The Dimple Strikes Back (22 page)

“I’m still bothered by you tracking my phone,” I said.

He sighed and searched my eyes for understanding. “Can you think of it…like a detective protecting his undercover operative? You haven’t been speaking to me. She could have hauled you off to Russia, and no one would realise before it was too late.”

There was a certain comfort in having one ally. Nobody else knew about the quicksand sucking me down, down. “Okay, but no more jealousy or bullshit. I’m free to do what I want.”

“Yes! Yes. I shouldn’t have come here tonight.”

This was clearly my cue to throw him out, but…the idea of being alone filled me with a yawning ennui. I stayed silent, and he relaxed further.

In this moment, our friendship comforted me. We’d been such torrid lovers and fighters I didn’t usually think of him as my friend. He was, though. Absolutely, in the best sense of the word. He knew everything about me, and I knew him down to the core. Sure, he’d hidden details when we’d first met—criminal, natch—but over time he’d revealed so much. He cries when Captain Kirk sacrifices everything for Spock. He delights in coming up with the perfect present unique to me. I know to order twenty chicken nuggets because he loves them as leftovers. Important things in a relationship. Was memorising someone’s middle name really more important than knowing they have recurring dreams about being lost, naked in the woods when they’re stressed out, and understanding enough to rub their shoulders in the right place to help them fall asleep again?

He was my best friend, and I knew, I knew that despite everything he only wanted wonderful things for me. I travelled all over for my work now, and he delighted in my every success and listened when I cried about the failures.

Maybe I wasn’t such a great friend to him—when the shit hit the fan, I usually jumped to the worst conclusion. Yes, he’d earned some of that distrust, but he’d also risked everything to try and be with me. Hot shame burned across my chest.

“What’s your middle name?” I asked out of the blue.

His head popped up in surprise, but not unpleasantly. “Matthew. Biblical. Guess it didn’t take.”

“It worked some.” My gaze dropped to the dusky green V-neck tee he had on. He’d worn one of my favourite shirts over here to argue with me. I couldn’t help but smile.

“Do you have anything to eat?” he asked, bringing his full charm to bear with a lopsided grin that could shatter heaven and drop you down to hell, giggling as you fell. How I’d missed that cocksure attitude. Not to mention his actual cock.

“Fine, I’ll feed you. After.”

“After what?”

Heh. At least he wasn’t assuming to get anything more than food. “You people keep interrupting my date with Colin Firth.”

He sat up a little straighter. “How rude of us,” he said, light as air.

I kept petting Taco. “I mean, you’re here. And we’re gonna die.”

“If not soon, then at least some time.”

“Right. So, in a completely uncommitted fashion, we could, you know, celebrate life.” I’d used this reasoning when deciding to sleep with him the first time. If it wasn’t sound logic, it was, at least, familiar.

I let my offer dangle, like a sexy carrot on a sexy stick. The hope flaring in his eyes began to smoulder into full-on determination. He licked his pretty, pretty lips. “If it helps, I’ll kidnap you. For old time’s sake.”

I laughed out loud at that. “I haven’t been kidnapped in days. I would make a joke about missing it, but I don’t think that would say anything good about me or the state of my life.”

“This is a totally consensual kidnap.”

I nodded and stared into his eyes—a luminous, mossy green. They matched his shirt, above which his soft brown chest hair peeked. My hand reached up to caress the notch in his neck quite of its own volition. Silken warmth greeted my fingertips. He took the cat, placed him on the floor and scooted closer to me as Taco protested, loudly. We ignored him. Sam took my face in his hands and leant forward to kiss me.

Oh, God. He felt like home.

He took his time, pressing his lips to mine slowly, again and again, barely opening his, just enough to tease me. After a minute of simultaneously driving me mad and bringing me completely to peace, he set his forehead against mine. His breath danced on my face like quick bursts of warm sunlight. We stayed like that for a while, his knuckles rubbing my cheek, my hands playing in his hair while I memorised the scent of his skin all over again.

