Impulses (54 page)

My strenuous gasps are shadowed by her soft moans and low groans. Fisting my cock, I pull back tirelessly, raising my hips to push past my forceful grip.

“Baby, you’re killing me. You’re getting me so close; I wish I was pouring myself into you, feeling your tight pussy clenching around my cock, milking me dry.”

“Oh, fuck, Hayden…please, keep talking…” she pleads wildly amidst pleasurable whimpers. But the desperation laced in her sultry voice, and the sounds of her cries, added with the visual of her sinking her teeth into her lip while writhing beneath her own hand, has me undone.

Moaning as I grind incessantly into my palm, my breath catches. “Fuck baby…I’m going to explode. Fuck…fuck…fuck,” I cry out, my toes curling with locking force, my body tenses and trembles as I come heated and powerful over my stomach and in my hand, while the inveigling sound of Samantha climaxing caresses my ear and cheek.

Silent for a moment while we regulate our inhalations, a soft chuckle of approval leaves her throat.

“Wow…that was intense.”

“I can’t believe we actually just did that,” I mutter in astonishment, my head resting against the leather-sheathed board behind me, grinning inanely.

“There’s nothing wrong with experimenting, honey. I think we can both agree, that in fifty years’ time, we will not be laughing about this,” she giggles.

“I think if we talk about this in fifty years’ time, one of us will end up with a broken hip.” We both laugh, feeling relaxed and satisfied––not only because of our release, but through the exploration of a new stage in our relationship. The ungainliness and self-doubting that loitered between us, now an overcome hurdle…like everything else that both Samantha and I have had to confront.

“You were amazing, baby,” I whisper.

“Oh, Hayden. The way you say that word…” she sighs. “You’ll start me off again. I love you…so much.” Her voice is scarcely a whisper in the darkness of night, and although she isn’t here with me, I see her eyes welling with moisture the way they always do when she declares the profundity of her love.

“I love you, too, Samantha. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, beautiful.”

“Goodnight, honey.”

As the line loses life, I can’t help but give way to a face-splitting grin and head for the second shower of the night.

I’m momentarily startled when the wreath adorning Samantha’s apartment door bounces off its surface, and shakes violently as the door is abruptly swung open. A familiar pair of forest, green eyes stares back at me, before pulling my into a friendly embrace.

“Coffee?” she offers as she pulls away and sashays across the area to the kitchen. Her tucked ponytail bounces with every skip she takes.

“Is it even necessary to ask anymore, Jess?” I reply flippant.

Following the buoyant brunet to the breakfast hatch, I slip onto the left stool. Even though she looks like she has been transported back to the 80’s, with her relaxed ensemble of black leggings, the bright pink leg-warmers, and long-sleeved, oversized jumper, which hangs off her left shoulder, exposing the black strap of her bra, she somehow manages to pull it off.

I sip at my coffee whilst making small talk about whether or not there is a correct time on decorating for the Holidays. Mom and Dad were always excessive; up they went on the first of December, with the eight-foot tree and lights––both inside and outside, garlands sweeping up the elaborate staircase, not to mention the giant Santa that welcomed you as you entered the house. It was understandable when I was a child, but as I grew older, with every passing year, it infuriated me more and more.

“It doesn’t matter if it is the first, the fourth, or the twenty-fourth; better late than never.” I sip at the cooling, onyx liquid.

“I’m definitely with you on that one, honey,” the low, rasping sound of Samantha’s voice has every follicle standing to attention, as she emerges from the corridor behind me. Strolling passed the dinning-room table she enfolds her arms around my waist, and burrows her face into my neck.

Enthralled, I close my eyes, and inhale her sweet scent, and allow the heat of her minty breath to tickle at the surface of my neck.

“Always better late,”––she places a feather-soft kiss just below my ear––“than never.”

Spinning myself around on the slippery surface of the stool, I pull her into the vacant space between my legs and devour her with a lush, wet kiss. My hands roam possessive over her body, from the nape of her neck, down her back, around to her hips, and then ending their voyage upon her buttocks.

I sink my thumbs into the back pockets of her ash-gray, skinny-fitted pants, while the rest of my fingers claw their way into the pliant flesh, as I draw her hips closer to my body.

