Page 16

~ SAM ~

The weeks following our honeymoon were a roller coaster on too many levels.

Bridget’s mood was as changeable as the weather.

The legal shit was always feast or famine. They’d leave me sitting in my house, rotting, for days or even weeks with nothing—then suddenly, there wasn’t enough time to do everything that was needed. Until there was another lull.

My work was patchy too. Some of the guys in the prison still wanted to see me and talk to me. Some of the members of the church still trusted me. Others didn’t. And it was impossible to pick which side of the debate any individual would take.

By the time Thanksgiving drew close, I was emotionally exhausted, horny as fuck, and more worried about Bridget than anything else.

We’d been physically apart for weeks, and even though she seemed to settle down once the depositions were done, she was still on edge.

Then again, so was I.

The whole situation was just a clusterfuck.

Still, we kept in almost hourly contact through the burner phones, and video-called most nights .

Which was why, as the holidays grew closer, I noticed her changing.

She’d looked haunted since the depositions. But by the middle of November, she was hollow.

The Thursday a week before Thanksgiving, she was late for our call, which made me nervous.

When I answered the call, she was at her desk, which seemed weird. Usually at night she was in bed, or on the couch.

“What are you doing, babe?” My blood ran cold as the possibilities started running through my head.

On the dark web.

Putting herself out there as bait again.

Planning to meet other guys who wouldn’t give two shits about her.

Drinking?

“Nothing.” She shook her head and picked up something from the side of her desk that I couldn’t see on the phone and popped it in her mouth, crunching it before she answered.

My guts twisted tighter. “Bridge, babe. What’s wrong?”

She grimaced and swallowed. “Gerald was being pushy again this afternoon, and I can’t shake it.”

I frowned. “Pushy how?”

“Wants me to talk to my dad. He won’t fucking let it go.”

“Talk to him about what?”

“Just talk to him. He says I’ve built my father into this… this entity. He thinks I need to see that he’s human.”

I blew out a breath. “Do you think it’s possible—”

“Sam, if you say one more word I’m hanging up.” I’d never seen her eyes go cold like that before. Shuttered as surely as if she’d swung a door closed on me. Even though she stared right at me, she’d never felt further away.

I lifted my hands so she’d see I was backing off. “Babe, it’s okay. I’m not going to push. I’m just worried about you. I hate this—hate not being there. And… you’re scaring me a little.”

“Scaring you how, exactly?” she snapped. “By going to bed at ten thirty like a child? Or is it the wearing of yoga pants that has you worried for my eternal soul?”

I didn’t react, just held her gaze so she’d see me loving her. When she dropped her chin and looked away, her shoulders slumping, I knew she knew I wasn’t going to fight .

“Bridge, I’m scared of what you might do without me there. I’m hating being apart from you while you’re feeling this way.”

“I hate that too,” she mumbled, but still didn’t look up at the phone. And she didn’t say anything else.

Fear curled in my veins like my blood turned to ice. “Bridge—”

“I’m tired, Sam. I’m just so fucking tired.”

“I know. Me too.”

“I need you,” she whispered, and finally lifted her eyes. “I need to see you and remember you’re real. It doesn’t feel real anymore, Sam.”

“Babe,” I got firm with her because I knew she wouldn’t listen to anything else. “Don’t do anything stupid. It’s not worth it.”

She huffed and turned away, her jaw flexing.

It was instinct. Pure instinct. I didn’t even think.

“Don’t fucking look away from me,” I growled.

Her head jerked as she snapped back to me on the screen.

I leaned over my phone and spoke through my teeth. “This is real. I love you. And we’re going to get through this—but you do not fucking defy me, Bridget. You do not get reckless now. You keep your ass in that house, and you think of me when you touch yourself—you call me whenever you need to, even if it’s in the middle of the night. But you do not get stupid.”

Her eyes flashed. She loved it when I got pushy.

But then she tipped her head and her lips pressed tight. “What are you going to do about it if I do?”

I had a choice to make.

Was this a moment to force her to see reality and remind her of the price we were already paying for her recklessness? Or…

“You want to know what I’ll do to you, Bridget?” I purred.

