I must have been looking longingly at my feet, though, because Sam arched a brow. “I don’t mind, Ellie.”
I swallowed, meeting his eyes. He was waiting for me to say yes. He’d only do it with consent.
I wanted to say yes, I realized. But not just to this. I wanted to say yes to what I’d been trying to ignore. This selfish thing I wanted each time I saw him, that I knew would ruin everything.
So I pretended, just for this moment, that what he was asking me to do was what I wanted.
“Okay then,” I said. “If you really want to.”
Sam’s eyes seemed to flare. Then those beautiful hands reached up, grasping the hem of my pants. He slid them up my leg, slowly, higher and higher. I couldn’t help the little intake of breath as he exposed my skin. I felt him pause. But when hemet my eye and I didn’t say anything, he resumed what he was doing. He drew his hands down my now bared lower calf. At his touch, electricity rocketed through me, shooting straight to my core. It intensified as he hooked his fingertips into the top of my socks.
But he didn’t go fast. He didn’t rip them off like he could have. He took his time gliding the fabric down. It felt salacious. Delicious. Sexy as hell. Did he know what he was doing? Was he doing anything besides helping me out?
But there was no denying what was happening as his fingers dragged over the delicate bones of my ankles. Sam was taking his time, like he was savoring touching me. He paused at the point of my ankle, grazing his thumbs over the edge of the bone; the soft dip of skin beneath. Sparks shot through me as the tips of his fingers lowered the sock with excruciating slowness. It felt like he was undressing me—which he was, on a micro scale. That realization had something hot spreading in my abdomen.
When he finally slid the sock over my heel, I let out another sound, unable to stop myself now. I melted into the pillows as Sam wrapped one hand around the top of my foot and pulled the sock the rest of the way off.
But his other hand was still on me, his thumb running a circle just under the ball of my foot.
“Sam,” I said, my voice almost a whimper.
He pressed harder, responding to my plea, the pressure of his thumb against my bare arch perfect and strong; practiced and sure. It was usually a hand massage I wanted after working all day. I’d never considered my feet. But I’d never felt this way from someone touching my hands. Not even close.
Sam’s fingers wrapped around the top of my toes, engulfing them. Owning them. Bending them gently so tension released across all five. His hands on my bare skin felt obscenely intimate.
With a squeeze, he released my foot. Then he repeated his movements on the opposite side, this time going even slower. At least, it felt that way. Like he had all the time in the world for me and my comfort and pleasure.
He’d been like that before. To an almost torturous degree.
One more, Ellie. I know you can give me one more.
His face, disappearing between my legs.
I blinked the image away.
Sam wrapped his hands around both my feet. “Better?” His voice was low, coming from deep inside his chest.
His hands were still on me, his fingers resting warm and rough on my skin, his thumbs nestled in my arches in a perfect puzzle-piece match.
I felt his hands slipping away though, felt him withdrawing. Was his slowness reluctance to stop? I didn’t want it to stop. Once it did, I’d have to get back to real life. I was feeling fine now. Better than fine. I felt like a big bowl of quivering Jell-O.
I should have said thanks, dusted myself up and gotten dressed. I needed to make dinner, to get Henry ready to wind down.
Instead, my mouth betrayed me. “Once more,” I whispered. “Please.”
Sam’s eyes met mine, and I saw the same molten fire in his gaze as I felt. Did he remember saying that to me? Did he remember how long he spent drawing pleasure out of me? Hour after hour of selfless, unhurried ecstasy. All, for the first time in my life, focused onme,as if that in itself gave him the most pleasure.
The relief at knowing, almost for certain with the way he was looking at me that it wasn’t just me feeling this was nearly overwhelming. But not so much as when he opened his mouth.
“Say that again,” Sam husked.
Liquid heat jerked through my core. This was not supposed to be happening.
But Sam wasn’t looking at me anymore. His chin had dipped low, his jaw flexing. He had a frown on his face. Did he even realize what he’d said? Or did he know like I did, that if he looked at me when he spoke like that, it’d be all over? I knew. I was this close to pleading, begging him to close the door and stay here until everyone was asleep. Then he could fuck me so hard I’d fall completely to pieces.
I was breathing hard now. Panting, almost.
Sam breathed, long and low. “Ellie…”
