The Science of Second Chances (5 page)

“Dr. Dobler, are you asking me to seduce you?” He grimaced at the stupid joke as her eyes shuttered again. “No, I’m sorry. Please, come back.”

Her brows puckered. “Back?”

“Up. Please. I want to hold you. I’ve wanted it so long. I never do things like this. I’m stupid at it.”

He suddenly noticed where they were. He was asking a woman, this woman, to come up to his hotel room for a quickie?
Who am I? What have I become?

The words tumbled out of him before she could open her mouth. “Not a quickie. Nothing like that. Just, close. Closer. Than here.”

Samantha blinked slowly. She seemed to be holding her breath, and let it out slowly.

“There’s nothing I would like more.”

****

For Sam, holding hands in the elevator felt
really high school, in the most wonderful way. On the way down the hall to Matt’s room, he paused at three doors, listening and then knocking. All was A-OK, the kids assured him, none of them opening the doors. He waggled his eyebrows at Sam, which almost set her off in giggles right there in the hotel’s hallway.

Once inside the room, with its white walls and uncontroversial art, the giggles spurted out.
Matt laughed along. “How old are we, again? I blame these kids.” But his laugh was confident, not the chuckle-laugh of a self-conscious teenager.

And his body was definitely a man’s. He turned to hook the door chain, and she molded herself to his back. He was different, wider and stronger. She was different, curvier and softer.
They still fit, bodies remembering, beautiful. She breathed in his scent, warm cotton, summer, Matt.

“Still with the Old Spice?”

“Gets results.” He rested his forehead on the door as her hands slipped around to palm his flat belly. He pushed his butt back into her own softer belly, and groaned.

“Sam. I missed you. So much.”

She rested her cheek on his shoulder blade. Hugging him tight, she smiled to herself.
So good
. “Ditto.”

He turned, loosening her grip, until his back was against the door. Her hands rested on his hips. He rested his on hers. “Can we do this? Do you want to?”

“Yes to the second. I’m not sure to the first.” Her attempt at a smile made him chuckle that new deep man-chuckle, yet another sound of his she could fall in love with. He lifted a hand and pushed the short strands of her hair back.

“I love your little elf-ears. Why hide them?” He traced the line of her jaw. She leaned into the touch, soaking up the sensation. Why wasn’t it like this with other men? Matt hadn’t even reached first base and she was wet.

He gripped her chin and pulled her gently toward him. She let him lead, leaning into his chest, hands on his strong shoulders, and their lips touched.

The connection shocked, burned. His lips were full, like she remembered, firm, like she remembered. Rich in promise, like she remembered. Only this time, that promise would be fulfilled.

A shadow of shame flitted under her closed eyelids.
This is bad. We’re not married. There’s no future in it.

Who
says? Who cares?

He flicked her upper lip with his tongue, and she opened to him gratefully, glad to banish thought behind the tidal wave of sensation. Her hands slipped behind his neck. He wasn’t going anywhere this time.

Eventually, they came up for air. He smiled down at her, his eyes as glossy as hers surely were. “You do know what happens next? And you agree?”

“With all my heart.”

He undid the belt of her wrap dress, and it slid to her sides. She had only a simple bra and panties underneath.

“Beautiful. If this is what DC summers do to women’s fashions, I approve.” He pulled her hips to him, the rest of her following willingly. She ground her hips into his, and he groaned.

She made short work of the buttons of his shirt, and took care of the buttons on his jeans for good measure. She reached for his shoulders, so strong, and pushed the shirt down. “You work out.”

“
Carting obese dementia patients from wheelchair to training table will do that to you. You’re pretty cut, yourself.” He matched her moves on her own shoulders, and her dress slipped to the floor. “What’s your excuse?”

“Just swimming at the Y. Dull stuff.”

“Nothing about you is dull.” He propped up a knee, bracing his foot on the door, and lifted her onto it, as if she were a cowgirl. Mouth taking hers again, she felt him dispose of her bra in a flash.

Her skin
stung with sensation; everywhere cried for his touch. She thrust her breasts up, not even ashamed, just wanting. He reached under one, cradling it, flicking the bud with his thumb.
Too much. Not enough
. She bucked on his leg. She could feel the muscles in his face twitch up into a smile even as they kissed.

The room grew warmer and warmer. Sam’s sense of time started to waver. Had they been here a minute, an hour, a day? She never wanted to stop.

But he groaned and pushed her down and away. Before she could miss him, he scooped up her knees, tipping her shoulders into his other arm, and carried her from the entry and into the room. He put a knee, and then Sam, on the closest king-sized bed. She pulled him down over her to rest beside her.

Sam kissed one corner of his too-wide, too-beautiful mouth, and then the other. “I have no STDs; I check every year and I’ve had no new partner – no partner, really – since the last test. We don’t need condoms.” She loved his blush, rising from cheekbones up, and then down, down past a scattering of chest hair and on down.

“Of course we do.”

“Are you clean?”

“Clean? You mean, oh, yes, but still.”

She shook her head. “I had a hysterectomy. Fibroids. So, see, it all turned out for the best.” The stab of sorrow surprised her.
Over such ancient history
.

“No,” he whispered. “Never say that. You
’re more than enough. You are everything.” He kissed her again, soaking up her welling sorrow and replacing it with a delicious heat. Where had he acquired that power?

His head moved down to lavish attention on her breast, and she arched in pleasure. The fingers of one hand slipped down to circle her belly button. The other hand slid up, thumb stroking her jaw, and then her lower lip.

