“No. Please leave,” she said.
“We’re back to you trying to ignore your feelings. Why don’t you eat your dinner, then we’ll talk.”
Marabeth took her sandwich and ate it, intending to go into her bedroom once she was done eating and ignore him completely.
She ate in silence, not even looking at him which didn’t matter to him since he continued to read her magazine. Once she was done, she dusted off her hands and stood up. “Good night, Sam.”
Sam laughed and grabbed her hand as she passed by the sofa he was sitting on. “Oh, no you don’t. Come back and talk to me. I’ll follow you in there. Don’t challenge me on that front.”
Marabeth tried to pull her hand away but his grip was firm but gentle. “Sam, leave me alone. We don’t have anything to say to each other,” she said, wishing she could scream it to him.
“No talking is fine with me,” he said and pulled her down onto his lap. “I didn’t really want to talk anyway. Not with you in these jeans anyway,” he said a moment before his mouth descended to hers. This kiss was not gentle like last night’s. It was hard and passionate and wouldn’t allow her to be anything other than a participant. His lips caressed hers, nibbling, soothing, back and forth until she opened her mouth. Once she opened, his tongue moved inside, mating with hers and creating sensations Marabeth couldn’t control. She gripped his shoulders and held on tightly, her mind blank and her body reacting to the feelings.
His hands were on her waist but once her tongue moved inside his mouth, imitating his movements, his hands gripped her waist, turning her more fully towards him. When she was where he wanted her, his hands moved down, gripping her hips, then back up slowly, sliding underneath her sweatshirt.
Marabeth gasped when she felt his hands on her bare skin. Her mouth moved away slightly and her eyes looked up into his, wondering if he was feeling the same thing she was. His eyes were intense and hooded. When his hand moved up an inch higher, she almost moaned at the heat ripping through her.
One of Sam’s hands moved out from underneath her sweatshirt and pulled her head towards his again, and the dual sensations of his hands and his mouth blurred the argument she had been having with him earlier. All that mattered was feeling more of these sensations.
She moved her hands from his shoulders to his neck, touching the only skin she could find on him. He had removed his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt but other than that, he was still dressed as he was for his work day.
His hand moved slowly higher until his thumb rested just below her breast and Marabeth held her breath, waiting, desperately hoping it would move higher, needing his thumb to touch her breast.
When his hand finally moved higher, Marabeth inhaled sharply then arched her body against his. His hand massaged her breast, then his thumb flicked the already hard nipple.
Marabeth didn’t think she could take much more of the torture. Her hands gripped his hair as her body melted in his hands. A moment later, her sweatshirt was pulled over her head and his eyes were feasting on the lace holding her breasts. “You’re beautiful,” he groaned and his mouth closed over her left breast through the fabric of her bra.
“Stop, please, I can’t take anymore,” she cried out but her hands pulled him closer and her back arched even further to give him greater access.
“I know, we should stop,” he said but her hands moved to the buttons of his shirt, quickly unbuttoning the small buttons, then ripping the fabric away. “No!” she cried out when her fingers reached the cotton of his tee-shirt underneath.
“Here,” he said and pulled both shirts out of the waistband of his pants. Marabeth needed no further prompting. Her hands slid the shirt off his shoulders and the tee-shirt over his head. When she finally had his chest free of the clothing, her eyes drank in the magnificent view of his muscular chest. There was only a small amount of hair to mar its perfection. Her hands ran the length of one muscle that disappeared into his pants. Marabeth had never been this bold before, but for some reason, Sam wasn’t the same. She didn’t want to be shy with him. She couldn’t.
“Don’t stop,” he groaned when she lifted her hand from his chest. “Please don’t stop,” he said and pulled her hands back onto his chest, then put his hand behind her head again to pull her lips to his.
Marabeth continued to allow her fingers to explore his chest while his lips moved across hers over and over again, his tongue moving in and out in the mating ritual. “I want you, Marabeth,” he said and his hand undid the clasp on her bra, freeing her breasts.
The cool air on her breasts gave her a moment of clear thinking and she was about to ask him to stop, fearful of the desire that was blurring her vision and muddling her mind. But then his hot mouth closed over her nipple and she could no longer speak. He sucked and licked, then bit gently and Marabeth could only wrap her arms around his head, holding him in place in an unspoken plea to continue his ministrations.
The phone rang which was the equivalent of dumping a bucket of ice water over Marabeth’s head. “Oh my goodness,” she gasped, leaning back and looking at Sam in astonishment. When he touched her again, she cringed, “No. Please, no more,” she said and quickly moved off his lap.
She bent down and grabbed her sweatshirt, covering herself before answering the phone. “Hello?” she asked.
The person at the other end of the line quickly relayed the message from her mother and Marabeth nodded. “That’s fine. Thank you,” she said and put the phone back in it’s cradle.
“Who was that?” Sam asked, directly behind her. She turned and was grateful to see that he’d put his tee-shirt and dress shirt back on and was buttoning it up before tucking it back into his waistband.
“It was my mother’s assistant letting me know that my mother will be attending the luncheon tomorrow.”
Sam nodded and waited while she turned her back and slipped her sweatshirt back on. “Don’t you need this?” he asked, and her face flamed red when she saw her black lace bra dangling from his large, masculine fingertips. She grabbed it and stuffed it into the pocket of her jeans.
“Thank you,” she whispered and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Marabeth, will you please have dinner with me tomorrow night? We need to talk, work through a few details.”
“No. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”