“Would you like to be kidnapped to the bedroom, or stay here?”

He moved to nuzzle my neck, and the delicious sensations he brought to life there rendered me temporarily speechless. Delicate kisses nibbled their way from behind my ear to my ear lobe, down to the shoulder and collarbone. With each one, he brought my skin to a new pitch of yearning. “Here,” I managed to whisper.

“Mmm hmm,” he agreed. Coming up for air, he pulled back, his face flushed. I leant forward to really put the bloom in his cheeks, but he stopped me with a finger to my lips. “And would my unfortunate victim be more comfortable with me in or out of clothing?”

I giggled. “I prefer my abductors shirtless, but leave the jeans on. For now.”

He spread a wide grin and stood up to perform the shirt removal for me. He slid it up over his adorable belly, past hairy pecs, and finally tossed it to the ground while his shoulders rippled. Hot, shirtless men in jeans are a particular weakness for me, along with my other three hundred thousand weaknesses, all of which Sam seemed to exploit.

“Would the lady enjoy being stripped?”

Six little words and I was wet. Although, to be honest, I’d been ready to throw him on the floor since the moment he walked in. Some of us board the train to disaster bedecked in ugly bathrobes. “I’m sure you would enjoy that. I know I’m an eyesore.”

“No.” He returned to the couch and took my hand. “Look, I like makeup and sexy clothes and, um, brushed hair as well as the next guy, but you’re always beautiful to me.” He pushed a lock of hair behind my ear and wound it through his fingers. “I really just want you to be comfortable. There’s never a time I see you and don’t think how lucky I am to do so.”

Totally against the rules to make me love him all over again. “The feeling is mutual.”

He dimpled at me. “You don’t mind when I don’t wear makeup?”

“You would look so pretty!”

One of his eyebrows cocked. “Is
that
what you want to do with me right now?”

I nearly rolled off the cushions laughing. He would have let me, too—his eyes held an unmistakable twinkle that said, ‘Screw it, let’s David Bowie this shit’. I crawled onto his lap, straddling him, and sat back on my heels. “Maybe some other time. Right now, the kidnappee respectfully requests that you divest her of her mismatched pyjamas.”

“These are kinda sad.”

“It’s hard finding octopus jammies.”

“They’re for children, aren’t they?”

Of course they were, but I’d learned lying from the best. I shook my head. “I refuse to participate in this interrogation.”

“That would be your right under the Geneva Convention, if it covered jammies, or octopi.” His eyes locked on to mine while he unbuttoned my top, his fingers lingering on the flesh between my breasts. He traced the inner curves, his skin impossibly shivery on mine. I pushed forward. Laughing, he eased me back. “If you’re too close, I can’t unbutton.” I squirmed over his lap, and oh, hello to you, too, wonderful penis. I reached down, my hand caressing us both through our clothes. He let out a breathy moan and rested his head on my shoulder.

Better do that again. I found his zipper and eased it down as leisurely as he’d been treating me. In retaliation, he teased my nipples—both of them, at the same time, the vile man. Lips, hands, palms everywhere. An intense devotion washed his face in bliss, and he closed his eyes. “You can say it,” I whispered.

He blurted, “I missed them.”

“You mean me.”

“I mean all of you.”

Hands on my waist, he lifted me off him and set me against the end of the couch. He removed my top completely and grinned at us in approval. I had to giggle—he faced me with the reverence of a pilgrim at a holy shrine. He probably would have prayed to my tits had I asked him.
Hail boobies, full of grace. Thine bra is off thee.

His trance ended and he turned to other concerns. “The bottoms, Miss?”

“At your leisure, wicked Sir.”

“Are you certain I’m not interrupting your evening?”

“Well, I could be viewing important cats on the Internet now, but I suppose these activities will do.”

He got on his knees—mmmmmm—and crawled over my legs. “I’ll try my best to fill your time.” The way he purred this, I think he wanted to fill something else.