The moment she took his thumb into her mouth, he flicked his other wrist and those fingers dove under her bikini briefs. He lifted his head. “So soft. So tasty.” He went for the other breast as a finger slipped down to cup her mound, tap into her core.

He drew the now-wet finger back up, circling
the edges just as it had her belly button. She gave his thumb a little nip, and his fingers did the same to her. She bucked, tipping his head off her breast. “Still the squirmer.”

“Still Mr. Exposition,” she
breathed.

“Watch that mouth,” he said, taking her tongue’s attention away with his own. His hand, now free, slipped under her, tilting her hips harder into the very busy hand at her front.

She gasped into his mouth, and suddenly remembered she had hands, too. They seemed to be attached to the loops on his waistband. She let go and reached for the front, pushing at his clothes, pulling. He kicked off his shoes without breaking their kiss, but the jeans were tougher. He had to lift his head up, and take his hands away, and roll all the way away from her to shimmy the jeans off. She missed him already. She couldn’t help her groan of frustration.

At the sound, he paused, jeans at his knees, his dick plump and red and just within her grasp. She reached out, just a little circle stroke, and his head fell back to the pillow
, seeming to forget about his jeans, there at his ankles. She felt the blood rush in, under her palm, swelling and stretching and hardening and delicious. She had to taste it. She’d dreamed of this.
So many times
.

But before she could lift her own head from her pillow, he had his clothes off and had hurtled himself onto his hands and knees above her, surrounding her.

“How ready are you?” His voice raspy as a rusty saw, she barely understood the words, but she could read the promise, the need, in his gaze.

“Ready.” She reached for him again, gently. With her fingers, she spread her lips for him. With a shimmy, she settled him right.

“Wait.” He bent his head toward her. “Let me just feel you like this for a minute.” But she was impatient. She’d been waiting years.
Decades
. She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled his mouth to hers, diving her tongue deep. He matched her frenetic moves, and his hips relaxed, pushing into her deeper and deeper.
Yes
.

He fit her as perfectly inside as outside. She knew she was right, all those years ago. Confirmation was as sweet as
success.

This time it was his turn to groan, and hers to turn up the corners of her mouth. She loved this. She pushed a fisted hand under her spine to tilt her hips so he could slide even deeper. He passed the spot, that spot, and her eyes rolled, lids closing.
Yes
.

The move seemed to light a fire under him, too. His pulling and thrusting, careful and slow at first, were building and building, reaching the frenzied tempo of their tongues. He was pushing, she was squeezing, they were huffing and puffing and closer and closer.

With a cry that came out as a sob, he came, not a rolling, more an explosion.

Sam grinned, giddy with power. She’d done this. They were together, at last. If it never happened again it had happened this once
.
And – wow
.

He groaned and rolled off her, but left his hands on her midriff. She rolled so they faced each other. His eyes were closed. She matched the slowdown of his breathing, and the easing of his heartbeat under her hand.

He opened his eyes. Why did he look so sad? “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

“For that. Wham, bam, squish, and out. Not much of a gentleman.” His face looked so young, so vulnerable, so disgusted with himself.

She could kiss him, the idiot. “Wait just a minute. You found me so attractive you couldn’t hold yourself back? You were so delighted with me you couldn’t stop yourself from coming? Talk about compliments.”

The tension at the corners of his eyes eased. “Generous way to look at it.”

“Besides,” she said, flicking his nipple and making him shudder. “Who says the night is over? Seems to me you’ve got two perfectly good hands.”

He slid them up, past her still-hungry breasts, to the sides of her face. “So I do.” He pulled her face to him and kissed her on the nose. “So, Dr. Dobler, top or bottom?”

“Since you asked, Dr. Greenleaf, side.” She flipped to her other side and slid backwards into him. He reached around and palmed her core, pushing her deeper into him.

This time, there was no rushing, no crazy-tongue, just stroking and circling and keeping on and building up.
And
oh my god so good
. She felt a little nip on her neck, just under her ear, and it was too much. She was bucking, laughing, her orgasm a whole tide’s worth of waves.

After a while, she came back to earth. Lids heavy, she tried to open them wide but got only half-way.

“How was that?” He didn’t sound too worried.

“Brilliant. Told you so.”

He kissed her temple, and then rolled on his back, drawing her to her back too. “My arm’s asleep,” he said, pulling it out from under her.

“My whole middle is asleep, I think,” she said. She reached out for his chest, but her arm flopped out, the back of her hand landing on his belly.

“Ooof!” he bent at the middle and then sat all the way up. “That must be my signal to hit the head.”

As he walked toward the bathroom, she remembered her dress on the floor. “Would you get my dress?”

He stopped. “You’re not going? Stay. Sleep with me. That’s what we were supposed to do, anyway.”

She hadn’t intended to go, but seeing the worry in his brow warmed her even more. “I’ll stay. But hang up the dress. I’ll need it nice tomorrow.”

He scooped it up, and his shirt, and hung them both up. “It’s too sexy for work.”

She kind of liked the possessive tone of that.

He was back in a flash, warm and hard and soft and loving, and really sleepy. It wasn’t eleven yet and they were both nearly asleep, her head on his chest, his arm wrapped around her.

“Your arm will be pins and needles.”

“It’s worth it.”

****

Matt lurched awake. Four a.m.
What the hell?
The fog cleared, and he recognized the blasted burble of his phone: text message.

Sam
had rolled away, onto her belly, but her hand still gripped his hip and her foot pushed into his shin. His mind flashed up an image of Samantha’s face as he slid into her. Glowing and giddy and then her eyes opening, filling him with her joy.