Impulses (57 page)

“I didn’t hear you complaining,” I smirk and with my index finger under her chin, I coax her head up and fix my lips against hers.

Withdrawing hastily, she scrapes her teeth across the cracking surface of her lower lip then moistens them with her tongue before reciprocating my morning-show of affection.

“Merry Christmas, Hayden.”

Tracing her hairline, I sweep any tresses from her profile and drink in her beauty like an elixir, captivated within her natural radiance, spellbound by her charm. Each and every time I feast my eyes upon her, inhale her sweet, inebriating scent, kiss her, allow my hands to glide over her curves, make love to her…it is like reliving the first time over and over. I have never felt so blessed, so fortunate in my thirty-one years, than what I do when I’m with her.

Make the most of it, Hayden…nothing lasts forever.
Suddenly, my core temperature surges and leaves a clammy, unwarranted sensation clinging to my flesh. My heart races, my chest heaves as I fight the constriction in my heart and stomach.

The difference between you and Samantha my inane boy, is within a few days, she would have someone else’s hands on her, someone else’s cock driving into where only you want to be. But you
… he shifts to the edge of his seat and leans into my personal space, eyes dark and menacing,
no one will want you, you will be all on your own.

An intense, immobilizing sense of pining consumes my thoughts, my body and my core. Panic swells in the pit of my gut like balloon filled to capacity, pushing passed bursting point, as the forethought of an unendurable future for us inundates my reasoning. I feels like I’m giving a speech to five-hundred people, yet my paranoia is the one with the microphone.

Samantha pushes herself up from under my arm and props herself up onto her elbow. Her sleepy eyes of only a moment ago are wide and alert as I fight for a meaningful breath.

“Honey, are you okay?” she asks with pressing concern.

I know it’s my paranoia, but the comment the derisive little shit plants in my mind, is like a feast for my restless and starved anxiety.

The ringing in my ears is deafening, I feel beads of sweat bleeding through my pores, and my strenuous inhalations make my lungs and ribcage ache. Forcing a swallow I shake my head. And within an instant, Samantha kicks back the comforter and lifts her left hand to the side of my face; her grave gaze bores into me.

“Honey, listen to me; I am here, I am not going anywhere. I promise,” she offers firm reassurance while the sparkle of a miniature rainbow connects with my irises.

The proposal…she said ‘yes’,
she accepted, Hayden, because she wants to marry you, as much as you want to marry her.
My subconscious and paranoia wait in their allotted corners of the ring, glowering at each other, fisticuffs on ready to brawl, whilst Samantha calmly restores my confidence.

Beginning to remove her hand from my face, I hold it steadily in front of me just gazing at the engagement ring on her finger…my ring on her finger. I draw in a deep breath and guide her hand to my mouth. Kissing the elaborate, six-pronged stone I then pull her back down to lay beside me.

“This isn’t only our first Christmas…” she peeks up at me as she lays her head on my shoulder. “This is our first as a betrothed couple.”

I smooth the back of my knuckles down her cheek and stare with deep-rooted optimism into her bright, clear eyes. “Maybe next year, we could be celebrating as husband and wife.”

Her mouth surrenders to a slow, broadening grin and it’s a delight that warms my body, eradicating the cold sweat that sheens my flesh.

“I like your way of thinking, Mr Wentworth,” she relays my words from last night, back at me.

“Really?” I ask wide-eyed and dubious. “Well…whatever my future wife wishes, I shall travel to the end of the world and back to make them come true.”

“Hayden, come on for the love of God, we have to get going.”

I approach a fidgeting Samantha, who waits against the apartment door, spinning her amethyst ring around her finger. She must be feeling anxious about the steadily, approaching conversation with Jessie, hence the rapid rotations of the ill-fated gem upon her finger.

I stroll from the hallway, my arms screened behind my back as I smile astute.

She halts her rotations and stands stock-still. “What have you done?” Her facial expression impassive, only her mouth moves in fluid movements to form her questionable, guarded yet humored words.

As I close the distance between our bodies, Samantha tilts her head to maintain eye contact. Standing toe-to-toe, I rest my brow against hers and my eyes dance with excitement.

