The True Love Quilting Club (22 page)

It was too much, she couldn’t take it anymore. She grasped his hair to tug him away, but he reached up and manacled her wrists with his hands. Holding her pinned, driving her mad with desire.

His tongue laved her sensitive skin as he suckled her deeply. She writhed against him, trying to push her body into his, needing more at the very same time she felt utterly weak and exhausted. Barbed ribbons of fevered sensation unfurled straight to her throbbing sex. Her inner muscles contracted, quivered.

“Yes,” she hissed as he moved his mouth back and forth in a steady, unrelenting strum. “Yes, yes, yes!”

Sam worked magic with his fingers, his tongue, leading her into alien terrain. He lifted her up to a place she’d never known existed. She loved the adventure of him. Between what he was doing to her and her own vivid, artistic responsiveness, Emma’s senses short-circuited. She smelled sounds—she caught a
whiff of chiming bells. Tasted shapes—a basket of circles spilled into her mouth. And heard colors—their sex noises echoed strawberry red.

Synesthesia. They used such imagination exercises in her acting classes, but she’d never actually experienced it.

Was this some kind of bizarre dream?

But this wasn’t a dream. This new sensory awareness of him awoke something inside her, and all the old failures and disappointments fell away. He pushed Emma past her knowledge of herself. She had never before been so physically possessed. His movements shook her world. The walls of the room seemed to ripple. Everything moved and changed with her consciousness, her emotions flowing in a hundred different directions.

She rode his tongue, navigating the swell of pleasure and desire and discovery, and she experienced a sense of safety that she’d never felt before.

A bittersweet longing seized her as she realized this feeling could not last. She bit down on her lip, dismissing the wistful sadness. This was enough. A sweet slice of delight. She didn’t do commitment. Had no role model for how a loving relationship operated. There was nothing to get sentimental over. They were simply having a good time. They’d both acknowledged that up front.

He kept going and going and going. The man had stamina, no doubt about it. The friction was maddening, his carnal tongue stealing away her worries until she was left whimpering and throbbing on the precipice edge.

And then everything splintered, shattering tight and hard as her orgasm broke in herky-jerky jolts.

“Emma,” he whispered.

“Uh-huh?” she managed to murmur weakly.

“Don’t think we’re done yet.”

She roused herself, propped up on her elbows to gaze at him through heavily lidded eyes.

His erection burgeoned rigid, darkening as capillaries filled to capacity. Amazed, she reached out to trace her finger over his velvety head and heard his sharp intake of breath.

He looked into her eyes, and simultaneously, they were in each other’s arms, kissing, groaning, caressing. Hands and lips and tongues were everywhere. Sam pushed her back against the pillows, nudged her knees wide open with his leg. She tilted her hips up. He looked down into her eyes and eased into her.

She inhaled on a sigh as his long, thick heat glided inside her body. She grasped his shoulders, pressing her fingers into his skin.

He held her gaze. “I don’t want to hurt you. I’m so big and you’re so small.”

“You’re not hurting me.”

“I’m not all the way in.”

There was more? Impossible
. “I can handle it,” she said.

He pushed against her, and she felt her body shift to accommodate his size. He watched her face, sensitive to her nuances.

Now, with him deep in her moist wetness, she felt every twitch of his muscle. He lit her up inside. She had no thoughts beyond wanting him deeper, thrust completely to the hilt inside her.

“More,” she said. “I want it all.”

“Em,” he whispered, then gave her what she craved.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and rocked him into her. Her fingers gripped his buttocks. Her turn to own him. Her turn for control.

Tumult.

Everything was urgent and desperate and frenzied. She felt like her heart encompassed the entire universe. Need. Such need. To find, to press, to soothe, to fly free.

They came together like twin shooting stars falling across the sky. Saturated, she could not tell where he began and she ended. No division. No separation. No room for anything else. Their oneness banged through their whole bodies, encompassed every cell.

She teemed with ecstasy. It felt spiky and robust and brilliant. Her second orgasm of the night ripped through her, a five-alarm blaze burning her to a crisp. She was warm and gooey and completely scorched and she loved it.

When it was over and they’d floated back to reality, Emma lay panting in his arms, the total obliteration of their joining redefining everything she ever thought she knew about sex.

He shifted her into his arms, and she turned her face into his chest. She felt utterly womanly and sweetly raw. “I’ve never felt anything like that, Em.”

She heard his voice rumble through his chest. “Me either,” she confessed.

“I’ll never forget the first time we met. Even then, I knew you were special,” Sam said. “You know why I hung out with you?”

“Because I was a live wire who shook up your safe little world?”

He grinned. “That wasn’t my take on the situation.”

Emma wriggled her eyebrows. “No?”

