Impulses (56 page)
Taking me to the brink of where I unintentionally begin thrusting my hips into her in an involuntary reaction to my body’s upwelling testosterone, Samantha teasingly pulls away, leaving us both breathless, with me wanting more, and her showcasing those expressive, come-to-bed eyes and that confident, irresistibly tempting smirk that uplifts the right-side of her mouth.
There is no length I would not go for this woman. I would walk across hot coals, shattered glass and fire for her. I would gladly follow her through the nine circles of Hell and challenge Satan himself, if she was displaying that ‘come-hither’ expression.
“You haven’t answered my request, Miss Kennedy,” I remind her as I press my brow against hers. The tip of our noses only just touch, our breath warm as the air tickles at the others surface.
“I um…really…” she trails off as I stream sensuous, feather-light kisses down her jawline and her neck; my tongue fluttering over the moistened flesh, eradicating the miniscule crystal beads that trickle down her skin…drinking her in. “Should go…home––” her breathing becomes heavier, I feel her work on a swallow as my keen, rapacious mouth explores her throat. I sense her body lax as she surrenders to the sensation of my lips and tongue tracing her sensitive skin.
“Stay…” I whisper between devouring kisses. I pull at the top corner of the towel beneath her arm and allow the material to drop unceremoniously from her body, and it splays across the golden titles behind her ankles. Trailing my hands up her Goddess-like body––the body that brings me immense pleasure, the body that I want to pleasure every minute of every day for the rest of our lives––I take her breast in my hand, the pad of my thumb grazing over her nipple coaxing it to strain. Just the mere touch of my hand has the peak erect within an instant with a silent plea for further attention.
“Jessie…” she murmurs incoherently, “I need to tell…Jessie.”
Skimming my hands over her naked curves, I reach down and hold her ass. Pulling her against me, I press my pelvis into her, illustrating my current predicament. With her hands at my biceps, she abruptly pushes her upper-body away from mine so only her navel and hips are melded against me. Her piercing, aquamarine eyes widen in surprise, her breathing hitches as she feels my rigidness against her.
“Again?” she asks dubiously on an outward breath.
I smile discerningly. “I’m always ready for you, beautiful.” Lifting my right-hand, I tuck a soaked tendril behind her ear.
“I have to tell Jessie. She will be waiting up for me, Hayden. I need to let her know that I’m okay.” Her voice is warm and sincere with dutiful affection for her friend.
“Okay, I will be waiting.”
Nodding, Samantha bends to retrieve the towel from around her ankles and heads for the doorway with a skip in her step.
Releasing a feral growl, she turns to face me. Her long hair wet and matted in an I-have-just-been-fucked-within-an-inch-of-my-life, kind of way. Her long, shapely legs exposed as the tiny towel shields only her breasts to the tops of her thighs.
“What?” she asks through her shy smile then captures her lower lip between her teeth. Leaning her weight into her hip, she sweeps her hair over her right shoulder and raises it coyly, while pinning me with her impish gaze.
I sigh and trace the seam of my lip with my tongue. “Oh, Miss Kennedy,” I sigh. “I hate to watch you go, but love to watch you leave,” I answer darkly.
“You had better stop referring to me as, ‘Miss Kennedy’, Hayden. It will be harder to accept when I become, Mrs,”––she takes a slow, long stride away from the doorway, back into the haziness of the bathroom. “Samantha,”––she takes another stride towards me, until finally, our bodies are almost touching. Pushing onto her toes, she whispers, “Wentworth,” and her full, voracious mouth brushes against mine in the most desirable and maddening of fashion.
I stare on as she leaves the room. Inhaling profoundly, I contemplate that very day–– hopefully in the not too distant future––when Samantha will inevitably become Mrs Wentworth. And to think I believed I was destined to be alone with only a certain unsettling voice as my companion.
It’s true; love will eventually find you when you stop looking for it.
EIGHTEEN
-------------------------
SAMANTHA
Tightening my towel, I make my way down the hall, past the kitchen and into the open plan of the front room to retrieve my smartphone from my maroon bag, courtesy of Hayden and the lovely personal shopper of Saks, NYC.
