Page 70 of The Spare

He leads me up the front porch steps, unlocking the heavy wooden door, and pushing it open. As soon as it clicks shut behind us, locking out the lingering tension from the ride here, the privacy of our home envelopes us. And our untamed hunger for each other snaps into place.

I turn in the dark entryway, resting my hands against the front of his shirt. Sam’s arms wrap around my waist instantly, pulling me flush against him until there isn’t a sliver of air left between us.

“Lex,” he breathes. His voice is thick and gravelly. His hands travel up my back, those deliciously rough knuckles brushing against my bare skin where my dress dips low, making me hitch a sharp breath.

“Please, Sam,” I whisper, my fingers sliding into the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging him down to me.

He lets out a shuddering breath against my lips before his mouth devours mine with a possessive heat that sets every nerve ending on fire. Sam lifts me effortlessly, my heels dangling an inch off the floor. He guides us down the hallway toward the bedroom, never breaking the kiss.

All the years of distance, the unspoken regret, and the cautious steps we’ve taken around each other dissolve in the dark. Right here and now, there are no contracts and no secrets. Just him and me.

The intoxicating feeling as he nibbles on my lower lip before sealing his mouth with mine is setting my body on fire. Sam holds my face between his hands, angling me just where he wants so he can deepen the kiss. His tongue teases my lips just before sliding into my mouth. The headiness of it makes me swoon. I can’t contain the moans escaping me.

I drag my fingers through his inky black curls, holding on as he plunges his tongue into my mouth. It feels as if he’s mimicking the same rocking motion his pelvis is doing as it bucks into mine. His cock is hard between my legs, and my panties are soaked. I’ve never experienced anything like this.

I lean into his kiss with as much passion as he’s showing me, and before long, he’s bending to bite at my nipples through the thin material of my dress. In one seamless movement, he pulls down the neckline, revealing my black lace bra, and groans. Suddenly, his hands are everywhere, like he’s not sure where to start.

“I’ve waited so long,” he mutters. I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or my boobs. “I want to taste every inch of you.”

“Yessss.”

“Your sweet skin, your nipples, your sweet pussy.” His hand slowly travels down my dress, lifting the hem before I feel his fingers brush over my wet panties. Back and forth his fingers graze. My pelvis bucks into his hand, unabashedly wanting more.

Oh my god. Is this really happening?

Sam’s eyes bore into mine as he lifts his fingers to his lips. When he places them in his mouth, my stomach free falls. I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life.

“So sweet. I can’t wait to bury my face in your delicious pussy, baby.” Kiss. Taking my hand, he places it over the rock hard bulge in his pants. “Slide my cock into your tight body.” Kiss. “Listen to you scream out your husband’s name.”

My legs start to shake. I can’t tell if it is from his kisses, his body pressing into mine, or those deliciously dirty words falling from his lips.

Bzzz. Bzzz.

Before either of us can say another word, the sharp, shrill of his cell phone shatters the quiet. He retrieves it from his pocket, never looking at it before depositing it on the nightstand.

“Where were we?” his words dust over my lips.

Bzzz. Bzzz.

The phone begins vibrating violently against the top of the nightstand. He flinches slightly at the noise, turning the phone over to kill the sound. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he threw it across the room.

Sam smiles briefly, acknowledging the momentary interruption isn’t going to derail where our night is headed.

Bzzz. Bzzz.

“The fuck?” Sam bellows at the continued noise. Reaching over, he aggressively grabs the phone off of the table. Hopefully, he’ll turn it off. Then he freezes, my eyes noticing the caller ID.

Old Man Morris.

Chapter Thirty-One

Sam

I press the phone to my ear, my voice laced with annoyance. “Really, Old Man? Can’t this⁠—”

“Sam! Get down here!” Hank Morris’ voice crackles through the receiver. It’s filled with sheer panic. “The vineyard is on fire!”

“What?” I yell, the words ripping through my throat as I jerk upright. Panic threatens to choke the life out of me.