“I saw you taking a lot of daring chances and figured somebody better pull you back before you hurt yourself or got into serious trouble.”

“Oh yeah?” She reached out to trace a fingertip down the length of his nose. “Like what?”

“What about that time you graffitied the old Twilight Bridge? If I hadn’t served as lookout you would have gotten arrested by Sheriff Clinton Trainer.”

“Please.” Emma rolled her eyes. “I could have gotten away from him without you being there. It was a total thrill for you. You’d never stayed out that late in your life.”

“Yeah, and I was grounded for two weeks because I missed curfew.”

“The life of an outlaw comes with consequences,” she teased.

“Then there was the time you tried to catch a copperhead.”

“Hey, I was from the city, how was I to know it was a poisonous snake?”

“And what about the time you ‘borrowed’ your father’s car and went joyriding and drove it into a ditch.”

“There wasn’t much joy to it,” she grumbled. “You lectured me far more than Rex did. I was a lonely kid just acting out.”

“I know,” Sam said softly, then pulled her closer to him and kissed the tip of her nose.

“How pathetic was I?”

“Not pathetic at all. Every kid longs to be loved.”

Powerful feelings pushed at her. Scary feelings. If she wasn’t careful she was going to get hurt and get hurt big. Shoving away all thoughts of love and home and family, she sat up beside him, smiled big, and said, “Wanna go again?”

What in the hell was he going to do?

He’d told her this was nothing but fun and games, but he’d lied through his teeth, and now he was going to have to deal with the consequences. At the time, he would have said anything to get her into bed. He craved her that much.

But the rational Sam, with his brain temporarily drained of lust, knew that making love to her only made the cravings worse, not better. She couldn’t be his, no matter how much he might want it to be so. He had a child to think of. A life here in Twilight. A family who loved him. A community he served.

And Emma had her dreams of stardom, and he knew if she remained unfettered she would achieve her goals. She had the drive and determination to make her big dreams a reality. She didn’t need any complications, and he was a huge complication.

He wouldn’t stand in her way. Those dreams had
sustained her for years. He wasn’t about to be the one to put a kink in her plans. He had only one choice open to him. Pretend that tonight hadn’t meant anything beyond stupendous sex.

Sam reached across the bed, felt the warm, small shape of her underneath the quilts. He turned onto his side, propped himself up on his elbow, and stared down at her.

The moonlight streaming in through the open curtains cast her sleeping features in a soft glow. His breathing grew shallow, and his eyes drank her in. He couldn’t believe it. Here he was with Trixie Lynn after all these years.

Don’t count on this feeling. You can’t keep her. Enjoy it for what it is and then just let her go.

But Sam didn’t know if he could do that. He’d never been casual about sex, and he’d been with only three women in his entire life. Molly Hampton in college, Valerie, and now Emma. He took relationships seriously. He wasn’t a one-night-stand kind of guy. It simply wasn’t the way he was hardwired. He wasn’t prudish, he just cared about women too much to treat them like sex objects. He knew he was a rare male in that regard. His friends and brothers teased him about it, but he was who he was.

Steady Sam.

God, how boring. What did she see in him? Why was she here? She was smart, sharp, witty, daring, gorgeous. She could have any man she wanted. Why him?

Sam pushed a hank of hair from his eyes, and his chest tightened as he studied his sleeping beauty. He loved her so much it hurt to breathe. He knew he couldn’t keep her, and the realization made this moment all the more precious.

But he didn’t regret making love to her. Being here with her was one of the most joyous events in his life.

He trailed his hand along her body, learning the slope of her shoulders, memorizing the arc of her breast, her taut flat stomach, the sweet triangle she’d removed of hair. He smiled into the darkness. Proud of her courage and spirit. She had such spirit.

“Sam,” she whispered his name like a prayer. “Sam, Sam, Sam.”

She was a warm quilt, opening her arms, welcoming him to her bosom.

He was damned. He could not stay away from her life force, her vitality. He sought her lips and branded her with his kiss. She made a soft noise of approval and snuggled closer.

His mouth found her nipple and she shivered beneath his lips. She tasted so good. This felt so right, and yet at the same time, he felt as if he’d stepped off the sandbar, and gotten pulled down by the undertow of emotions. But he couldn’t stop, wouldn’t turn back no matter how hard he tried.

She moaned softly, arched her back. His erection hardened. He pulled her closer, ran his hand down her spine, tickling her skin with his fingertips.

“Mmm.” She sighed into his hair.

His hand drifted from her back to the round smoothness of her sweet butt. Imperative need sprang up in him, the force of his desire unabated by the sex they’d just had. Need he could not deny.

Shifting his kiss to her lips, he stroked one palm along her buttocks, the other over her belly. Then lower to that bare area above her thighs.

