Page 18

~ SAM ~

I woke up with a start, my adrenaline pumping, alarm shrieking in my head because I hadn’t wanted to sleep. But when I opened my eyes, Bridget was only inches from me, staring into my soul.

My breath rushed out of me in relief. I reached for her, pushing her hair back, then cupping her cheek. She sighed softly, her eyes closing as she lifted her hand to cover mine, sliding her fingers between mine and holding me there.

“You shouldn’t have let me sleep. I didn’t want to lose time,” I said gruffly.

“It was only a few minutes.”

When she didn’t say more, I frowned. “Bridget?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me what’s going on?”

Her fingers tightened in mine. “You already know what’s going on.” Her tone was sad, rather than angry, but she pulled my hand off her face and rolled away from me, pushing back the blankets and getting up.

I sat up quickly. “Where are you going?”

“To the bathroom?” she snorted. “I’ll be right back.”

I laid back down, but watched the door until she came back, relieved when she slid right back into bed. I was laying on my back and opened an arm, pulling her against my side, running fingers through her hair where she rested on my shoulder. Yet, I could feel the tension in her. She’d been so liquid in my arms before, so needy. But whatever had been bothering her, that had spurred me to get over here because I was afraid she would get herself in trouble, it was descending on her again.

“Talk to me,” I murmured.

“About what?”

“You tell me.”

“Don’t start pastoring me, Sam. Please.”

I turned my head, frowning. She looked up at me and didn’t avoid my eyes, but she wasn’t smiling.

“Bridget, caring about what’s bothering you isn’t pastoring. It’s… loving.”

“Then just love me. I’m assuming we don’t have a lot of time. I don’t want to spend it talking about negative stuff.”

“Except I think we need to,” I said quietly, rolling to face her again. She sighed like she was frustrated, but she didn’t turn away. “The reason I came was because you were so obviously upset. And you weren’t talking.”

“Maybe that’s because I don’t want to talk about it?”

“But—”

“There’s no point. Nothing is going to change.”

My chest tightened. “What are you hiding? Has Jeremy been—”

“This has nothing to do with Jeremy.”

“Then what? Something’s eating at you, and it’s scary being on the other side of the city and the other side of the screen and watching you shrink.”

She huffed. “I’m not shrinking.”

“Bridget…”

She rolled her eyes and rolled away from me. I was about to grab her back, but she didn’t keep moving, just rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling. “How about we make a deal?”

“That depends, but… Sure?”

She snorted. “How about I give you something to read when you’re home that will make it all clear. And you stop asking me now. And we don’t think about anything except each other and how hot you are, and how hungry I am.”

“Hungry?” I grinned. “For— ”

“For food, right now,” she said, but she was starting to smile. Then she turned her head to catch my eyes and my heart expanded. “Then for more of you.”

“I think I could get on board with that,” I said, unable to resist rolling onto my elbow and reaching for her breast, holding the weight of it and teasing her nipple with my thumb—rumbling my approval when it hardened under my touch immediately.

Bridget bit her lip and the gleam in her eyes told me she was going to be beautiful, magical trouble when we came back to bed. But I wasn’t going to let her distract me.

“Where’s this thing you want me to read?” I asked quietly, then leaned down and sucked her nipple into my mouth, laving it with my tongue. “I don’t want to forget… in case we get distracted,” I said, letting my lips play over that sweet peak.

Bridget’s fingers were already in my hair, already holding me against her, but when I raised my eyes, she went still. Then groaned in frustration, before rolling away and getting out of bed.

To my surprise, she knelt next to the bedside table and dug through a drawer there, cursing at one point. But then she was standing next to the bed with an envelope in her hand.

“Did you bring a bag, or should I put this in your jeans?”

“Just put it in my jeans. I’ll take good care of it, I promise.”

She huffed again. “You can burn it for all I care,” she muttered and that tension was back in her shoulders as she picked up my jeans from the floor where I’d let them drop, folded the envelope, and slid it into the back pocket.

Then she looked up and our eyes locked.

I smiled and so did she.

“Food, or…?” I asked her quietly.

Her smile broadened. “I think you need to keep up your strength,” she whispered. “I don’t plan on much sleeping tonight.”

Then she casually straightened and walked out of the room, still naked, with me scrambling to get out of bed and follow her.

We didn’t even sit down, just stood—still naked—in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, eating our sandwiches off the cutting board.

I couldn’t stop watching the way her breast plumped when she moved her arm to get the salt. Or whatever.

I was struggling to focus, but we only had a few hours. I needed to get home while it was still dark and neighbors were unlikely to see.

Somehow she’d started muttering about Gerald. I made myself tune in.

“…I know he means well, but he’s so fucking pushy,” she muttered around a mouthful of roast beef sandwich.

“This is about your dad?” I asked carefully, because she’d been so touchy about it when we were on the phone.

Her face went dark, but she just shrugged and nodded.

“You told me he’s the only psychologist you’ve had that you like,” I said carefully.

She shrugged again. “I mean, he’s still annoying as fuck.”

