The touch of his fingers sliding over my exposed forearm is like pure electricity. It brings chills out on my skin. They race up my arms and down my back and cause my nipples to furl into tight, aching buds. I'm surprised and a little disappointed when he urges me onto my side. He pulls me tight against the curve of his body and spoons me from behind. I can feel every rock-hard inch of him pressing into my backside, even through the material of the robe. Before I can even think about the wisdom of it, I wiggle my butt against him. It's instinct. And desire. My body's got a mind of its own, apparently. I hear the breath hiss through Sam's gritted teeth and he grows absolutely still. For several long, tense seconds, he doesn't move. Neither do I. I want him to touch me, to put his hands and his mouth on me and make me forget the world exists, even for a little while. But when he finally does— touch me that is— it's to drape his arm over my waist and tuck his fingertips against the bed, under my side. I feel his lips as he nuzzles my neck, and my heart melts right inside my chest.

He wants me. I can still feel it. But he's keeping himself in check for me, for my comfort and my emotional stability. His thoughtfulness pushes me one step closer to never being able to recover from having him in my life, from having met him and known the depth of feeling that I have for him. For the umpteenth time since meeting Sam, I realize I'm quite possibly in big, big trouble. We lie quietly together, breathing deeply and evenly, both of us waiting for our bodies to cool. I never thought it could be literally painful to be near someone. But it is. I ache with want, with need. There's a place, an emptiness that only Sam can fill. It's physical, yes. Oh boy, is it physical! Just the thought of him penetrating me, thrusting so hard and so deep inside me… I squeeze my eyes shut and banish the thoughts from my mind. I have to start cooling off all over again.

But there's something more profound about the way Sam makes me feel, too. He fills an emptiness that has only recently become a gaping chasm in my soul. Since meeting Sam, in fact. It's like he created it, but at the same time, he can fill it, too. With a heartfelt sigh, I turn off that brain channel as well. It's going nowhere good. Fast.

"So," I begin when the silence and the closeness is too much. "How'd it go?" I chastise myself. The call is what I should be worried most about, anyway, not trying to keep my hands to myself. Or wishing Sam weren't keeping his hands to himself. Sam's sigh stirs the hair behind my ear and gives me chills down one arm.

"They went for it. I don't think they liked it very much, but I think I kept my cool and convinced them that the books were locked up at the bank for safekeeping." he whispers at the end.

"Did they let you talk to Marissa?"

"Yeah."

"And? How was she?"

"I think there's a pretty good chance she'll actually kill them by accident."

"So she wasn't taking her… captivity well?"

"She seemed to be polite to them, but she chewed my ass. There's no question who she blames in this scenario. The good thing is, unless they tell her I'm both brothers, she can just blame me and not drag Cam and all his accomplishments through the mud."

"With Marissa, I would expect nothing less."

I feel bad speaking that way about her when she's being held hostage. I mean, what a nightmare! But Marissa's pretty much a nightmare, too. Maybe the whole thing will somehow make her a better person. Or maybe a sharp blow to the head will give her an epiphany. Anything's possible, right?

"So what's the plan, then?"

"There are some things I need to look into tomorrow. And I want to go see Dad. Not only does he need to know about this, but he might be able to help."

"How? The man is in prison."

"I know that," Sam replies a bit sharply. "But he knows these people, knows how they think. Plus, he's always been good with plans and strategy. I don't want to risk overlooking something. There's too much at stake," he says, pulling me tighter against him. We fall silent. I'm sure Sam's mind is churning harder and faster than mine, which is pretty damn hard and fast. But he has the added weight of guilt, not to mention all the buried pain this must be unearthing.

"Sam," I begin softly.

"Yeah, baby," he whispers near my ear, the endearment settling around me like a warm blanket. "I don't blame you." He squeezes me and presses his lips to my shoulder. I can barely feel them through the lapel of my robe.

"Can I take this off you?" he breathes. "I want to feel your skin against mine." A pang of desire zings through me at the thought of him holding my naked body against his. It was only a few hours ago that we had sex for the fifth time today, but it feels like an eternity ago. So much has happened since then, so many emotions have come and gone, that it feels… different.

"Yes," I whisper in response, answering him before my mind can talk me out of it.

