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And then I did something else I rarely ever do.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to pressure you or anything. I just got carried away with the moment.”
“No, don’t apologize. Are you kidding me? I should probably be thanking you right now, if anything. I just… going any further right now…”
“Brakes have been engaged.”
Sam looked at me then, a glitter in his eyes. “Well, I mean, maybe we don’t have to press the brakes down all the way.” Sam drifted back to me. “Can we keep kissing?”
If Sam had finished his question by asking “for the rest of time,” my answer would have been the same.
“Abso-fucking-lutely.”
“Okay, good, because I think I could use the practice.”
I cocked my head. “Wait, was I your first kiss, too?”
The blush returned to his face, giving me the answer to my question.
“How’d I do?” he asked bashfully. Overhead, a flock of quaker parrots flew over us, chirping excitedly, their green bodies flashing by like tiny comets.
“On a scale from one to ten?”
“One to five. Let’s not give me too much room to fail and hate myself.”
I laughed at that, as if Sam could ever fail at anything. “I’d give it a full five. Hundred. Off the charts.”
“Really?” Sam asked, his thick brows rising. “I thought for sure I was giving you puffer-fish realness with that kiss.”
More laughter, coming as freely as the water spilling over the rocks next to me. “It just left me wanting more.”
“Okay, good.” This time, he moved as if to initiate the kiss but stopped inches away from me. “I can’t believe I hated you when I first met you.”
“Hate is a strong word,” I said, my eyes dropping to his lips.
“You’re right, you’re right. I mean I strongly disliked you. Mostly for accusing me, but also because I wanted to do this to you.” He went up on his tiptoes, rising slightly out of the water, and he kissed me, this one even better than the last. “And I thought I’d never get the chance to,” Sam said, completing his thought as the kiss broke.
“Well, I’m glad you’ve come around.” I offered a cocky smirk. Sam took the bait, kissing me again, as if he wanted to kiss the cockiness right off me.
We kissed for what felt like hours, floating around in the pool, our bodies pressing and our erections twitching for attention. I respected Sam’s wishes and didn’t make any moves below the belt, simply enjoying the way our tongues danced together like synchronized swimmers, and the way our lips fits together perfectly.
When the kissing spree finally ended, my body instantly cried out for me. As we got out of the pool and toweled off, I considered asking if he would want to stay for drinks.
But I couldn’t. If I had gotten a glass of wine in me, I would have as equally wanted him on me.
And Sam wasn’t like any of the other guys I’d been with. The ones who would take me up on that offer in a heartbeat and then ask for more when the time came.
See, with those guys, it was easy. I’d bring them up to my room, bind their wrists and ankles to the table, and I’d have my entire fucking way with them. That was how I was used to it, how I expected it.
Not with Sam. As badly as I wanted to make him writhe and moan under my control, I knew I’d need to take small steps with him.
“Thanks for letting me take a dip in your pool,” Sam said, drying his hair with the white towel. I wiped off the water from my chest, the relaxing scent of eucalyptus drifting up from the towel. “And for… well, yeah. Thanks. For everything.”
Sam’s cheeks blushed as red as they did when I’d kissed him for the first time.
First time. His first kiss. I was his first kiss.
“I’m glad you came,” I said. “You’re welcome in my pool whenever you want.”
“Be careful, you might just find me out here every day from now on.”
I gave him a slanted smile and said, “I don’t see anything wrong with that.”
“Uh-huh.” Sam glanced at his watch. He was fully dressed again, hiding that lithe body of his. I had tried memorizing the way his chest dipped, and the way his nipples perked, and how the tuft of dark hair that grew down from his belly button met a patch of more hair before it disappeared under his very loose boxers.
I tried memorizing the shape of him, which had been traced like an outline against the gray boxers when he had climbed out of the pool, his underwear clinging to him like a wet suit.
“Here,” I said, walking over with him to the glass table underneath the covered patio. I grabbed my phone. “Let’s trade numbers.”