Her eyes were open. He felt the heat of her stare. He opened his own eyes and peered into her, felt some
thing monumental. She was his woman. If only for tonight.

His fingers tiptoed downward and she opened her legs to him. He smiled at her, and her eyes widened as he found her warm, wet entry.

“Sam,” she whispered again.

“Emma.”

“Is it really you? Are we really here?”

“It’s real, sweetheart.”

“I thought I’d dreamed you, Twilight, all of this.”

“Nope.” He kissed her forehead. “No dream.”

“You mean,” she said, “if I were to do this…” She wriggled away from him, but just so she could push him on his back and straddle his waist. “You wouldn’t disappear?”

He spread his palms. “Still here.”

She dipped her head, and her lips took possession of his. He opened his mouth and met her tongue with eager enthusiasm. Impishly, she slid her palms up his arms to his wrist, then encircled them with her fingers and pinned his hands over his head.

Slowly, she eased herself down over his erection.

He hissed in a desperate breath. “Emma.”

She moved over him, her soft body warm and relaxed. How amazing it felt to be inside her. He was lost, washed away in the whirlpool of her mesmerizing eyes.

Her copper curls tumbled about her shoulders. Her green eyes glistened with fire as fierce as his. Her mouth was puffy from his rough kisses. He’d worked her over fully and she was coming back for more.

They played and teased until primal need consumed them. They slung pillows, mussed sheets, and thumped
the headboard. Sighing and groaning, they consumed each other in the heat of their desire.

“With you,” she whispered, “the future is today. Tomorrow is too late.”

What did that mean? What do you mean?
He wanted to ask her but his brain was too clogged with testosterone. He was on a mission, driven, driven, driven to find that trigger that would spring a dual release. Him, her, both of them together.

She was on all fours in the middle of the mattress now, slanting him a look over her shoulder as he grasped her around the waist with one hand and gently used the other to toy with her breast. He spread her legs wider and eased his rock-hard cock into her.

“Make me come, Sammy,” she said, her husky voice filled with passion. “Make me come again.”

He couldn’t hold back any longer, he thrust deep inside her and she moaned in pleasure with each thrust.

“Yes,” she hissed, “yes, Sam, yes,” and pushed her bottom up against him. “That’s it.”

Deeper and faster and harder until they were both flying. His breath was a freight train in his lungs.

“Ooh, I’m coming, Sam, I’m coming,” she cried.

He felt it welling up inside him. The incredible primitive force overtook him, spilled from him.

Both their bodies jerked in unison, and, shuddering, they collapsed together on the mattress that somehow in the fray had lost its sheets.

He pulled her to him, curled his body around hers, kissed her tenderly on the nape of the neck, and then he nibbled on her ear, his palm skimming over her stomach.

Emma reached behind her, tucked her hand behind his butt, pulled him closer, keeping him inside her as long as she could.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he whispered, “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

They dozed again and woke just before dawn. Opening their eyes at the same time and finding themselves face-to-face.

“Morning, sunshine.” He smiled at her.

“I’m the happiest squirrel in the whole U.S.A,” she said, singing another one of the ubiquitous skating rink songs they’d perverted.

“Songwriters must really hate us.”

“I could lie here all day staring at you,” she said. “But I gotta pee.”

“Me too.”

“Bathroom, brush teeth, shower, breakfast,” Emma said. “In that order.”

“Race you.”

After a shower together where they lazily played and kissed and cuddled and teased, they wandered hand-in-hand to the kitchen. Sam wore his pajama bottoms, Emma wore his pajama top. It was so big on her petite little frame that the hem reached almost to her knees.

“You look adorable,” he said as he opened the refrigerator and took out a carton of eggs.

“So do you.” She grinned.

“Can you watch the bacon while I feed the critters?” he asked.

“Will do.”

He stepped out onto the back porch, cool morning air seeping in. She rolled up the sleeve of his sleep
shirt, scrambled eggs and flipped bacon. Within minutes delicious breakfast smells filled the room. She loved being able to cook for him and decided she’d whip up some pancakes as well.

She heard the back door creep open. “Coffee’s ready,” she called over her shoulder. “But none of that decaf mess, and if you want any, you’re going to have to come over here and give me a kiss for it. I don’t work for free.”

“Okay,” said a feminine voice. “But I’d really rather just pay for a cup.”

Emma yelped in surprise and spun around, bacon fork in hand.

There, looking not much different than she had sixteen years ago, stood Sam’s mother.

“M…Ma…Mrs. Cheek,” she stammered.

“Trixie Lynn Parks,” Lois Cheek said.

“Mom!” Sam exclaimed, darting in the back door. “What are you doing here?”