I snorted and she sort-of smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“So… do you think he’s getting pressure from Jeremy? Is that why he’s pushing?”

She shook her head. “No, this is classic G. He’s like a dog with a bone. He was riding my ass about it a year ago—after the knife guy,” she said, her upper lip peeling back from her teeth. “But he accepted that I was just too… raw after that. Now it’s coming back up.”

“Why now? Because of me?”

“Sort of. It’s more… because he knows I was spiraling when I found you. And now… now it’s almost Christmas, and he knows that triggers me.”

Of course.

A part of my tension eased as I was reminded of the puzzle of Bridget’s heart. But then, there were no real answers, either. She hated Christmas because it had been December when her father murdered her mother and took the seven year old Bridget on a crime spree—including threatening her life, as well as murdering others in front of her.

Core memories, indeed.

But then Bridget swallowed her bite and put her hand up. “Nevermind, forget I said it. I don’t want to think about stuff like that while you’re here.”

She put her sandwich down on the board and slid her arms around my waist, hugging me, craning her head back to keep eye contact. Though I was struggling. Her breasts plumped against my chest like that was hot as fuck.

I traced a fingertip along her collarbone and chewed as fast as I could.

“How did you get here?” she asked, her voice a little bit small. “Are you sure no one clocked you?”

“I’m sure. It’s not a risk I’d take a lot. But don’t worry. Unless they’re surveilling the back of your house, they don’t know I’m here. I didn’t use the street to get here.”

She relaxed a hair. “And… when do you have to leave?”

“While it’s still dark. I need to get home before my neighbors will be up to notice me getting back.”

She sighed and nodded, then leaned her head against my chest. I wrapped an arm around her naked back. We both just stood there, holding on.

“I’m glad you came, Sam.”

“Me too.”

Then a little shiver ran down her spine.

“Bridge, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. This is the opposite of wrong. Having you here… it just makes me so damn happy.”

I looked down at her, eyes tightly closed, her temple pressed against my heart, hugging my waist. “You don’t look happy, Bridge.”

“You make me happy, Sam.”

Which wasn’t the same thing. But she didn’t want to talk. And I didn’t want to push her. So I held her while I finished my sandwich, then tipped up her chin and kissed her.

I’d only meant to distract her, get her mind on me instead of whatever was haunting her, but the moment I kissed her, she came alive—raking hands into my hair, probing my mouth with her tongue. And my fire for her burned so hot, it blinded me .

I lifted her up and plonked her ass on the kitchen island, pressing in to stand between her knees as she kissed me like we were about to be torn apart. Then I touched her and she was wet. And that got me frantic.

Soon I was holding her ribs and urging her to arch back so her breasts were served to me like a feast. And I discovered how hungry I was.

Rubbing myself against her, nipping, teasing, sucking at her breasts, she was a feast to my senses and I couldn’t get enough.

Bridget kept making hot little sounds—whimpers, gasps. Leaning backwards, her spine in a stunning curve, she held onto my hair, my shoulders, my arms. She trembled when I slid against her clit, and stopped breathing when I bit down on her nipple.

When I entered her, she gasped like it was a shock, but her eyes were open and her lips tipped up in a smile. Her nails scraped on my scalp sending delicious prickles of pleasure down my spine. I straightened a little to move with her, and she let her head fall back, and I was undone.

The sight of her arched back, eyes closed, abandoned, her arms slack and her body mine to do with as I pleased… God, I almost came.

Then a rush of images in my mind—her being taken away from me that night in the clearing by fucking Jeremy. Her empty seat in that conference room. Her eyes averting from the phone and her mind wandering away from me…

Gritting my teeth, I shook off the dark thoughts and made myself focus on her here and now.

Her skin—too pale because she didn’t get enough sun—her midnight black hair gleaming in the kitchen light. The pink places on her skin where I’d grabbed, and sucked, and grazed my teeth.

My beckoning orgasm surged, and I cursed, forcing my body under control. It was so fucking hard when she was so fucking hot and—

Then she pulsed, and it was a race to keep myself in check until she came with me.

“Sam… don’t stop,” she pleaded, her hands lifting to my arms, clawing into my biceps to ground her as she sought traction to meet me, thrust for thrust .

“I’ll never stop,” I growled, taking a firmer grip on her ribs, pulling her onto me, my body shuddering, jerking with need.

I was close. Too close.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

“Come for me, babe,” I croaked. Then reached up with one, desperate hand to fist in her hair at the nape of her neck. “Come for me.”

There was nothing more fucking satisfying than feeling her tighten around me at the sound of my voice. I growled with delight, and she did it again, her neck beginning to loll over my fist, her eyes rolling back.

That’s it, beautiful… that’s it…

She was keening now, those high, small cries that called to me as the rest of her body loosened and poured her towards the end.

But her grip tightened, the sear of her nails biting into my skin helped me take a step back from that impending crash.

She stopped breathing, and time slowed.

There was no more beautiful sight in this world than my wife arched over my hands, trembling as she climaxed.

