Necessary Restorations (The Walsh Series) (A) (36 page)

Now that I knew the drill, selecting outfits for Sam’s events was much easier. I’d borrowed another fifties-styled retro cocktail dress from Ellie’s closet, paired it with some shiny red flats, and twirled in front of the bathroom mirror. The full skirt lifted from my legs, briefly exposing the scrap of satin underneath.

I’d been saving all my rare pieces of lingerie for Sam to ruin.

“We don’t have to go anywhere,” he murmured as he caught me around the waist. “We can stay right here.”

“Oh no,” I said. “Not after I spent ten minutes on the smoky eye.”

“All right,” he grumbled. He stared at my reflection in the mirror, his brows furrowed. “Is this a little low cut?”

“And that’s suddenly a problem for you because . . . ?”

He turned, walking me back to the vanity until I was seated on the cool marble. Pushing my legs open, he leaned into me, his hands on my hips and his mouth on my neck. “Because sometimes I get possessive, too.”

His hands moved under my dress until they connected with my panties. He traced the silky edge, back and forth over my center until I was panting for more friction. He gripped the fabric at my hips, and when I expected him to tear, he inched my panties down my legs instead.

“Let’s leave these here,” he said.

“You don’t want to hang onto them?” I asked, already half drunk off the idea of attending a posh party without my skivvies. I couldn’t explain why, but that sent me straight into hyper-aroused territory every time, and Sam knew it.

“I have to
speak
in front of two hundred people, Tiel,” he said. “I’m not capable of doing that with panties in my pocket. I might not be able to do it just knowing you’re sitting there, bare-assed.”

Somehow, he managed. He discussed the role of sustainable preservation in keeping history and culture alive, and methods to approach the craft in a way that honored the original builders while also evolving to incorporate high-value technological advancements.

I tried my damnedest to listen but every time Sam’s eyes met mine across the room, I felt electrified. No one else seemed to notice that his glances were scorching and filled with promise, or that I wanted to part my legs and show him exactly how much he’d turned me on.

He kept his hand on my thigh through dinner, and that was a new brand of torture. He smiled at me, fully aware that his fingers were awfully close to the hot zone.

When the plates were cleared, I draped my arm over his back and urged him toward me. “Hey,” I said, and he grinned in response. “You mentioned on the ride over here that you were really jazzed to see this place. So I’m wondering, do you have a huge architectural boner right now?”

“Would you like to find out?”

“Actually, yeah. I’d also like to rip your clothes off and ride your cock until I see stars and lose the power of speech, if that’s okay with you.”

He barked a surprised laugh and squeezed my leg. “That’s a really sweet idea,” he said. “But you’re only doing that if I tell you to.”

“Maybe I don’t want to take orders anymore,” I said, pouting.

“But you do,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Let’s see if we can get out of here without anyone noticing.”

Of course, someone noticed. An older gentleman struck up a conversation with Sam, and as it became obvious they’d be chatting for awhile, I stepped away to get a drink. It allowed me to watch him from a distance, observe the way he used precise gestures when he was talking about his work and twisted the ring on his thumb when he was thinking. He didn’t acknowledge the purposeful glances women sent him as they wandered past, but he did scan the room every couple of minutes, and he smiled when our eyes met.

I could tell he was attempting to wrap up the conversation, without much luck. When he looked at me again, he sent me a frustrated stare, and I sucked my martini’s olives off the spear to distract him.

Except one of those olives missed my mouth and landed right between my boobs, and he observed the whole thing. My eyes wide with shock, I saw Sam abruptly excuse himself and rush toward me.

He grabbed my elbow and dragged me away from the event. He led me into a small office with tall windows facing the McDowell Mountains. “What was that?” he asked.

“Rogue olive,” I muttered. Inside the office, we looked at each other, smiling wildly, and broke into laughter.

“There’s only one solution,” Sam said, eyeing my cleavage. “If you’d like.”

I gestured to my chest. “There’s an olive trapped in my boobs. Clearly, this requires an architect.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said as he slipped out of his suit coat and folded it over the back of the desk chair. “There’re a couple hundred architects out there, and none of them are touching you.” He traced the edge of my dress, his finger following the rise and fall of my breasts. “Can you be quiet?”