I start to sit up, but Sam stops me. He leans up on one elbow and pulls my hair away from my face and neck, bending to press his lips against the soft skin beneath my ear.

"Let me."

I do my best to relax when I feel his hand go to the knotted belt at my waist. He works it loose with his nimble fingers and then slowly pulls one end until it falls away. Next, I feel his skin brush mine at my chest. He runs his hand along the inside of the lapel of the robe, opening it and pulling it away from my body all the way to my hip. As light as the lavender scent emanating from my pores, Sam reaches up and eases the plush material over the rise of my shoulder, gently pressing his lips to the skin there.

"You smell so good." Ever so slightly, his hips tip into mine. Desire gushes low into my belly when I feel his hardness press against me. He drags his fingers along the skin of my arm, pushing the robe away as he goes. I bend my elbow and pull my arm free of the sleeve. Sam reaches down to push the rest of it off my legs.

"Turn toward me."

Excitement humming along my nerve ends, I do as he asks and I turn onto my back and then continue rolling until I'm facing him. I'm so close, if I puckered my lips just right, I could kiss his chin. In the dimly lit room, I can see his eyes sparkle. The light from the living room spills softly through the door and illuminates half his face, leaving the other half in deep shadow. I can hear his breathing. I can feel the heat pouring from his body. I know he's as excited as I am, that he wants this just as much as I do, and yet he's willing to hold off. Just for me. But what if I don't want him to? What if, despite the never-ending doubts and misgivings and horrors of the day, I want him? Is that enough? For now? Would that be so bad? It is in a way. In another way, it's not. But the fact of the matter is, right now I need Sam. I need him to hold me, to kiss me, to touch me. I need him inside me, filling me up with his presence and his security. Tomorrow will bring new worries. I can think more then.

Just as slowly, Sam runs his fingers up over my collarbone and pushes the material off my other shoulder. It hangs on the tip of my breast and I see his eyes drop to my chest. I suck in a breath and hold it. His gaze burns like a physical touch. Deliberately, he raises his hand to the center of my chest and runs the backs of his fingers over my nipple, freeing the robe and exposing my flesh to his hungry eyes. Again, he doesn't move for several seconds. Again, neither do I. When his eyes flicker up to mine, they're full of all sorts of things, but most apparent is resolve. He won't let himself give in. Not tonight. It's that important to him. Why, I don't know. Maybe I'm that important to him. I can only hope.

Leaning slightly forward, Sam pushes the robe off me, toward my back, running his hand over my butt and then up to the side of my thigh. When I'm lying in front of him, as naked as he is, he lets his eyes wander over me. I see them close just before he rolls onto his back and raises his arm to loop over my head. He pulls me onto his chest. I let my hand skate over the hard muscles of his stomach and drape my knee over his thigh. I can't hear him breathing. I wonder if he's holding his breath. I don't know, but I can hear his heart slamming against his ribs. He's fighting me, fighting us, fighting this. I think for a second of teasing him a little, of changing his mind, but respect for what he's doing rears up and stops me. I don't want to make more out of his consideration than what it is, but that still leaves me with the question: what does it mean? Sam's lips graze my hair just before he croaks,

"Go to sleep, baby. You're safe. I promise." On some level, I must believe him. So I sleep. Something shifts at my back. It's smooth and warm, and it takes me less than a second to realize it's Sam. He's behind me. His hips flex, pressing his erection into the crease of my butt. Without thought to consequence, I arch my back and push into him. I hear him suck in a breath and my stomach flutters in response. He's awake. Please don't let this be a dream. One big hand skates over my hip and onto my stomach, then up to cup my breast. With his fingertips, he teases the nipple until it aches for him, for his mouth. Reaching up, I place my hand over his, squeezing his fingers. He kneads my sensitive flesh until my pulse steps up to a quicker beat. I feel his lips at the curve of my neck. Then his tongue. It sneaks out to wet a circle on my skin, and then he nips it with his teeth. Chills break out down my chest and back, and my belly tightens in anticipation. I want this to happen. I need this to happen. So I go with it. I encourage it. I throw myself into it. Reaching behind me, I grab his hip and pull him into me, grinding my butt against him. I hear him groan as his hand leaves my breast to travel back down my stomach to the juncture of my thighs. I spread them the tiniest bit to allow him to touch me. And he does. He slides one long finger between my folds, pausing only briefly to flutter over the nub at the top before slipping inside me. "Mmm, what's this?" he says, pulling his finger out and then thrusting it in farther. My nails bite into his hip and he flexes against me again. He's even harder. And bigger. If that's possible.

