Page 45 of Chosen

“Stop.”

“Nope.” I softly kissed his lips, my fingers trailing down his skin. “Never.”

“You’re going to give me such a big head. You realize that, right?”

“Doesn’t sound like a problem to me.” I beamed, before I reached between us, my hand gripping onto Sam’s cock. I started to move my hand back and forth, steadily pumping him as I looked into his eyes, wanting to see every second of his reaction.

Sam whimpered as he watched me, his shaft hardening in my palm. I picked up my pace, loving the way he felt in my grip, how honest his body always was about how much he wanted me. A few more strokes and he was done for, his come splashing against my palm, his eyes closing as his mouth fell open with a lustful moan.

“Perfect… you’re so fucking perfect…,” I murmured as I took his mouth with my own, kissing him deeply as he trembled against me. In that moment, I would’ve sworn there was something electric between us, something that could’ve been felt racing across our skin.

Something that only seemed to exist between Sam and me.

Something I wasn’t sure existed between anyone else in the whole world.

“Okay. Shower time.” Sam’s words shook me out of my dangerous thoughts, the ones where I imagined something between us that I wasn’t even sure Sam wanted.

He playfully winked over at me as he grabbed for the soap, cleaning off his skin as he hummed a song that I couldn’t recognize from the tune alone. It was probably something popular, a song I would’ve been able to recall immediately if I was the sort of person who kept up with pop culture.

If I was the sort of person who usually frequented Sam’s orbit.

Two different worlds.

In that same moment, Sam’s words suddenly came back to haunt me as I silently looked over at him.

I think we’re from two totally different worlds.

I kept my doubts to myself as I reached for the shampoo, pushing my racing thoughts aside…

Pushing them down so deep I could pretend I’d never had them, at all.

13

SAM

“How much are you willing to lose this time, Winston?”

“That depends on how much you’re willing to give me, Charlie!”

“You really think you’re going to win this time?”

“I always think I’m going to win. That’s my ultimate magic trick!”

“Oh, you’re on!”

Damon and I walked into a half restaurant, half bar, its dark wood seeming aged yet cared for. It looked like the building had been there forever, much longer than anyone in it had been alive. There were silver plaques hanging off the wall, with pub team names I didn’t recognize, achievements that were probably held dear by Roanoke locals. I scanned the wall for any sign of Damon’s name, curious to find out if he was secretly a local pool champ or maybe a genius at throwing darts.

When I didn’t find his name, my attention went back to the small crowd at the bar. I’d overheard part of their conversation when we’d first come in, but now I was putting faces to the voices. They were all wearing different variations of plaid and camo, their rugged looks not matching the friendliness of their tone, the way their eyes lit up as they punched each other in the shoulder.

“The betting pool,” Damon said, with a grin on his face. “They always get together at least once a week to lose money to each other on whatever game they’re following. At this point, they’ve just been exchanging the same three hundred dollars between the group of them for years.”

“That sounds kind of nice.” I smiled, too. “A weekly tradition where there really aren’t any winners or losers.”

“No, there are winners and losers. They keep track.” Damon chuckled before he nodded toward a nearby staircase. “We should probably go upstairs. Get away from the noise a little bit.”

“Sure.” I headed up the stairs behind Damon, my ears still straining to hear the conversation at the bar. There was something so comforting about knowing those guys were a local staple, that they had a hand in keeping Roanoke familiar for those around them, too.

It wasn’t like that in Atlanta, at least not overall. Sure, there were local dive bars that had the same names and faces, but places like that were becoming fewer and farther between. Big cities had a habit of always being in flux, with a few local staples, restaurants, theaters, libraries. Everything else was always changing, always moving.

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