It turned out Sam’s parents had just gotten back in town from their two-month RV road trip, and were unaware that Charlie had gone to spend the weekend with his other grandparents. Sam’s mother had come over, unable to wait to see for herself that her grandson was talking again. She handled the fact that she’d caught her son and his lover half naked in the kitchen with unruffled aplomb.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your breakfast,” Lois Cheek said, avoiding Emma’s gaze. “Just wanted to let you know we were back in town and our annual Halloween party is still on for tonight. Trixie Lynn, will you be attending with Sam?”

“Um…um…yeah, sure,” she’d said.

“Good, I’ll expect you around seven then.” With that, she’d turned and walked out the door.

Now they were standing on his mother’s front porch. Sam was dressed as a cowboy, Emma as static cling.

“Lame costume,” she said to him. “The only change you had to make to your regular wardrobe was to put on a cowboy hat.”

“And the lariat,” he said, tossing the rope around her and pulling her to him. “Don’t forget the lariat.”

He leaned down for a quick kiss. Her heart hopped at the brush of his lips against hers.
Easy. You’re falling too hard, girl.

The door opened before he had a chance to deepen the kiss, and a billow of fog rolled out followed by Frankenstein. “Monster Mash” was playing in the background.

“Son.” Frankenstein clapped Sam on the back.

“Dad, you remember Trixie Lynn.”

“It’s Em—”

“Trixie Lynn, welcome.” Frankenstein, aka Sam’s dad, Bill Cheek, shook her hand. His eyes twinkled as he surveyed the socks Velcroed to her sweat suit. “Static cling?”

“See,” she told Sam. “He guessed it right off the bat.”

“And you’re Wyatt Earp again.” Bill Cheek shook his head. “What’s this, five years in a row now?”

“I don’t have everyone else’s imagination.”

“You better get inside,” Bill said. “I see a fresh round of trick-or-treaters coming up the walk. There’s punch in the kitchen, and your mother is making a fresh batch of popcorn balls.”

Sam took Emma’s hand and led her through the dry ice fog and into the living room. Immediately, her senses were assaulted with the sights, smells, and sounds of a lively party.

There were bowls of candy everywhere and all kinds of kitschy Halloween novelties. Motion-activated skeletons danced. Banshees howled. An automated werewolf sang “Werewolves of London.” Cobwebs dangled from ceilings. Chains creaked. A replica coffin in the middle of the living room served as the buffet table laden with ghoulish treats—peeled grapes that stood in for eyeballs, spaghetti that masqueraded as worms, a small watermelon carved up to look like a brain. People milled around in all manner of costumes from the ubiquitous Darth Vader to over-the-top vamp tramps to circus clowns to Disney princesses. Not so dissimilar from backstage at a play. This was right up Emma’s alley.

“I wish I’d had more time to come up with a better costume,” she whispered to Sam.

“You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.” She grinned.

Sam reintroduced her to his brothers. Ben, the oldest, wore a three-piece suit.

“CEO?” Emma guessed.

Ben turned around to show her a pillow strapped to his behind painted yellow and black.

“I get it.” She laughed. “A corporate drone.”

Sam’s second oldest brother Mac was dressed as a banana, and his cute girlfriend, Coco, was a chocolate chip cookie.

Jenny and Dean were Raggedy Ann and Andy.

Emma met Sam’s baby sister, Katie, whom she remembered as once having a penchant for Barbie dolls.
Katie was dressed as a 1970s stewardess in go-go boots, a straight blond wig, and a miniskirt. “Coffee, tea or me,” she teased.

And Sam’s younger brother, Joe, looked like a California surfer dude with his wavy golden hair, tanned skin, and straight white teeth. He put her in mind of Matthew McConaughey—leanly muscular, charming, devil-may-care. He wore green surgical scrubs and a stethoscope, and he tried to give her one of those complicated handshakes that Emma fumbled miserably.

“I have a feeling you and Sam have the same minimalist outlook on costumes,” she said.

“Yep.” Joe nodded and slanted her a lady-killer grin. “Where do you think I got the scrubs?”

“He’s a klepto, that one,” Sam said. “You better keep your eye on him.”

“Speaking of, can I steal my big brother for a minute?” Joe asked Emma.

“What did I tell you?” Sam grinned and punched Joe lightly on the shoulder. “Watch yourself. He can coax a snake out of its skin.”

“Emma!” Sam’s mother called and waved her over. Lois was dressed as Lily Munster with a long black wig and a glowing shroud of a gown. “There you are. I’m sorry I called you Trixie Lynn before. Jenny tells me you changed your name.”

“It’s okay.”

“Would you mind helping me in the kitchen with the popcorn balls? The trick-or-treaters love them and we’re about to run out.”