Staying On Top (Whitman University) (21 page)

It was hard to believe that anyone—never mind Sam Bradford, a guy who could have whomever he wanted—cared so much about what I thought. There
had
been something between us in Switzerland; I’d felt it even though he
had
been acting like a shallow doofus, and maybe it spoke more to my lagging self-confidence than anything else that it never occurred to me that it could be something special.

That
I
could be something special.

Since we’d been traveling together, I’d been bitchy and distant, unwilling to keep him in the loop and denying him comforts at every turn. It made no sense that he would like me at all, want me at all, but maybe it didn’t have to.

“Sam, that’s not it. I don’t think you’re shallow or insecure. I’ve never thought that, actually, even on spring break. You like to have a good time and unwind, and with the pressure of the tour and your injuries, it made sense. You’ve been a saint, putting up with me since we left Melbourne, but honestly . . . I never thought this thing between us was about more than a conquest for you.”

“How can you say that? I invited you to sit in my box my first tournament back, that’s not a casual-fuck kind of invitation. Do you not feel that something . . . more?”

Sudden shyness overtook me, I’d suspected as much about the tournament invitation, but had been involved with Flynn at the time and, honestly, a little irritated that Sam couldn’t take a hint. I wasn’t looking for anything more than easy and free, and a guy who didn’t ask too many questions. Flynn had fit the bill perfectly. I could admit now that even the prospect of Sam had scared me.

I took a deep breath, thought through the string of consequences, then decided to ignore them. I was so tired of trying to figure out how one misstep could ruin a con down the road. “I
did
feel something more, and that’s exactly why I blew you off. I just told you that no one knows about me, about my dad and my life. How could I date someone seriously and expect to be able to keep that kind of distance? And you? You make me want more.”

He froze, then broke into the grin that charmed women around the world. “I do?”

“Yes, you idiot. Everything I normally play close to the vest comes spilling out around you, and it makes me crazy. But you’re still here anyway.”
For now.

We watched each other, emotions flashing through his honey eyes as fast as they skittered through my heart. Fear. Wonder. Excitement. Distrust, even after everything, that came from not knowing each other as well as we’d like to, a fact that left us vulnerable.

All of the little tidbits that we had shared added up to something, enough to hurt if they were rejected, and that was the root of my fear. That I had finally found a friend, someone to open up to, someone to show myself to, and would be forced to watch him walk away.

“You know, I never think about the future, Blair. My family, the way they are, it doesn’t inspire much faith in the validity of long-term commitments.”

The piece of information confused me. Not because it didn’t make sense, but because I wasn’t quite sure why he was telling me. “I’m not thinking about next year, Sam. Hell, I’m not even thinking about next week. I’m just . . . ready to live in the moment. With you.”

I’d spoken the truth, but it hurt in unexpected places to agree that we had no future.

Sam stood up, then held a hand out to me. “Grab that bottle of wine. Let’s take a walk.”

“A walk?” I felt as though my lips weren’t attached to my brain.

“Yes.” He glanced up toward the resort, which wasn’t full this time of year but wasn’t empty, either. Its lights reached toward us on the empty beach. “I saw someplace on our way to the restaurant that might be better for spending the night. Less out in the open.”

My heart raced at the suggestion. All of me trembled with desire, even ones that were usually slow to wake, and when my palm slid against his, a shock of anticipation moved through me. Sam held one of my hands and my other gripped the bottle of wine. He grabbed our blankets and led me away from the resort, toward the part of the beach that would be crammed with tourists and vacationers in the summer months, but tonight waited, empty, for the two of us.

A thousand yards or so away there was a blue-painted wooden rowboat next to an outcropping of jagged rock. It looked like a painting under the moonlight, with one bench and a pair of oars near the bow, the rest hollowed out—a fishing boat. 

I dropped the wine in the sand as Sam stopped next to the hull. He turned, pulling me into his arms and capturing my lips with his in one smooth movement. Our tongues twisted together, hands everywhere, until we were both breathing hard and I was wondering how feasible it would be to have sex standing up.

“Hand me your sweater,” he panted.