“What is it you think you’re doing?”

He pressed his finger to my lips. “Shush.”

That finger shifted until his entire hand covered my mouth, and he gave me a slow, solemn nod. He kissed along my throat and chest, and pulled my dress down, exposing my bra. He dragged his lips over my breasts and then between, his tongue sliding against the curves.

Sam straightened, a lopsided grin splitting his face as he chewed the olive. “You still want to rip my clothes off?” I nodded. Of course I did. “I think I’m going to let you.”

And then I threw him against the door and tore his trousers open. A button snapped off and his belt smacked me in the face, but I was on my knees and pumping his cock before he had any idea what was going on.

It was better this way. A little desperate, a little frantic, and too quick to think about what was happening. No excuses, no arguments. I wanted this, and I knew he did, too.

My tongue wrapped over his head, sweeping up the bead of fluid leaking out and taking him into my mouth. He groaned, and the sound reverberated around us, heightening my own arousal.

“Tiel,” he warned. “You don’t have to . . .”

“I want to.”

His hands fisted in my hair, and the muscles in his legs flexed as he pumped into me, fast and greedy. He swore—long and loud and wonderfully profane. It was rough, and I nearly gagged a few times, but it was exactly how I wanted him.

“I’m not coming in your mouth,” he said, his body going stiff. “Not this time.”

Sam grabbed my biceps and hauled me up, shifting to back me against the door. He widened his stance and placed my hand on his cock, guiding me to stroke him.

“You’re wet, aren’t you?” I looked up with a devious smile, and he trailed a finger up my thigh to brush over my folds. “Really wet.”

I wiggled my lip between my teeth, sighing as his finger slipped inside me. He growled, low and menacing, and his mouth crashed against mine. He hiked my dress around my waist, hooked my leg over his thigh, and was inside me before the moan vibrated in my throat. “I think this qualifies as having sex in public,” I sighed.

“And if you think you’re getting two cocks any time soon, I can guarantee you one of them will be rubber,” he growled. “No one else is touching you. Not now. Not
ever.
”

My fingernails dug into his hips, scoring his skin and demanding more. This was the wild side of Sam that I adored, the one that allowed desire to reign over technique. He knew his way around the female body, that was a given, but I loved it when he didn’t focus on me, when he surrendered to the electricity that arced between us.

“Won’t last,” he murmured. I nodded, whimpering against his lips as he pounded into me. I was close; not close enough to come in the next couple of seconds, but this time was all for him. He thrust deeply, and we groaned together as his orgasm barreled through him.

Sam sighed my name as he rested his head on my shoulder, and for those throbbing minutes, it was perfect. We were sweating, panting, and in various states of undress in a random office that boasted an enormous window for anyone to observe our coupling, and my heart completely and totally belonged to him. “I love you,” I sighed.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice heavy from the exertion. “We didn’t use anything.” I squinted at him, not understanding. “I came inside you.”

“Oh,” I said, and the single syllable revealed a stilted quality in my voice. I’d never encountered this issue before. He knew I wasn’t on the pill—I couldn’t remember that kind of thing, and didn’t enjoy the idea of pumping chemicals into my body—and I knew he had regular blood work done and was clean as a whistle. “It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Um, maybe?” I was terrible at keeping track of these things. I only knew I was fairly regular, and the precise details never found a home in my brain. “Don’t worry.”

“Are you
sure?
”

“Yes,” I said, and that sounded like the right answer to me. What were the odds anything would come of this one unprotected moment?

He kissed my neck—I was concerned about my sweating, but he went right on kissing—and brought his hand between my legs, rubbing my clit. He was still inside me, pulsing, and he brought me right to the edge. I was gasping and moaning when I exploded on his fingers, and I sank my teeth into his arm to stifle my scream.

Sam straightened his clothing while I leaned against the door, recovering. I was still hazy, and all of my thoughts and reactions had to fight through that fog. He bent to collect the button I’d sent flying, and then knelt before me. I didn’t understand what he was doing, and watched empty-headed as he lifted my skirt.