Her lips twitched toward a smile. “I don’t know… do I?”

I let a growl rumble in my chest and her lower jaw went slack.

“If my wife’s so tired, it must be time to go to bed, hmmm?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t like going to bed alone.”

I smirked. “You aren’t. But I want you out of that fucking chair and somewhere I can see you. ”

Her breath rate was picking up. She licked her lips, but there was a war going on in her beautiful eyes—a question she couldn’t shake. I needed to break through.

“Now, Bridget,” I snarled.

I smiled when she moved so fast she almost tripped on her chair.

SOUNDTRACK: When You Say My Name by Chandler Leighton

~ brIDGET ~

Some time later, naked on my bed, my heart pumped so hard I felt it in my skin. I was beginning to sweat.

At Sam’s instruction, I’d set my burner phone up on my tripod on the floor at the end of the bed. I’d never been a huge fan of phone sex—not nearly enough external stimulus for distraction. But every time I started thinking, I’d just lift my head and see Sam staring at me, his face filling the screen on the phone, his eyes so dark I wondered if the lighting was down on my phone.

I couldn’t see his hot body, which sucked. But those eyes…

I groaned and let myself slump back on the pillow, closing my eyes and letting his dark, gravelly Cain voice wash over me.

“Put your hand on your stomach,” he rasped. His breath was getting heavier with every word. “Drag it up—that’s me touching you, beautiful. Fingertips just barely touching your skin so you goosebump and tingle, all the way up… that’s right. Thumb on your nipple, just flicking it side to side until it’s all the way hard… yesssssss…”

Even though my own touch wasn’t nearly as hot as his, having his voice fill the room, instructing me… I shuddered and he groaned.

“Put two fingers inside—and spread your legs wider, I want to see every fucking inch of you, babe. ”

I was panting as I did what he asked, my body thrilling in waves. When I drew my fingers back out they were slick.

Sam cursed. “You feel me, Bridge?” he said hoarsely, panting. “Feel me touching inside you first, curling, then pulling out slowly and sliding up—press as hard as you can stand it, babe, I want your body twitching when you reach—oh, fuck yes. Keep going.”

My body jolted, threatening to break. We’d been here for long minutes already, but every few seconds it would hit me that I was here alone and even though Sam was watching, he couldn’t do a fucking thing. Then I’d have to focus again.

Then I’d get close and Sam would growl at me to back off. And even though it was frustrating, I couldn’t resist following him, trying to fool my body into believing it was his touch, his tongue, his warmth on my skin.

“Do it again—harder, Bridget. I’m not being gentle tonight. I need you. It’s been too long.”

I filled myself and ground the heel of my hand against my clitoris at the same time—a different sensation that tightened me deep inside, but bordered on pain.

“Pull out, I need to see you, Bridget. Show me the touch you like—keep your fingers wet.”

A little sound broke in my throat and I pulled my fingers back out and up again, rubbing and flicking until I was shaking with need.

Sam’s deep, ragged voice was an endless refrain of growls, curses, and instructions that I barely heard anymore. My back was beginning to bow and my heels pressing harder into the bed.

“Sam… Sam…”

“I’m here, beautiful,” he groaned. “I’m fucking right there, right with you. Don’t stop. Tell me what you need, but don’t stop.”

I wanted to keen, wanted to let go, but I was alone.

“I need to hear you,” I whispered, uncertain if he’d even hear me.

“You got me, right here—God, I wish you could see this, Bridge. You’re so pink—and getting redder. Everything’s swollen and your fingers are shining. God, I want to smell you— ”

My breath caught and my body jerked, the promise of an orgasm pulsing through me.

“Sam—”

“I’m picking up the pace, babe—harder. Faster.” His voice was tense, breathless because he was touching himself too. “We’re going to do this together,” he growled. “You with me, Beautiful?”

“I… yes.” I fisted the quilt with my free hand. My body trembled, my heels slipping on the quilt. I was so close. But could I get there? I’d been feeling so dead inside. And even though this was hot as fuck, I missed him. Missed feeling his weight on me, and his hand in my hair and—

“I need to see you,” Sam ground out. “Now.”