This had been so long coming that it didn’t occur to me to argue or ask why. My sweater landed next to his sweatshirt in the bottom of the boat, and the sweatshirt hoodies we bought at the gift shop went next. I shivered in the breeze that wafted off the water; it wasn’t freezing, but the temperature probably hovered somewhere in the mid-sixties.

Sam caught sight of my shudder as he spread one of our fleece blankets over the clothes. “I promise to warm you up in sec.”

“You’d better.”

He puddled the second blanket at one end of the makeshift mattress, then bowed slightly, gesturing to his creation. “M’lady. After you.”

I took his hand as I stepped into the boat, settling on the bottom. He followed a moment later. It was a tight fit with both of us, but it would be more than enough room.

The light touch of his fingers on my belly drew a gasp from deep inside me. I held my breath, then blew it out my nose as Sam lifted my tank top over my head. I returned the favor, ridding him of his T-shirt and taking a moment to stare at the hard landscape of his chest and stomach in the Greek moonlight.

“You are beautiful, you know that?” I breathed, not caring all of the sudden if I sounded like a complete moron. If we weren’t going to get repeats of these moments, it seemed to be a mistake to withhold words that begged to be spoken.

He smiled. “I think you should get your eyes checked.”

My fingers trailed downward over his pecs, lingering on his abs, then dipped into the waistband of his jeans. His quick intake of breath shot desire between my legs and brought a smile to my face. 

His hands lifted, framing my face. “
You’re
beautiful, Blair. I swear, I could watch you for hours and never be anything less than fascinated.”

“How about you do a little less talking and get to that warming me up that we discussed?” Compliments made me equal parts happy and uncomfortable. 

“As you wish.”

I smiled, not knowing if he meant to quote
The Princess Bride
but tickled all the same. Movie references, and thoughts in general, flew out of my head when Sam’s lips landed on my neck. They worked downward, hands pushing me back onto the blankets and clothes in the process, until they had trailed down to the swell of my left breast.

He lifted his head, concern visible on his face in the darkness. “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes.”

The clasp on my bra flicked open without me even registering that his hand had moved, and the combination of the cool air and Sam’s hot breath on my nipples tightened every muscle in my body with pleasure. My hands fisted in his hair as his lips fluttered and sucked; he flicked his tongue at close enough intervals that I couldn’t breathe in between, until I writhed with the desire to have him.

I let go of his hair and went for his belt, then the fly of his jeans. He felt heavy in my palm, thick and throbbing and as ready as I was. We had been doing the foreplay thing for over a week—longer if you counted the flirting that had begun last spring—and I couldn’t take much more.

The groan I earned in response to my ministrations said we were on the same page. It encouraged me to shove his pants and underwear off his hips, and Sam tugged mine down at the same time. It thrilled me, both of us being naked on the beach, even though it probably should have embarrassed me. I wasn’t this carefree, wanton girl—this girl dripping with so much need that she ripped a guy’s clothes off in freaking public. 

Only tonight, and the other night in the bathroom—with Sam—it seemed that I was.

He kissed me hard, our lips and tongues moving with a kind of desperation that thrilled me, scared me, while his hand dug in the pocket of his jeans. The sound of a packet tearing briefly joined our ragged breathing, then he moved to his knees, shoving mine apart in the process.

Then he was over me, his hands in my hair. “I promise next time we’ll go slower but I can’t wait. You’ve hexed me.”

“I don’t think the devil performs hexes,” I croaked. All higher thought dissolved when he pressed against the heat at my center.

He worked inside me, slowly at first, then burying himself deep when he realized I was wet enough from our making out to do what he wanted. The steady rhythm mesmerized me, took me to another place made of sweat and muscled backs and hot breath on my neck. Where there was nothing but the perfect ecstasy of being stretched and full as Sam rocked against me, our bare skin pressed together. His lips trailed over my neck, one hand toying with my swollen breasts until I arched against him. He slid deeper inside me, our hips locking together, and our mouths grew hungry again. We wrapped together from mouth to feet, moving as one person, as though we’d been doing this for months instead of navigating a first time.

