The Dimple Strikes Back (23 page)

He turned me onto my shoulder and climbed around me to stand and take off his jeans. He must have been the inspiration for the phrase “sight for sore eyes.” Mine were sore from tears, and he was definitely the medicine.

Grinning, he squeezed in behind me. We barely fit on this tiny space, but that only served to force him to hold me against every single centimetre of his body. His legs teased the backs of my thighs, and I ground against him. “Damn, woman. Give me a moment to breathe.”

“No.”

He didn’t sound too upset. He gripped my leg from behind, running an exploratory hand from my inner thigh to the back of my knee. That same hand returned the way it came, and by the time he reached my pussy, I held it there, slipping his fingers in. I needed some, any part of him inside me. He encouraged me, “Yes, yes,” while I rode his hand, slippery and so damn good, but he didn’t last long. He replaced his fingers with his cock and took me from behind.

Oh, and he watched me, as he adored doing. He played with my breasts and thrust into me without fail. I wound my arm around his head and grabbed him by the hair. His eyes were half-closed and so dark, and we saw each other—really saw—naked in every way possible. The love in his eyes was palpable.

A small smile preceded his fingers rubbing my clit in fevered circles, and my moans became high, breathy, guttural. I came with his hand on me and his cock never ceasing, while he bathed my face in a loving regard that overwhelmed me.

“Don’t stop,” I said. Sometimes he would, to let me enjoy my afterglow. But I wanted to shatter him as he’d done me. I took his hand and held it to my breast while he pounded me faster than before. Soon his eyes closed, and he revelled in his own orgasm, riding it out however he wanted. We collapsed against the cushions, his arm holding me to him.

I don’t know how long we lay there, my brain drifting and my eyes closed. My scalp didn’t even hurt too badly anymore. Orgasms cure everything. After a while, I felt him chuckle. “What?” I asked.

He pointed. Captain Taco sat two feet away from the couch, sitting with his back turned, shunning us. We both cracked up, laughing so hard that the cat shot a disdainful eye our direction as if to say, ‘Do you not see me hating you? How dare you find this amusing!’

“Did I earn my dinner?” Sam asked while nuzzling my shoulder with his nose.

“Breakfast. And
yes
. Except I don’t have any.”

“Lazy.”

“I’ve been too depressed to grocery shop.”

He turned my face to look directly at me. “I’m sorry.”

I kissed him, lightly. He smelt of sex and masculinity, and I wanted to bathe in him. “Take me out? Nowhere special, just…let’s just go have fun somewhere.”

“Yeah. Get dressed.”

Reluctantly, I unwound my limbs from his and got up. I couldn’t stay there forever and besides, food was one of my fervent lovers, too.

I threw on a T-shirt and jeans, and he came into the bedroom to get re-dressed, too. My hair stood out at impossible angles, so I attacked it with a brush. I couldn’t hit all the major cities of Europe with sex hair. He held my pyjamas from the other room and got a puzzled look on his face while he pulled something from the pocket. “What is this?”

I gulped. “Oh, crap. I recorded my convo with Valerie and forgot it was there. Hey, why are you going through my pockets?”

He slumped into one hip. “You’re telling me you have the entire evening recorded?”

“Um…yup.”

“Hmmm.” He set the recorder on the dresser and didn’t answer my question. Sigh—thieves. “Did she say anything incriminating?”

I went into the bathroom to find some mascara. He followed. “Well, I said things, and she didn’t disagree with them. Then she threatened my family with ‘accidents’. And Shelley—” No. I closed my mouth. I wouldn’t tell him about that. It might make him stupid.

He groaned and sat on the toilet lid. “Valerie’s got worse. Maybe she was always this cruel, and in my lusty, naïve twenties I didn’t see it.” Peeking up at me, he said, “I was taught that ladies were ladies. Even non-Southern belles were different from men—kinder, gentler, peaceable, predictable.
Now
I understand that’s just a hole men try and force women into to make them behave the way they want. It’s an appealing lie, though, when you’re a young, stupid dude and want to romanticize every skirt. And the prissy innocent act is something Valerie performs very well. It’s what makes her such a great thief.”