“My darling, fiancée…” I feel a whiskey-warmth journeying through my body at the endearment. I briefly meld my mouth against hers. Upon pulling away, I produce a flat black box, wrapped with a white bow from behind my back, “Merry Christmas.”

“What, for me?” she presses her hand against her chest and raises her brow. Her smile broadens as I nod. Accepting the proffered box, she flounces to the couch in the middle of the room and lowers herself into the overstuffed cushions. She begins to unravel the satin ribbon.

I take a seat on the edge of the coffee table in front of her, her legs captured between mine.

“Well…I would say it is a joint gift, for both of us.” With my elbows propped on my knees, I knit my fingers together and let them hang between my legs.

She unfolds the white paper, and holds up to inspect the contents.

“Oh, my God, this is beautiful, Hayden,” she gasps, appraising the black lace corset and garter with ivory, floral-lace trimming and crossed ribbon detailing at the back. “Well, honey, I can definitely understand why it would be for both of us. I can’t imagine you in this,” she teases.

Folding the lingerie back into its packaging, she leans forward and kisses me fervently.  Her hands fist into my hair, before making their descent and setting them on the sides of my face.

Pulling away, she observes me with passionate, blue eyes.

“Thank you. It means a lot that you endured the embarrassment as a male, in going lingerie shopping…for me. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Pushing ourselves up from our position, we make our way back to the door.

“You can wear it for me tonight,” I proclaim before playfully swatting her on her delectable backside

The sun blazes through the lifting fog as we make our way to Samantha’s apartment along Geary. Her hand rests undisturbed on my dark, navy-clad thigh. Discreetly creeping higher, she caresses the flesh of the peak of my inner-thigh and it takes all my effort to concentrate on not crashing.

I peek up at her promptly when she meets her goal, and she clamps down on her lip again. The flirtation and temptation screening her expression is discernible, only her eyes feign innocence.

I offer a compliant smile, giving consent to remain at her chosen position.

“Are you okay, beautiful?”

“Hmm…mmm,” she nods before adding, “I’m a little nervous though and feel a bit…conflicted.” I quickly turn to face her and gauge her expression, before resuming my eyes on the road. “I feel as though it’s going to be too overwhelming for your mom. Not only is it the first time she’s meeting her son’s girlfriend, but now she has to contend with the advancement of the relationship in such a short period of time.”

She looks out of the window, studying the buildings of San Francisco pass by. “I don’t know…what if she doesn’t like me, Hayden? What if there’s something conflicting between us, and she thinks you can do better than me? God, even I know you could do better than me.”

Stopping at a set of traffic lights, I mirror her gesture and place my hand on her thigh, offering a squeeze of support and encouragement. I hold her gaze.

“Do you honestly think that my mom disliking you would stop me from marrying you? That I would retract my proposal?” her contrite regard causes my heart to billow. She shakes her head inattentive and shrugs her shoulders. “My mom will love you because I love you. But please, Samantha,”––I remove my hand from her thigh and cradle the side of her face. She leans into my touch. “Don’t ever think that someone else’s opinion will ever mar what we have, because nothing will change my mind. I want you, I have you, and I am going to honor you and defend you, for the rest of our days.”

Samantha’s mouth curves into a tightlipped grin and she nods her acquiescence.

The rumbled sounds of car horns beeping impatiently behind us inform me that the lights have changed. Hauling us from our moment, we quickly make our way to Fillmore Point.

Exiting the white and blue LCD lit elevator, I stand and wait while Samantha slips the key into the lock of the fifteenth-floor apartment. She halts as she begins to rotate the shining metal and turns her attention toward me.

“One thing, before we start announcing. You have completely overwhelmed me, Hayden. Everything I have seen and experienced in my life…I gave up on Happy Ever Afters––I had to.” I know some of what she has experienced, yet I find myself idly pondering what she has seen in her past, to give this forgone conclusion. “But here we are. Thank you, for giving me my Happy Ever After.”

Pressing the length of her body flush against me, she covers my mouth with hers and I lose myself as the warmth and skill of her tongue dips and caresses against my own.

“Can I tell you a secret?” I whisper as our lips begin to part.