“I’m right here—”

“Look at me, Bridget. Fucking look at me.”

I bit my lip and lifted my head. Sam, mouth open and jaw rolling, filled the phone screen. His eyes were hooded, but black with need. And the moment our gazes locked, he looked inside me. His eyes. His hands. His touch.

A groan shuddered out of me. Electric thrill crackled from that point of connection, through my core, to where I touched myself, and my body kicked.

I cried his name as the orgasm hit me like a truck, washing through my bloodstream, out to my limbs until I was arched back on the bed and barely able to see him. But still our eyes held and the joy and love and pleasure pulsed through me.

Sam bellowed my name and his head sank back, but he stayed locked in, eyes hooded and dark as his body quaked. He never let me go, never looked away, and I couldn’t either.

A few seconds later I slumped.

First, I felt relieved. But then Sam blinked and looked down, leaning half out of the frame, probably to clean himself up. Yet, the moment I lost that connection something inside me went hollow. I wanted to cry.

Quickly closing my legs, I curled up on my side and shoved one hand under the pillow, gripping it tightly to ground myself.

“So fucking beautiful, Bridget,” Sam panted, but his eyes weren’t on me, and the thrill of my climax had only left me shaky and scared. “I can’t wait until I can touch you again—” He cut off. I didn’t know why because I’d buried my face in the pillow because I was going to fucking cry and it was so dumb. He loved me. I knew he did. And he hated being apart as much as I did. But I felt like a balloon on a string, just barely tied down. One wrong tug and I’d be drifting—

“—Bridget, look at me.”

My eyes flew open instinctively, but I didn’t want to move. I was peering past my own shoulder to look down the bed and see the phone.

“Babe… are you hurting? What happened?”

I shook my head. “I just… I miss you, Sam,” I said, then cursed myself because my vision blurred. “God, this sucks!”

“I know. I know, but—”

“Stop trying to talk me into being happy. I’m not happy, Sam! We have to spend all the time apart. What if they take you away and it’s my fault? I’ve fucked everything up and—”

“Stop. Stop it. Right now,” he snapped.

I blinked and sucked in a breath, staring at him on the screen, at first convinced he was angry with me. But when our eyes locked again, he was shaking his head.

“Stop torturing yourself,” he said, his voice low and ragged, but no fire in it. Just pure, flat discipline. “We can’t change where we are now. Thinking about the what-ifs, or maybes is only going to tear us apart. Come here.”

My eyes widened. “To your house?”

He sighed, shaking his head. “No, I meant, get close to the phone. I need you to see my eyes.”

Disappointment made my stomach plummet, but he’d succeeding in breaking me out of my tears. Almost. I swallowed the lump in my throat as I crawled to the end of the bed and took the phone off the tripod with shaking hands.

Then I was laying on my stomach, propped up on my elbows, staring at his gorgeous face, and he was staring back at me, worry creasing his brow.

“I love you, Bridget.”

I sucked in a deep breath. “I love you, too.”

“This does suck, but we aren’t giving in to that. We’ve got a goal, right? My guys are saying we’ll be in Court in the new year. And we’ll have pre-trial before then. Maybe things will slacken off over the holidays and we can find a way to meet up. But you let me handle that because we aren’t fucking this up. Do you hear me?”

I nodded, but the knot of hope and mischief in my chest unraveled as all those little thoughts—those niggling little maybe-just-this-once ideas that crept up on me with increasing frequency—were killed dead.

“Bridget?” Sam said.

I sighed. “I know.”

“Babe, we can’t risk it.”

“I know.”

He paused. I was looking down but I could feel his eyes on me, even through the phone.

“Bridge, your lips say I know, but—”

“Sam… I know.” I made myself look up, meet his gaze, and admit it to myself as well as him. “We can’t risk it. I won’t risk it. I just… I just wish it could be different.”

He clawed a hand through his hair and nodded. “I know. Me too.”

But that was why it all sucked. Because we both knew neither of us could do a fucking thing about it.