Clutching the handset to my chest, I sigh dreamily and take a moment to observe my surroundings. The Christmas tree stands elegantly on the podium, the darkness of the winter night as its background whilst the fog eerily rolls in from the bay. Clothing thrown haphazardly onto the plush cushions of the fabric and chocolate leather couch, and the dark wood flooring disrupted by the large golden star, which had plummeted to the ground in the dazed moments following Hayden’s proposal.
I’m idly grateful that these surrounding walls cannot talk after all they have seen.
I outstretch and raise my left arm. The lustrous diamonds glint as I adjust my hands position as the soft light reflects from each brilliantly-cut facet, and a variety of pastel colors spangle to meet my eyes in an array of yellows, lilacs, greens and oranges.
I used to believe that with love came emotional pain, abuse and suffering. I’d witnessed parts of my mom’s failed relationship when I was younger; his acts of cruelty when he was sober were just as terrifying as the acts when he was drunk.
And then there was The Bastard.
When you grow-up both witnessing and being subjected to such volatile relationships, you remould yourself. My dreams, expectations and faith where love, trust and genuine affection are reciprocated, were taken away, abandoned…I knew the truth.
Stories of love were nothing but a fable to tell young girls to make them believe in a Happily Ever After, but now…
I bend at my knees and collect the glittering adornment from the cold, hard flooring and place it on the coffee table.
Now, I feel complete. I feel I am getting my Happily Ever After.
Resting my back against the lip of kitchen counter beyond the kitchen island, I rub my thumb across the screen of my handset and pull Jessie’s number up from my contact list. Pressing the green button, I raise the cell to my ear and wait for her to answer. I end the call after she fails to answer on the eighth ring.
Inhaling deeply, I redial. While I wait for Jessie to answer, I take the moment to peruse Hayden’s kitchen, the black and silver granite tops, the expanse kitchen island ahead of me, with an assortment of stainless silver cooking pots and pans, swinging leisurely from their hooks over the center of the rectangular surface. I beam privately to myself as I recall our passionate feat upon the island…the refrigerator…the floor.
I cut the call yet again when there is no answer and begin tapping my fingertips rhythmically against the countertop in exasperation. Sighing, I silently curse Jessie for not answering, but worry and unease soon begins to steal through the cracks of my frustration. Jessie’s cell is as much a part of her as her right arm. It is always beside her, regardless of wherever she is or whatever she’s doing.
I glance above the rectangle archway to the black, glossy faced clock with overly large, silver roman numerals. Jessie is like a big kid on Christmas Eve, there is absolutely no chance she is in bed at 9:45 p.m.…I would bet my life on that.
Pushing my damp hair away from my face to eradicate the tickling sensation of the odd, water droplets making their descent, I redial once more.
Finally, there is life at the end of the line.
“Hey, Sammy, sorry I missed your call,” I stoop in relief at the sound of her squeaky, breathless voice. “I was…um…busy––” she’s momentarily cut off by girlish giggles echoing down the speaker.
“You sound busy,” I retort dryly with a broadening grin.
“Stop it,” she hisses then explodes into a giggle-fit once more. “Sorry, sweetie, are you okay?”
“What on earth have you been up to? No, actually. Don’t tell me––I don’t think I want to know.” I scowl through my amusement, reveling in not only my own happiness, but also that of my best friend. After all she had given up for me, it’s nice to hear her sounding so…unabridged.
“You know what I am like on Christmas, Sammy. I couldn’t relax, so I went out for a walk, and I saw Matt. We had a good chat, and––”
“Oh, I can only guess what else you have been doing,” I interject. “I’m so happy for you, Jess. It’s about bloody time. It’s always the first one that is the hardest,” I recite her famous words of wisdom that she shot at me for so long, back at her.
Eleven months of stalking the poor guy and admiring from afar, Jessie often gushed over the sexy sales assistant turned manager. She loved the way he managed his long, dark blond hair by gelling it back into spikes––which evidently showcased his deep, sapphire eyes that match the company logo on his tight-fitting, black T-shirt which clung to his muscular frame.
“What a cracking Christmas present, eh, Sammy?”
I instinctively extend my left arm and admire the engagement ring that adorns my finger yet again.
“Oh, yes. What an incredible gift,” I murmur distracted as I watch the flashy colors produced from the cut surface.