I regarded him with amazement. “What convinced you that women were actual human beings, and not a different race of giggling porcelain figurines?”

“Jane.” He grinned. “Jane doesn’t take patriarchal bullshit. If you treat her like anything other than your master and commander, she’ll eat you alive.” He ran a hand through his hair to tame it. I wasn’t the only one with sex hair. “Funny enough, Jane has actual honour, not pretend-lady honour. Took me a while to spot the difference.”

I paused swiping mascara into my lashes and asked, “Do you really think Jane would have killed us?”

One eyebrow cocked, he said, “I don’t know. My heart says ‘no’, but I’ve proven I can be an idiot.”

“Poor man. Beset by so many wicked women.”

He came round behind me and pulled me close. “I prefer my ladies unladylike in my bed, or wickedly cracking zingers.”

“Good thing for me.” Our smiles met in the mirror. “Or not.”

“Shut up and stop ruining the moment.”

“Okay.”

I finished making myself barely presentable, and we emerged from my cave to wander the neighbourhood hand in hand. As if nothing untoward was happening in our lives. Slipping into normal, happy mode with him seemed perfectly natural. I guess I’d learned to live in the now a bit more since encountering Hurricane Sam.

We found a little pizza place and ordered, with frothy, yummy beers to start, because the now required both.

I asked him, “Can you call in any of the folks you got your immunity with?”

He sloshed his beer in surprise and set it on the table. He sighed, taking a pensive moment before answering. “No. My whole goal was to not rat out anyone else. If I give up Valerie, it’ll be open season.”

“Hunting season appears to have already begun.”

His lips pulled into a grimace, but he didn’t disagree. “I’ve only ever worked for Val and Jane. I suppose the minor players might be affronted.”

“But none of them have actually waved a knife in your face.”

“No.”

I took a sip of the bitter, cold beer. It swished down my throat into my empty belly. “So it’s Valerie between us and—”

“Us and what?” His eyes flickered, tired and concerned, in the candlelight.

I played with the tablecloth. “You were really doing all of this so you could”—I swallowed—“settle down with me?” Why was this a hard concept for me to embrace?
Because you’re not the kind of girl who gets happily ever after!
said the voice in my head, which sounded suspiciously like my mother’s.

He nodded, his brows drawing together. “What a great job I’ve done.”

“You can’t be held responsible for the actions of others.”

“Yes, I can. If I wasn’t who I was, you’d have never fallen into this mess.”

I plopped the beer down and reached for his hand. “Sam, if you weren’t who you were, I’d be a depressed secretary still. Yes, I would.” The candle had nearly burned away in the little glass holder. His face got less stark the more the flicker waned. “I know who you are, and I started a relationship with you. I shouldn’t hold your occupation over your head.”

“No. No.” He took his hand back and drummed it on the table. “I have spent my entire adult life as a criminal. If I have…issues regarding my profession, I deserve to have them. I deserve to deal with the consequences.” He grinned, his eyes blazing and clever. “If I was a truly honourable man, I’d be in prison now, paying my debt to society.”

“I guess you can take the boy out of the den of thieves, but—”

He nodded and laughed.

I continued, “I don’t want you in prison. I’m not that lofty, either. Let’s face it, a lot worse jerks than you get away with not paying their debts.”

“At least I’m not a politician.”

“Amen.”

I held out my hand again, and he took it, pressing a kiss to the tips of my fingers. The pizza came, sausage and mushroom. You have to keep a man whose favourite pizza is the same as yours. I’m pretty sure Miss Manners says that.

I polished off my first piece and paused to wash my grease down with beer. “So, does this mean…what?”

“What?”

“
I’m
not asking
you
.”

