Page 63 of Whispers on the Water

His hand flies down and split between my slick folds. I gasp. “There, too?” he asks.

I’m nodding and moaning and riding his fingers like the perfect glassy peak of a dawn patrol wave. All smooth and polished rhythms.

But all that is gone when his head lowers between my thighs. Soft kisses work along the inside until he’s licking. With his fingers still inside me, he tastes my clit, tongue caressing and moving over it.

“Greg!” I scream out, my hand flying to my forehead.

“Come for me, Sam. I wanna taste you, baby.”

The words send me over the edge. My arms fly out, slapping onto the quilt beneath us, tangling into the fabric to desperately cling to something. Hips bucking, Greg growling, my own voice making incoherent sounds; it’s all a sexy blur. And still, he’s lapping faster and harder, his hand thrusting into me.

A yelp bursts from my throat, white spots dancing in my vision as I crash over and over. Finally, he slows and pulls his hand away. But I can’t close my eyes or shrink into a puddle of goo. Not yet. My man hasn’t gotten what he deserves yet.

His other hand is working double time on his cock. Desperate to help, I lean forward at the same time, freeing my breasts from my boob jail of a bra.

I let them dangle forward, and he gets the idea. Both his hands shove my tits together before he thrusts his dick between them.

It takes one thrust before he’s roaring like a lion. Warmth spills from his tip, coating me in a slick, sexy mess. His body relaxes, but he pumps into my boobs a few more times, coming down from his sex high.

Releasing his grip on my chest, he flops back, not caring about the mess that was on us both. “Fuck, Sam.” He said, chuckling between raspy breaths. I crawl up to him and lay my head on his chest. The rapid thump of his heart is somehow soothing. “Yeah,” I say, in a lame attempt at speaking.

“And I’m supposed to leave after that?” he asks.

I make a harumph noise and look up at his face. “No one said you had to leave. Pretty sure you made that rule up.” He laughs a little, but there’s no real energy in it.

As I nestle closer to him, seeking refuge in the warmth of his chest, my kisses land softly on his salty skin, gentle as a whisper. Despite the jokes, the very thought of him leaving slices through me. “Don’t go,” I whisper, my voice trembling with an intensity of emotion I’ve never allowed myself to show. Near him, I’m fortified with a strength that eludes me when I’m alone. The prospect of navigating life without his presence, even just for the public eye, sends a wave of nausea through me.

“I need you, Greg.” These words slip out, not just as a testament to my physical desire but as a deep, soulful confession. I’ve uttered these words before, yet they were always entwined with the physicality of our connection, veiled by the intimacy we shared. Now, they spill forth as a raw admission.

This confession strips me completely bare, like a nerve exposed to the harshness of reality. However, amidst this vulnerability, there’s a strange sense of relief, as if I’m finally releasing the emotions I’ve been holding back for so long. The air around us seems to grow heavy with my confession; my heart races to my throat, seized by the fear he might reject me.

Then, with a deep exhale, he answers, “Okay Sam. I’ll stay.”

Chapter thirty-eight

Greg

Sam sits up sharply, her eyes wide with hope. “Really?”

I nod, my hands finding the small of her back, making sure she sees the sincerity in my gaze. Seeing the joy light up her face at my decision sends a rush of warmth through me. “Yes, really. Now get cleaned up so we can eat without scarring your family for life.”

She jumps off the bed, a bundle of energy, and dashes into the attached bathroom. I let myself fall back onto the bed, my hand coming to rest on my forehead as I gaze up at the ceiling. Even the intricate crown molding of Penny’s luxurious home, which might have caught my interest under any other circumstance, now just serves as a backdrop to my swirling thoughts.

Am I doing the right thing? The question almost makes me laugh. Of course I am. There’s no hiding my feelings, not even for a second, especially with a trial that promises to stretch out before us.

Rising, I slip into my discarded briefs and head over to my laptop. My phone, lying beside it, seems to call out to me. I pick it up, dialing my boss’s number with a sense of inevitability. I sit on an antique wooden chair that, with its lack of comfort, somehow adds to the weight of the moment.

My boss answers immediately, “Hello Sanderson, checking in already?”

I take a deep breath, bracing myself. “Sir, I need to admit something, and I need you to remain calm.”

“Admit something? Like what?” His voice carries a note of caution, which I can’t fault him for. Running a hand through my hair, I let out a sigh. I’ve enjoyed being in his good graces, and the commendations for finding Sam had been a high point, but now I’m about to jeopardize all of it.

With my heart pounding, I muster the resolve to speak, even as part of me screams to just hang up. But a glance towards the bathroom, steam billowing out from under the door where Sam is, anchors me. “I’m sleeping with Elaine Williams.” Even though I use her married name, I hate it. Sam is Sam. The sooner I can rid her of the disgusting last name, the better. But that won’t ever happen if I don’t own up to the mistakes I’ve made.

The line goes deathly silent. After a moment too long, I prompt, “Hello? Did you hear me sir?”

“Yes. But I wish I hadn’t. How long?” His voice is heavy, resigned.

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