It took a moment or two for us to bounce my pyjamas down my bubble butt, but we managed. He always loved this part. My view of his stretched back and his bottom bobbing in the air distracted me anew, inspiring me to run my fingers over my already-aching pussy. He tossed my pants aside and paused to examine my play. “Well, well,” he said. “Were you anticipating a fake kidnapping?”

Apparently my black, lacy hipsters met with approval. I reached for him.

“No, no. As your kidnapper, I demand you keep touching yourself.”

“Then inspire me.”

His hand already stroked the bulge in his pants, and he worked himself for my edification until I began to squirm, his eyes never leaving mine.

“These are very nice”—he leant forward and slipped a finger into the bottom of my lace—“but I bet you’ll have more fun when they’re gone.”

“You first.”

The dimple liked that. Sam reached into his open fly and took out his cock. The male member is not exactly pretty, no, but it is invigorating just the same. My blood pounded through every inch of me, and I could not look away. He stroked the shaft nice and slow, performing for me.

Out of sheer, charitable gratitude, I slid my undies down my legs and threw them aside. A flurry of movement and chastising ‘mewr’s told me I’d just thrown my underwear on the cat. Sam stopped his sensual stroking to lean back and guffaw.

“Whoops.” I shrugged my shoulders and grinned.

“His therapist is going to have a field day with this.”

I turned onto my knees, threw my arms around Sam and kissed him—hungrily, desperately. His grip landed on my ass and pressed me to his cock, stiff and hot between us. My hands slid down his spine to knead his marvellous butt. “Hey, hey,” he whispered. “I gave you a different job to do.”

“But I’ve been doing it for myself for days and days.”

He groaned. “Tell me.”

I sank onto the couch and teased myself, coaxing out my wetness. My head fell back, it felt so good and so nasty to be showing him at his demand. My eyes closed, I said, “I lay in bed, in broad daylight, frustrated.”

“Go on.” His voice sounded thin and higher. He leaned over me now, his cock in his hand, moving faster.

I redoubled my efforts—for him, of course. “So I rubbed my clit. And I got really wet.”

He swallowed. “And what were you thinking about?” His eyes opened. “And it better be
me
.”

“It was!” No lies—it was. “I thought about you. About your big body not being there.” My pussy ached, and my hips arched up to meet my fingers. “When I close my eyes and imagine a big cock inside me, it’s always yours.”

With a breathy sound—happy or unhappy, I couldn’t tell—he yanked me down until I lay flat and he entered me. I cried out, I was too tight. He held me there, for a moment, barely moving. He kissed my forehead, and I smiled. He returned it and gazed at me while I rubbed his waist, his ass underneath his still-clinging jeans.

He murmured, “I’m sorry I left you to do the heavy lifting, but you told a great story.”

“Apparently.”

He laughed silently and pulled out, achingly slowly. They always amazed me—the sublime sensations emanating from our joined bodies. He thrust in again, and I rose to meet him. “Samantha, baby,” he said. I held on to him with my arms, legs, my hands pulling him into my body. I’d have given anything in that moment for him to never stop.

“Brawr!” Captain Taco leapt onto the tiny space of couch next to my waist—to save me, or Sam, I don’t know. His fur tickled, and I started to giggle again.

“This damn cat.” Sam grabbed him by the belly and deposited him on the floor once again. Taco leapt onto the coffee table and sat there, staring at us.

“Your cat,” I said.

“Your cat—I gave him to you.”

“After you taught him your perverted ways.”

He drove into me with his hips, and hot damn, the pleasure nearly drowned me. Here’s to perverted ways. “Like that?”

I gasped when he bore down on me, again and again, and I couldn’t form actual words. I think he knew the answer.

Soon, our audience was completely forgotten while we made up for lost time, maybe all the lonely time we’d ever experienced.

Just when hot, sweet sweat began to trail down his back, he said, “I need to see you.” I moaned my acquiescence—he had me so tight in the grip of pleasure that I’d have done anything he wanted. He pulled out and I protested, vociferously. That brought out his dimple—deep and smarmy. “Poor thing,” he said unconvincingly.