“Get a room,” Jess bellows, airily from beyond the bar.

Through the reluctance of pulling away from Samantha’s full, rose-pink lips, I give way to an inward sigh. Still she smiles down at me, briefly wrinkling the bridge of her nose in an adorable, yet suggestive twitch––a motion that never fails to send my blood raging; Samantha’s unspoken signal to ‘come-and-get-it’. Every single time, all of my thoughts melt into a huge pool of lustful, animalistic need. The most innocent of conceptions blend themselves into a deepening passion, which denies me any rational thought.

Her taupe, bat-winged, cashmere sweater clings to her luscious body. The elongated, stretchy section at the bottom of the sweater hugs her hips, allowing the slight looseness of the material to fall, but still displays her figure. A large, silver, floral engraved locket rests undisturbed between the fullest part of her D-cup breasts, and her lengthy, auburn mane is twisted and clipped up high, the tips fluttering over the top of the hair-pin.

“What?” she shrieks. “Don’t you know that it is rude to stare?”

I shake my head slowly in admiration for my woman. My arms tense around her body as I suppress the growing urge to squeeze her so fucking hard, to show her physically how much she means to me emotionally.

“My God, Samantha, you have no idea the extent of my love, want and need for your body, mind and soul reaches. It’s limitless,” I declare through clenched-teeth, every syllable that passes my lips intensified with ardor.

“Yes, I do, Hayden,” she nods gently and leans in; her lips are barely an inch away from my ear, “Because you do it to me.”

Pulling away, she frames my face with her hands. She tips my head back and bends to set a lingering kiss upon my lips.

“I love you, Hayden Wentworth,” she whispers on an outward breath, the pads of her thumbs skimming over the stubble of my jawline.

“And I love you, Samantha Kennedy. I am truly, madly, deeply in love with you,” I rasp, losing myself in her pale, irresistible eyes.

“I love that song.” A voice from behind me snaps us out of our intimate moment, followed by the scrunching of a packet of potato chips.

Samantha slips out of my clutches. “That is our cue to make like a tree, and leave.”

I remain glued to my spot, my vision fixated as she strides to the table in the center of the room in her matching ash-gray platform pumps while she retrieves her large, maroon, over the shoulder bag.

“Feel free to stay, honey,” she swings the bag over her shoulder and crosses her arms across her middle. “Do you know sign language?”

Frowning, I cock my head dubious, “Sign language?”

She nods. “Yes, because you won’t have any sense of hearing once you have befallen victim to Jessie’s rendition of Savage Garden––”

“Hey––” Jessie feigns outrage, but after a beat accedes and offers a small smirk. “But because I like you, Hayden, I will tone it down and leave out the blood-curdling high notes.” She dips her hand into the giant bag of chips and places the contents in her mouth.

“Thanks, Jess, but I think I will follow suit with Sam and not take my chances. It’s hard to go to court and hear if the judge overrules me if I can’t hear. So we will leave you to your own devices.”

I slap my hands on my thighs before pushing myself from the stool, and lock my hand with Samantha.

“Aw, that’s a shame. I was hoping for a backing singer.”

I hastily whip my line of focus onto Jessie, who stands smirking, her eyes glinting mischievously.

“You told her?” I mutter feigning a sullen tone, turning my gazing back onto Samantha.

She goes for nonchalance and studies the ceiling before her gaze finally falls on me, her eyes dancing with wry amusement.

“That you serenaded her on Fifth Avenue? Nope, she didn’t tell me anything,” Jessie teases. And as I hear her fill her mouth with more chips, I idly wonder if there is anything else Samantha has told Jessie…private things.

“You are so going to pay for that, Samantha Kennedy.”

“Hmm…” she furrows her brow, “see that sounded more like a promise, than a threat, Mr. Wentworth,” she grins.

Gazing deeply into her eyes, my mouth curls into a devious, calculating smirk, one that screams of lust and dark insinuations. “Who said I meant it as a threat?”

“And on that note,” the bubbly brunet interjects, “scoot, scram, vamoose, get out of here you love sick teenagers.” The next thing I see is an unopened pack of potato chips being hurled through the air in our direction.