He licked a long piece of cheese from his lip. “Oh.” Nodding, he wiped his fingers and folded them on the table. His face shifted into faux-serious mode. Boy, he gave good earnestness. “Miss Lytton.”

I sat back. “Yes, Mr Turner.”

“Will you be my official girlfriend again?”

“And?”

“And?” He cocked his head and rolled his eyes. “Just because
you’re
wordy and overblown—”

I lifted my eyebrows.

“My dearest darling Ms Lytton. You’re so wonderful that a rainbow would be jealous of your booty, and unicorns bow to your graceful charm.”

“Do you really mean it?”

His eyes emitted a heart-melt ray similar to that of a puppy. “Yes. If rainbows were sentient and unicorns existed, it would be true.”

“Thank you, Sam.” He kissed my hand and lovingly caressed it. I shrugged and added, “I’ll think about it.”

He snatched his hand away. “You are such a pain in my ass.”

“What? You broke my heart! I’m not just gonna let it go because you have a nice penis and a fancy way with rainbow compliments. For all I know, Daniel Zhang also has those things.”

Sam’s mouth turned hard and bitter. “Daniel Zhang. Urgh.
Ooh look at me, I’m a tall, handsome, rich, suave movie star
.”

Nodding, I said, my voice full of sorrow, “I know. What an awful person he is.”

“Like haemorrhoids.” He sloshed his beer on the way to his mouth. “You’re my little, redheaded, painful haemorrhoid.”

I snatched another piece of pizza. “Okay. You can quit with the compliments now.”

“With nice tits.”

I started giggling. I did enjoy the idea of myself as a loud-haired boil on the ass of humanity. With nice tits.

* * * *

“Samantha, stop! You’re hitting me!”

I must hit him. I have to get away.
I flailed and punched out in any way possible, sweat pooling in my lower back, my—

“Samantha, you’re dreaming!” He shook me. “Ouch! It’s Sam, it’s me.”

This time, he caught my fist and held it to his chest. My eyes opened. Sam’s face. Sam’s hands.

“What the hell were you dreaming?”

I squeezed my eyes shut and sagged against him. He held and rocked me. Flashes of terror still slammed into my eyeballs. I concentrated on his soft skin, his smell. On the now, which was warm and full of bliss. After a while, my breathing settled, and my adrenaline calmed to a dull roar. “What was that?” he asked again gently as he stroked my back.

I sighed into his chest. I hadn’t ever told him about the nightmares. “I dream about Scott Coulter. Sometimes.”

“Oh, no, Samantha…”

Scott Coulter was the asshole from Steak on a Stick who’d kidnapped and almost killed me and all my loved ones over a damn Picasso. He was currently serving many, many years in prison, thanks to me.

“I dream that he gets out of prison early and comes after me. Or that I’m in the trial again and no one believes what I say. Although it’s not always me he hurts. Sometimes I find him attacking Ellen.”

“Shhhhh.” The panic crept up my spine again, and he stroked my hair until I stopped digging my hand into his shoulder. “Baby, I’m so sorry. Does this happen a lot?”

I shook my head. His fingers soothed my forehead again and again. “Not as much as before. It was bad, for a while.” It had taken weeks to not worry over the trial every single day, to be able to combat that constant anxiety. I’d lost weight during that time, and everyone had told me how great I’d looked. Har de har har.

“Jesus Christ. I gave you PTSD.”

“No.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to make it a big thing.”

“Baby.” He turned out from under me and lay on his side so we were face to face. A weak stream of sunlight from a gap in the blinds illuminated his eyes. He stroked my cheek. “It is a big thing. I’m supposed to be here for you, and I failed.”

“We’ve been long distance. We can’t—”

“No. No.” He leant forward until his forehead touched mine. “I’m going to do better. So that you don’t have to be afraid anymore. You can tell me anything. I know I can be a bear, but usually it’s…shit. It’s because I get so fucking mad that I can’t instantly fix everything that’s wrong with you.” He sniffled, his voice choked with emotion. “I love you so much.”