The smooth creaminess of her skin turning pink and flushed. Her lashes fluttering. The sounds that broke from her—then no sound at all when she was slammed into bliss. Her body bowed and taut, except her breasts, bouncing with my increasingly frantic thrusts. Her fingers clawed into my arms, until she sucked at the air and her eyes flew open as her voice echoed around the hollow kitchen crying my name.

She twitched and jerked, but didn’t pull away, her body spasming in my grip as she clenched around me like she’d take all of me into her if she could.

And that was the last straw.

Roaring her name, I grabbed her with both hands at her ribs, pounding into her so hard I half-lifted her off the cool granite and our flesh slapped.

Again. Again. Again.

Then, smiling, she lifted her head and her glazed eyes locked on mine and I felt that look inside me.

“Bridget—! ”

I yanked her almost upright, so we were nose to nose. Guttural need torn from my throat in animalistic sounds that should have frightened her, but made her smile.

She lifted both hands to my hair, gripping it as tightly as I gripped hers, her eyes shining as she held me, grounded me, while I plummeted off that cliff.

I gasped and grunted, body jerking, my thrusts becoming erratic as I lost all control—but the only thing I could see was her. And a new montage of memories played in my mind.

Bridget running from me, but looking back over her shoulder, laughing.

Bridget trailing fingers down my chest and telling me how hot I am.

Bridget riding me like a horse.

Bridget curled against me in sleep, a tiny smile on her beautiful face…

I groaned and slumped, still holding her, blinking rapidly as reality returned. I was breathing hard and had to swallow. Bridget, her cheeks pink and eyes shining, kept combing my hair back from my face, eyes locked on me as we both came back down to earth.

I scanned down her beautiful body to where we joined, still awe-struck by how shameless she was with me…

Which was when I discovered I was gripping her so tightly, my fingers left deep divots in her skin.

“Shit, Bridget—you should have said something!” I gasped, letting her go, cursing when I saw the red half-moon marks of my nails on her ribs. I tried rubbing her sides, urging the skin to return to its smooth, pale cream. But that only made her skin flush more, blotching around the indentations.

I’d left marks.

“Shit.”

“What are you freaking out about?” she said with a quiet laugh. “I love it when you’re aggressive.”

I looked back up to meet her eyes, a part of me thrilled, but the rest coated in unease.

Her smile faded. “Don’t do it, Sam.”

“What?” I bit the word.

“Don’t decide that I’m weak now, just because we’re in love. ”

I snorted. “No worries about that.”

She tipped her head and gave me a warning look. “I’m serious. You wouldn’t have thought twice about leaving bruises when you were hunting me.”

“This wasn’t a hunt,” I growled. “I’m desperate for you. I can’t get enough, Bridget—I want to eat you.”

She arched one brow and grinned, hooking her arms around my neck. “I wouldn’t protest.”

I gave her the wicked smile I knew she loved and ran my fingers through her hair. We were still almost nose-to-nose. I didn’t want to go anywhere. But I could feel the clock, hanging over my head, ticking.

We both stared for some time, then Bridget put her hand to my cheek, letting her nails scrape on my stubble. “I love you, Sam. No matter what else… I love you.”

A cold thread of fear twisted up my spine. “What else is there, Bridge?”

She rolled her eyes. “I was being romantic.”

“I know. And I love you too… but still. You’re scaring me a bit, babe. I’m worried something’s taking you away and I won’t know until it’s too late.”

She dropped her chin and sighed, but she was shaking her head. I splayed a hand at her back, keeping her close, just in case. When she met my eyes again, there was a warning.

“I just want to be here with you and enjoy you,” she said finally.

“I want that too.”

“But?”

“But I need you to promise me that if you get… itchy, you’ll tell me so I can visit again. Or help. Whatever. Just… don’t shut me out.”

“I won’t.”

I tipped my head, let her see my skepticism.

Her jaw tightened. “I said I won’t.”

I didn’t want to argue, and I didn’t want to make her tense, so I reached up to cup her face and kissed her. And I didn’t mention it again for as long as I was there. I just wallowed in her, and held her, and enjoyed her—and enjoyed watching her enjoy me .

When she eventually drift back towards sleep, I decided it was better that way. Let her relax now we’d blown off some steam. Let her sleep so she wasn’t as tired in the morning.

I slipped out of bed, gathered my clothes—including that envelope—and snuck out of the house the same way I’d snuck in.

The whole drive home I replayed all those moments of her abandon and submission. All those joyous cries, and all the ways her body responded to me.

I loved seeing her like that.

But in the back of my mind, right next to that ticking clock, was the constant reminder that something was off.

If it wasn’t a question about me, if she wasn’t doubting us, then what was it?

And how the hell was I going to help her break through when I couldn’t even be there?

That envelope burned a hole in my pocket.

An hour later, after parking my clean car and hiding it again, I sat down at my breakfast table and whipped it out.

And the moment I started reading, it all got a lot clearer.

And a lot more scary.

When I was done, it was a good thing she wasn’t there. I might have murdered her myself. I couldn’t believe she hadn’t fucking told me sooner.