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Chapter Eleven
Samuel
I can feel her eyes on me. Or, on my groin. In fact, I’m pretty sure the wetness that just hit my shoulder is drool from her lip. I’m trying everything I can to get my erection to subside, but nothing is working. Not with her hands on me. Not with her eyes devouring me as if I were her last meal. Not with her pussy framed in black leggings right by my head.
It’s heaven.
It’s hell.
It’s my reality, both all wrapped up in one petite little woman with the ability to set my blood on fire with desire and my head spinning with aggravation at the exact same time.
She digs her thumbs into my pecs. The pain should be enough to cause my cock to deflate, but all it does is fuel it. My blood is on fire, and I can’t seem to stop it. That’s probably why I reach behind her and grab her ass, holding her tightly. Freedom grasps and does this little wiggle, aligning her core right at my face. If I were to turn just a little to the left, I could bury my mouth between her thighs.
A choking sound derives from my lungs as she runs her warm, wet hands down my abdomen and stops just outside of my waistband. “I’m not sure what kind of massage you think this is,” she sasses, yet presses her ass back into my hands.
My brain screams, happy ending, happy ending!
My cock screams… Oh, who am I kidding? It’s screaming the same thing.
Cold air hits my groin as she pulls my underwear down and takes my cock in her hand. My brain officially shuts down as she strokes me long and hard, the oil doing wonderful things to assist in the friction.
Suddenly, she stops. Her movements, her ass wiggling, her breathing. She goes stock-still, even when I thrust my hips upward, my cock seeking the glorious rubbing of her palm. “Samuel?” she whispers.
My name.
She said my name.
“What?” I ask, the desire in my body fighting against all rational thought. I want to pull her to my face and beg her to keep touching me, but her next word is like a bucket of ice water thrown on my entire body.
“Hummingbird.”
My body freezes, tenses so tight I feel the ache in my bones. I try to push her off me and grab for the blanket beneath me, but she doesn’t move very easily. In fact, she doesn’t move at all. She’s like a damn ninja, her legs scissoring against my arms and her hands holding down my legs. When I stop fighting against her, I feel the softest touch of her fingers against my inner thigh.
“I remember this,” she whispers, my entire body seizing under her touch. “I remember a hummingbird.”
Clearing my throat, I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
She moves off me, freeing my limbs. I dive for the blanket, but she holds it down, refusing to let me cover myself. “It’s beautiful.” Her words are so soft, so angelic I almost don’t hear them.
“It’s not,” I finally say, my voice low and full of tension. “It was a mistake.”
When her dark eyes connect with mine, I don’t see the humor I’ve witnessed from lovers in the past. I see beauty. Soft, elegant, unapologetic beauty. Her touch grazes over the image that has marred my skin for seventeen years. The one I’ve never shown anyone willingly. The one I keep hidden, that reminds me of a time I can’t seem to forget, as much as I try.
“How can something so delicate and beautiful be a mistake?” she asks, seeming genuinely curious.
Clearing my throat, I reach for my necktie. The one I use as a shield, only it’s not there. I’m practically naked—again—in front of Freedom, and she won’t even release the blanket for me to cover up my groin. “I didn’t mean to get it.”
Her eyebrows pull together as she looks between myself and the tattoo. Yes, tattoo. My biggest mistake in life, until this weekend. She smiles down at the image and traces the faint outline and bold blue coloring. “In Native American culture, hummingbirds are seen as healers and bringers of love, good luck, and joy.”
“This hasn’t brought me any of those things,” I find myself telling her.
When those stunning eyes meet mine, she smiles. “I’m not so sure about that, Sammy. You’re surrounded by love and joy. You just have to see it,” she whispers softly, her eyes gazing down at the hummingbird and holding a hint of happiness. My heart pounds against my breastbone and my arms long to reach for her. To hold her close. To tell her she brings me joy, along with heartburn.
Closing my eyes, I fight the emotions raging in my chest. I feel her move and when I look up, her back is to me. She’s pulling up that tank top, exposing her upper back. That’s when I see it. The tattoo. The hummingbird tattoo. The one so very similar to my own inked over her right shoulder blade. And while mine is black and blue, hers is a soft yellow and pink. It looks ten times more delicate than my own, as if it was made just for her skin.
She glances over her shoulder and smiles. Fuck, that smile is…everything. Everything I want, but won’t let myself have. She’s gazing down at me as if these tattoos hold some sort of power, some special meaning, and in a way, I guess they do. Except, hers was done on purpose, and mine was…well, not.
Sighing, I sit up, cover myself and pull her to sit beside me. I feel like a greased monkey, but that’s not something I can deal with now. Now, I need to tell her a story. The one I’ve never shared with another soul. Even past lovers, I never told them the true meaning of the tattoo. I’ve been too ashamed. But something in her eyes makes me feel comfortable enough to tell her about my mistake and why I’ve avoided alcohol since.