“You feel so fucking good,” he breathed into my lips.

I opened my eyes to find him watching me with an intense expression in his eyes. It felt unfamiliar, a far cry from the Sam who spent so much time going with the flow, taking each moment as it came, and the sight pushed me over some kind of emotional cliff. 

It made me realize that maybe he could see something different, something more real, in my face, too, but I didn’t look away.

To my surprise, the expression in his eyes, our slicked skin, and his hardness inside me combined and built the beginnings of an orgasm. In my experience, those things had to be concentrated on, worked at, but the moment he saw the flicker of pleasure on my face he kept up an increasingly rapid pace. Every thrust rubbed me just right, and a wall of pleasure crashed over me without any warning. My legs went around his back, grinding my body against his as it pummeled me senseless, burning as though a wildfire devoured me from the inside out.

When it was over I couldn’t breathe. My muscles felt like jelly, except for my arms, which were locked around Sam’s neck. There were teeth marks on his shoulder, even though I didn’t recall biting him, but my brain was too detached from the rest of me to even think about feeling badly.

“Holy shit,” I mumbled, realizing after a moment that Sam had stopped moving. 

I pulled back to look at his face, which sported a shit-eating grin and an even hungrier look in his eyes than had been there before my surprise orgasm.

“Good?”

“Good is a giant understatement.” I rolled out from under him. “Now it’s your turn.”

I sat up and traded him places, easing down on top of him and watching his eyes roll back in his head. His fingers were tight on the flesh of my hips, digging in and helping me move against him. I wasn’t interested in drawing this out, even though it felt so good I would live with him inside me were it socially acceptable. I wanted to make him feel as good as I felt, to work it so that he couldn’t help losing control, too.

It didn’t take long, and with Sam, nothing was a secret. Every movement he liked twisted his lips up in a mixture of a smile and a gasp, and when he reached around to give my ass a light smack, I knew I had him. I sat up, using his chest for balance, and pulled him deep inside me, then out, matching his thrusts until my thighs burned, until another orgasm ripped through me.

It sent me burrowing into his chest, holding on for dear life as I came forever, the pleasure tearing at me, lifting me up. Sam thrust into me while I soaked him, hands on my ass, pulling me onto him hard while he joined me underwater. His lips gasped my name into my neck, tickling and spreading gooseflesh over my body.

We both stopped moving slowly, not all at once. Sweat slicked the skin of my chest and between my knees and my thighs. Every time Sam leaned up to kiss me, perspiration from his upper lip slid onto mine—it tasted like salt and sex and Sam, and didn’t gross me out a single bit.

I eased off of him a while later, both of us groaning with the loss of weight and heat, then settled on the blankets at his side. Curled into him, reveling in the heat created by our bodies while the breeze cooled my back, nothing had ever felt this perfect.

“That was pretty incredible,” Sam mused some time later, twisting his head to kiss my temple. “I mean, I suspected. But. Yeah.”

The pause he left was for me to reassure him that it had been good for me, but even though I knew that, it took me a few moments to find the words. To dig up the honesty, to allow my tongue to let it go. “I mean, I had two orgasms in, like, ten minutes. Incredible is a good word.”

“Watching you come is quite the turn-on, you know.”

I got up the nerve to make eye contact. “Oh?”

“Jesus, yes. I mean, I feel pretty powerful, mentally. And it also feels amazing when I’m inside you and it happens. Like . . . yeah.” Sam looked away, an awkward smile on his face.

“Are you blushing?”

“No.” He looked back at me, all of the mirth gone from his eyes. “Maybe. You make me feel like I’m back in high school, desperate to make my girl feel good again. I want you to feel good.”

“I feel fantastic. But don’t you always want the girls you’re with to feel good?”

“Sure.” His hand trailed lazily up and down my arm. “And, I mean, obviously they do. But usually I care more because of my own ego than really wanting to make them feel good.”

“Mmm.” My eyelids felt heavy. My whole body felt heavy, as though my blood had turned to lead.

“Are you falling asleep on me? Isn’t that the guy’s job?”