"Were you dreaming about me?" he whispers in my ear. "It sure feels like you were." He rubs me with his palm and penetrates me with his fingers. "Were you dreaming of me touching you like this? Or were you dreaming of me doing more?" I say nothing. I can't think past what he's doing to me, past what I want him to do to me. Over and over and over again. "I think you were. I think you want this, but you're afraid. But not tonight. Don't be afraid tonight. Just let me have you. Let me show you how good we are together."

Gently, Sam moves from behind me. I start to roll onto my back, but he stops me. "No," he says flatly. When I start to speak, he cuts me off. "Shhh," he murmurs, rolling me onto my stomach. "Onto your knees." I hesitate only for a second, but it's long enough. "Do it," he orders softly. "I promise you'll like it." I come up onto my hands and knees. I feel Sam's warm body at the backs of my legs and my butt as he moves in closer to me. His warm hands find my hips. His fingertips dig in and he pulls me back into him, his hardness pressing against me. A shiver of pure lust trembles through me. Pushing gently, he urges me forward. I crawl toward the headboard until I'm hovering over my pillow. "Reach out with your hands." I do it, curling my fingers around the top of the wooden headboard. Slowly, Sam bends over me until I can feel his chest against my back. He breathes into my ear, "Spread your legs." When I do, one of his hands moves between them from behind me. He puts his thumb inside me as his fingertips play with the slippery skin between my folds. If I were standing, I would collapse. Ifeel his touch all the way in my knees. I can't stop the moan that leaves my lips in a rush. "You like that?" His tongue flicks my earlobe. "Yes," I say with what little breath I have. He moves my hair aside and kisses the back of my neck, then the center of my back. I feel his warmth moving away as his lips make a trail down to my lower back and over my butt. The bed moves as he shifts behind me. I feel his head slip between my legs and press into the pillow between them. I look down just as he looks up and, in the low light, I see his black eyes sparkle. The fire in them is enough to make me flush all over. He never takes his eyes off mine as he, from the back, winds his hands around the tops of my legs and pulls me down onto his mouth. The first touch of his tongue is like lightning. Heat gushes through my core and lands in a puddle against his lips as they move over me. "Ride me," he growls, his voice thick with desire. As if to encourage me, he thrusts his tongue deep inside me. With his hands on my legs, he urges me into motion. In and out, his tongue moves within me. Back and forth I move on his tongue, rocking on my knees, sliding over his face. His lips and face stimulate all parts of me at once and it's nearly more than I can bear. My breath comes in quick bursts. My fingernails dig into the wood of the headboard. My hips rise and fall over his mouth. My pulse races out of control. Faster and harder I grind against him. When I hear his moan, it flips open the floodgates of pleasure and my world flies apart on the tip of his tongue. He holds me to him as I close my eyes and give in to the spasms that rack my body. Before the contractions fade into blissful nothingness, I feel Sam move. Within seconds I feel him behind me. I feel his fingers probing me, gliding in and out of me. And then I feel something bigger. His first quick thrust takes my breath. With a groan, he pulls out and slams into me again, renewing my orgasm. Wave after wave, I feel my body squeezing tightly around him. I'm so full, so very, very full. I feel him everywhere, like he's penetrating all the way into my chest. Over and over, he withdraws his length and then drives it back into me, seating himself more deeply each time.

"Take it all, baby," he says through gritted teeth. The words are so hungry, so erotic, I cry out. His rhythm increases and so does his breathing. I know what's coming. I know he's coming. His body stiffens and he growls with the first pulse of his climax. He pounds into me in short strokes as he leans forward and twists one hand into my hair and buries his teeth in the skin of my shoulder. It doesn't hurt, doesn't break the skin; it only enhances the pleasure that's already flooding my body. And just like that, I'm exploding all over again. Coming apart. Wrapped in Sam's arms. Holding him within my body. Within my heart. Within my soul.