I want to shout about our coming nuptials down the handset, and off the roof of the luxury, high-rise building that is The Paramount. I am engaged, soon to be married to renowned lawyer, Hayden Wentworth, the most incredible, sexiest man in all of San Francisco, the most considerate, compassionate man in all the land…just like in the fairytales my nan used to read to me when I was young, ingenuous and nestled up in bed…a world that I considered to be nothing more than fantasy.
“Listen, Jess, I am going to stay here tonight, okay. It’ll give you guys some alone time to do…whatever it is…celebrate this unity or whatever.” I roll my eyes as I stumble over my words. “But I really do need to see you first thing in the morning before you leave for your parents, okay? Promise me, Jess.”
“Okay, sweetie, I promise.” A loud squeal takes the place of her words. Sounding as though her handset has just been dropped into a pit with a school of dolphins, I pull away from the speaker. “Sorry, Sammy, I got to go. I will see you in the morning. I love you,” she emits her famous cackle down the speaker.
“I love you, too. Bye.”
Grinning down at the touchscreen in my hand, I peek back at the band on my ring finger before shutting my eyes for a brief second. Oh, how things are changing. Lifting my head in contemplation, I release an unobtrusive sigh.
Change is scary,
but change is necessary,
my subconscious mutters, lowering her rectangle framed spectacles over the bridge of her nose.
Padding to the opposite end of the counter, I reach into the upper glass cabinet, the interior illuminated by three, golden spotlights which display the selection of crystal glasses. I gather two large wine glasses and a bottle of Prosecco from the wine cooler, before heading back to the bedroom.
With the chilled, glass bottle in my left hand, and the wine glasses gathered in my right, I stand at the threshold of the bedroom with my back resting against the doorway, and gaze with blissful content upon Hayden’s muscular, light-golden form as he lays on his side with his elbow propped, along the center of the bed. The definition of his broad shoulders, the prominences of his pectorals and torso, and the gathering dips in-between his muscles silently call out to me to track them with my tongue. I stow my urges to pounce on his body and have my way with him right this very second.
His usual floppy hair slicked back and his penetrating gaze in addition to his mouth quirking into a dirty-minded, lustful grin that indicates his unspoken, carnal pledges, sends my sex into a clenching frenzy.
I prop my right-foot onto the wooden frame behind me and raise the objects in my grasp.
“I thought we could celebrate,” I enunciate clearly, allowing the words to linger on my palate as I caress the words with my tongue.
“I like you’re thinking, Miss Kennedy.” He taps the mattress twice with his right hand.
Scraping my teeth over my lower lip, I tug the towel free. Falling from my body, it pools in the doorway of the room.
I hear and feel Hayden’s instant appraisal as I stand before him in all my glory, my flesh, my bumps and my curves…my imperfections. Everything I am, I give to him. I am his…and his alone.
Smirking, I cock my head and lift my shoulder. “Oops…”
HAYDEN
The unremitting sound of the alarm clock wrenches me from a peaceful sleep. Outreaching my right-arm, I erratically hit around the surface of my bedside in a bleary attempt to shut the damn thing off. After several strikes, the apartment is finally reacquainted with silence.
Samantha is nestled in the crook of my left-arm, her head resting peacefully on my chest, raising and dropping with each inhaled and exhaled breath. For a brief moment I encounter sensations of fine threads clinging to my face, like a spider’s web. I graze my right-hand down my features, alleviating the stray tendrils which tickle in an annoying, irritating way, before combing my fingertips through her disheveled mane.
She groans through her sleep deprived state, and encircles her left arm around my waist as I tense my arm around her and place a sweet kiss atop of her head.
“Merry Christmas, beautiful,” I whisper with my mouth still resting against her dark, auburn tresses.
My fingertips sweep softly up and down the length of her naked back. She shudders and I begin to feel the raise of goose bumps coating her surface underneath my delicate, touch. She sighs, and I can’t stifle my snort in adoration at the noises emitted from her sleepy form.
“Time to wake up, sleeping beauty.”
“It’s, too early,” she mutters, before hooking her left leg in between mine.
“It’s 7:30 a.m., most people have been awake since 5:00 a.m.”
“Mm…the difference is I didn’t get to sleep until 5:00 a.m. I blame you,” she grumbles through unmasked pleasure.