Samantha pulls away further, her eyes flared and timorous as she sucks in a quick breath and holds it captive. Sensing her heavy reluctance, she nods once.

Tucking her hair behind her left ear, I move forward, my mouth barely an inch away from the curvature of her ear…

NINETEEN

-------------------------

SAMANTHA

“Can I tell you a secret?”

I retreat from the gorgeous man stood in front of me, with his silken hair falling in that floppy way that I love so Goddamn much. I inhale deeply, and his woody, intoxicating, masculine scent greets my nostrils and shrouds my senses with a force so electrifying, that I feel my body vibrate and my knees weaken.

I know what he is going to say. He’s going to ask me how someone so educated could be so stupid and believe that I am ever going to find love. How could someone like him, love someone so emotionally fucked-up and sexually impulsive that they put their own life in danger––several times, in alleyways, club restrooms and parking lots, just to attest their diminishing self-doubt that they are desired, wanted…coveted.

My ribcage throbs as my heart lurches against its confines in a brutal, incessant rhythm. The blood is thrumming through my eardrums, deafening me with a muffled ringing.

Feeling lightheaded as a result of my hyperventilation, I attempt to recover my equilibrium. I nod once, and endeavor to halt my racing breaths in order to stifle my fight or flight responses.

With gentle fingers, Hayden sweeps my hair back, tucking it behind my ear. He leans down towards the exposed hollow of my ear. His breath is warm and exhilarating against my skin.

Prepare yourself, Sam. Nothing is perfect in this world. All good things come to an end.

I hear him lick his lips and the very sound, the suggestion behind it has every muscle and nerve ending south of my hips quickening, tighten and buzzing as he fuels the fire of my libido. Yet, my negative stipulations manage to override my desire.

“This is just the beginning,” he whispers then pulls away, and my unrelenting heart rate begins to slow and return to normal.

Oh, good God. I release my long, halted breath and feel myself sag in reprieve. My pulse must have gone from eighty to one hundred and fifty in a matter of four seconds in sheer panic––who needs access to an amusement park when you have paranoia and apprehension at your beck and call?

Consciously, I know exactly how Hayden feels about me; nonetheless I still permit myself to be overwhelmed by my negative thoughts and feelings.

My subconscious rolls her eyes, clicks her tongue and shakes her head in exasperation,
what else can he possibly do to show you––to prove to you that he isn’t going to hurt and humiliate you? He asked you to marry him for God sake, and you are still not fully ‘there’ with no reservation.

Eyes muted, I manage a brief smile. Hayden frowns and with palpable sadness he flails his head. His gorgeous chocolate curl on his brow shifts slightly with his movement.

“Oh, Samantha,” he whispers, his voice smooth and golden like melted toffee and strokes the back of his knuckles down my cheek. “You still worry and panic. Even after I ask you––”

“Well, it looks like we have the same problem in common,” I interject, sounding a little more stern than intended.

Slipping his hand down my jawline, he rounds my head and grasps the back of my neck, his left hand fixed against the small of my back. He draws our bodies together, in an act to sustain the connection that both of us need and crave––the connection that assures and soothes us in our temporary moments of dread, fear and anxiousness.

Taking control he promptly melds our lips together, and the pessimism I was near enough defeated by only a moment ago diminishes, and is replaced with actuality and grave sincerity as the softness of his full, pleasing lips, and the addictive, perfectly applied pressure behind a kiss that supports and bolsters, sets my mind at rest.

This is a necessity for us, if we are to ever get passed our fears…this is what we need, to expel the angst and despicable thoughts that we have been moulded to believe. I need this to feel desired, he needs it confirm that I am only his.

How can good situations, lead you down an anxious and paranoid path in a blink of an eye?

I hear a click from my apartment door before being hastily swung open. It startles me and I shriek loudly as I quickly pull away from my gorgeous, mouthwatering, heavenly scented, Hayden. I grasp at my chest as though having my hand placed over my heart will prevent it from lurching from its cavity.

“Oh, my God, Jessie––you scared the fucking shit out of me,” I gasp through gritted teeth, while endeavoring to breathe.