“Okay, we’re out of here. Enjoy your time with Rusty,” Sam giggles, pointing towards her roommate’s choice of snack before opening the apartment door.

Just before I step over the threshold, I hear my name being whinged.

I peek back to the breakfast bar. “Yes, Jess?”

Pointing and pouting like a brooding child, she mutters, “Can you pass me back my chips please?”

With unmasked mirth, I snigger and shake my head before bending to retrieve the unopened packet.

“Women,” I mutter, hurling them at the beaming woman sat on the countertop.

“Thanks, sweetie.”

SEVENTEEN

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

SAMANTHA

My strenuous breathing is no match for Hayden’s as we set the bound, six-foot spruce down onto the hardwood flooring of the apartment, and flick the table lamp switch.

Not being overly enthusiastic about the hazardous, nuisance of falling needles, which somehow manage to get just about everywhere, Jessie and I have always taken the easy road, and accommodate an artificial tree––no messes, we can use it year after year, we don’t have to worry about it dying, and it comes in a box, so you don’t have to worry about the needles stabbing through your cashmere sweater or the dirt transferring onto your clothing.

Really, what was I thinking wearing neutral colors, today of all days?

Relieving my joints and muscles, I arch my back and stretch, before leaning into my right leg, and prop my hands on my hips.

“Where are you going to put it then, honey?”

His dark eyes dart towards mine, a salacious smirk lingers on the left-side of his tasty-looking mouth. His immediate expression has my hormones raging within an instant.

“There are only two places it would go, so, where would you prefer I put it?” with his eyes smouldering, his jaw taut, the intensity that he exudes and influences around his question is enough to send my head spinning and my core tightening.

Licking my lips, I step into his towering, hard body and breathe him in. My hands press against his warm, defined chest. I slither them up and down the length of his torso, relishing the feel of him under my hands, knowing that I am the only one that knows what he looks like beneath his clothing, knowing what secrets are being concealed.

“Why do I only have to pick one place?” I whisper brazen, mirroring the salaciousness that he is radiating in intense waves in my direction.

He parts his lips before making a low, virile sound from his throat. His hands frame my face, his forehead lightly resting against my own.

“You are killing me, beautiful. Let’s get this damned thing dressed, so I can get you undressed.”

Hayden scarcely finishes his words before my hands fist into his hair and I pull him down to seal my lips over his. Dipping my tongue into the heat of his mouth, his hands slip from the sides of my face and glide down the curves of my body, before snaking them around my back and squeezing my ass with bruising, delicious force that sends a rousing, burning sensation coursing through me, inundating me with an unadulterated desire.

I sink my hands over the muscles of his back, to his ass and lure his hips into me, as I push my pelvis against him. I feel his buttocks flex under my hand, and an image of his naked form tensing and working over my body, as he rewards me with deep drives––reminding me that my body is capable of accepting his thick, heavy length––becomes my only mental focal point.

Pulling away from his mouth, my lips barely brush against his as we struggle to maintain our inhalations, before muttering, “Deal.”

Stepping down off the platform that invites you to behold the San Francisco vista, we admire the handiwork of our fully dressed tree. Hayden’s arm is draped around my shoulders, my arm curving around his waist as we hold one another closely.

“It’s beautiful.”

Framed by the muted light and shimmering waters of the bay in the distance, I sense Hayden watching me as I observe the creation before us. His lips press and linger on the top of my head. “But nowhere near as beautiful as you. And it only took us an hour.”

In the dimness of the room, I am entranced by the assortment of tiny, iridescent fairy lights that fade in and out like a shadow vanishing from light as darkness suffuses, and polished red and golden baubles that appear to be hovering below the deep green branches as they hang with defined elegance.

Feeling something tickling my foot, I glance down at the floor. “We forgot something, honey,” I giggle, bending to collect the single length of tinsel and the large, golden, glittered star.

“Actually, I um…forgot something myself.” Seeming restless, he hangs his head, his line of focused undisturbed upon his Italian leather shoes whilst he rocks to and fro, his hands now delving into his pockets. He looks like an embarrassed school boy who has been asked a question, but don’t know the answer. The shy and anxious demeanor has my heart beating rapidly and a knot forms just as quick in my stomach.