Page 74 of Diving In
He shoots me a wry look, and I giggle as he pulls me up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Damn his Olympic fitness, I should have asked for a piggyback. We could have gotten to our room faster.
He fumbles with our keycard when we make it to the door, cursing as the light keeps flashing red. When we get into the room, he pushes me against the wall, and I stand on tiptoes to kiss him.
It’s like no time has passed since we last did this. My body remembers his so well, moulding itself to his front.
But there are subtle changes. His chest is broader, his pecs more defined, and his hair is shorter than it was before, courtesy of his pre-Olympic haircut. I’m distracted from cataloguing the differences as his mouth slants across mine again, and his hand tilts my jaw. I moan into him, taking a shuddering breath as his lips skate away from my mouth and down my neck. He nips one place, and then presses an open-mouthed kiss behind my ear a moment later. It’s an assault to my senses. I feel almost feverish. Every other man I’ve kissed has always paled in comparison to the way Sam kisses me. Like he has forever. Like time has stretched out for just the two of us.
I tug his mouth towards mine again, diving my hands into his hair, pulling him even closer. I try to grind into him but the position doesn’t work, I don’t have the friction I need, and it’s killing me. A whine of impatience escapes me, a sound I don’t think I’ve ever made except with Sam, and he chuckles.
“Bed?” he asks, breaking our kiss, both of us panting slightly.
“That’s a great idea.” I push him backwards. “I would even say it’s one of your best ones.”
He huffs out a laugh against my mouth as he backs away and sits down on the edge of the mattress.
“Do you know what else would be a great idea?” I tell him, as I stand above him, bracketed by his thighs.
“What?”
“If you took off your shirt and shorts,” I say, kicking off my shoes.
He tugs the shirt over his head, before wriggling out of the shorts, leaving him just in his briefs. I can see him straining at the front of the material. I love that I do this to him. That I can see the reaction his body has to mine.
“I think you should take yours off too then,” he tells me. I watch his eyes darken as I pull the tank top over my head and step out of the skirt, leaving me just in my underwear. My distinctly not sexy, last-clean-pair-I-could-find-in-the-suitcase-before-doing-a-wash underwear. My, used-to-be-bright-pink-but-now-faded-and-only-worn-as-a-last-resort panties.
“I don’t think I could ever get over how beautiful I find you, Kath,” he murmurs as he draws me towards him and presses a kiss to my sternum.
I shiver beneath his touch as he slowly unclasps my bra and runs his hands over my breasts. I shouldn’t be surprised when Sam touches me exactly the way I like, even though it’s been two years since we last did this. It’s like his body has stayed in tune with mine despite the distance. He knows the pressure I like, the ways to drive me wild. It’s the perfect type of torture. He runs his hands down my sides before palming my breasts again. My eyes shut; this feels so right. His hands slide down to my hips, and every inch of skin he passes is seared with heat.
“More,” I tell him.
“Can I be rougher?” he asks.
“Please,” I beg, and he grips my hips tightly enough to mark.
“I missed this freckle.” He kisses the freckle on my right breast before pulling my nipple into his mouth. I think I whimper. Or maybe it’s more of a moan. My legs are beginning to feel shaky standing here at the edge of the mattress bracketed by his thighs.
Suddenly he pulls me down and flips us, pushing my back down onto the bed and slowly working his way downmy body, hands and lips everywhere. I lose myself in the sensation, gasping as he slowly pulls my underwear down and then slides his fingers through the wetness pooling at my core. He blows a breath onto my centre, and I bow off the bed.
Within moments I have no thoughts, only feelings. The feeling of his tongue circling, of him slowly sliding his finger in and out of me.
“I remember when we first did this,” he says, watching me squirm. “You’re just as responsive as you were then.”
He grips my legs, forcing them to stay open even as I reflexively clamp them around him. He nips at my inner thigh, hard enough to sting, but not to hurt. OK, teenage Sam didnotdo that.
I think I might beg, I think I feel him laugh against me. I think I tell him I’m close, and he tells me to look at him. But minutes later, I’m a lax tangle of limbs on the bed, the aftermath of my release still shuddering through me.
Sam slowly kisses his way back up my body and I smile, pulling him down on top of me as he nestles in the cradle of my thighs. He rips open a condom packet, kneeling up to roll it on, before bracing himself back over me.
“I’ve missed this,” I whisper against his mouth as he slowly slides himself into me.
“I’ve missed you,” he tells me between kisses, pausing with a hiss as he seats himself in me. “Fuck, Kath.”
He slowly starts to move in and out of me. The friction is exquisite.
We’re both looking at each other intently. And suddenly this feels less like friends having fun and maybe like it could be something deeper, something different. Something I’ve only recently realised that I really,reallywant.
“Let me give you more.” Sam rolls, and suddenly I’m on top. We both groan in unison at the new angle. He pinches my nipple hard, and I gasp. Something else that teenage Sam didn’t do.