He stared at me—or, more precisely, he stared at my crotch—and I was starting to think he was looking at an ugly mole or ingrown hair. But then he ran his hand up my thigh, smiling, and said, “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy it is to see me all over you? How much I love that? How much I love
you?
”

Sam used his handkerchief to catch most of the fluid between my legs, and leaned forward, leaving a light kiss on my mound. He dragged his fingers over my slit, and then speared inside me. It skated a razor-fine line between pleasure and pain, and when I cried out, Sam’s fingers retreated. As he stood, I grabbed his wrist and lifted his fingers to my mouth. I tasted the mix of
us
on him, and I released a tiny groan as I sucked him. He wiped his thumb over my lips and leaned in, kissing me with more heat and emotion than I could manage.

“Does that mean you’d like to do it again?”

“As soon as possible,” he said.

He smoothed out my dress and we basically sprinted through the compound until we reached the parking lot. We spent the evening wrapped in each other, laughing and kissing and touching, and forgoing the condoms.

Everything seemed fine until the morning, when Sam left for the resort gym—he always invited me, but I only ran when chased—and I stood in the shower, my fingers turning to prunes. I forced myself to go back in time and date my last period, and yeah, I was right in the middle of my cycle.

Hello, fertility.

The realization sank in my stomach, and my brain went into hyper-spastic mode.

I didn’t say more than a few words when Sam returned and we headed to the airport. It was like I was sleepwalking, and I couldn’t form sounds that made sense. We shuffled through airport security, and Sam put a bagel and cappuccino in my hand while we waited to board our flight. I stared at them, too lost in my thoughts to eat.

“I could be pregnant. Like, actually pregnant,” I whispered. No one was seated nearby, but giving voice to these thoughts made them all the more real.

He removed the lid from his tea, the steam rising and curling between us. “And you’d be unhappy about that?”

I stared at him, my mouth hanging open in shock. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Actually . . . no,” he said, lifting a shoulder. “I wouldn’t. I thought about it last night.
All
night. You slept hard, Sunshine, but I spent the entire night thinking about putting a baby in you. I wouldn’t be unhappy. I’d be thrilled, as long as it was what you wanted.”

What
I
wanted.

“How the fuck am I supposed to know whether I want a baby? I haven’t thought about having kids since ever. And holy
fuck,
Sam, a baby is one hell of a permanent commitment,” I said. “I mean . . . shit. I don’t even know what to say.”

“I love you.” He squeezed my hand until I met his eyes. “And you love me?” I nodded. “Then we’ll figure it out.”

“But, what would we do?” I wanted specific answers. I didn’t care that I was taking all of Sam’s obsessive-compulsive tendencies and wearing them as my own. “When would I finish my dissertation? What about the classes I’m teaching? And the kids I’m working with—how would I have sessions with them? Would I be able to do all that with a baby? Would the baby come to the college with me? What would it do all day? And where would we live? And my family—oh God, my parents will have such passive aggressive things to say. And kids are expensive and I don’t understand anything about breastfeeding or vaccines. And
everything
about my life would change.”

“Do me a favor and breathe.”

“You breathe,” I said. I was being loud and screechy, and though this section of the airport was relatively empty, I was certain everyone was watching my life crack open. “It’s not your vagina that’s going to do all the work.”

Sam cringed and pulled me from my seat into his lap. “I haven’t thought about kids before now, either,” he said, his hand stroking my back. “But I’ve thought about you, and all the things I want with you. We can have our own family, Tiel. You and me and
our baby,
and I want that more than I can explain.”

“Why are you being so calm?” I asked, but it came out in a shriek. “Hyperventilating is a collegiate sport for you. Where are you with the thermonuclear panic when I need it?”

“I’m not living down that one time on the sidewalk in Cambridge any time soon,” he said, shifting me from his lap. He collected my untouched coffee and bagel, and hooked my tote bag over his shoulder.

“You’re only doing that because you think I might be carrying your spawn,” I said as we walked toward the gate.