Page 6 of Perfectly Wrong

“Perfect,” I muttered, as we started walking towards my place.

And wouldn’t you know it? Apparently, God didn’t think that was enough. There I was, standing next to a guy barely out of his teens, waiting for feedback on a song he’d written about us. And I had to admit, it was a good song. But apparently, that wasn’t enough, because just as we were halfway to my house, the rain came down hard, soaking us both. We tried to run, but it was pointless. By the time we made it inside, we looked like drowned rats. It was pathetic! I rushed to the kitchen, which was right next to the laundry room, forgetting for a second that I couldn’t just strip off my clothes with him standing right there.

When I turned to say something, the words slipped away. His white t-shirt was clinging to his chest, and... well, what a chest!

I couldn’t stop staring. His abs looked like they were carved out of stone, and I was pretty sure I’d break my hand if I punched him. The odd thing was, his arms weren’t huge—not like Noah’s. They were defined but still, well, normal. Water dripped from his hair down his face, and he looked like he was on the verge of laughing. In the end, it was me who started chuckling, though he didn’t need to know it was from nerves.

“We need to get out of these clothes,” he said, pulling off his t-shirt. “Where do you keep your towels?”

I couldn’t find my voice. Sam looked even better with just his black jeans on. A wave of emotions surged through me, and I felt like a fool. I wanted to touch him, to feel his skin against my hands, to kiss every inch of him. At the same time, I felt a sharp pang of guilt. He was so young and seemed so... innocent. Or at least that’s what I thought.

“Elena!” I jumped at the sound of my name. “Snap out of it, woman. We need towels. I don’t want to catch a cold after all that rain.”

He was too close, and his scent—different now, more him—filled the space between us. He smelled like hot summer days at the beach, the happiness of spring, and the warmth of a cozy winter night. He smelled like the good life, like safety and comfort. How could someone smell like... home? The air around us thickened with anticipation. I wasn’t sure when it started, but we were both barely breathing now, and with each step he took, the tension grew. Sam was nearly pressed against me. All I could see was his chest and the base of his wet neck. God help me, this was so wrong, but I wanted him. So. Fucking. Much.

And I didn’t even like him that much, to be honest. I’d barely known the guy—how could I possibly have feelings for him? This was purely physical, all about seduction. It was having someone pay attention to me after so long. It felt like a small victory, knowing how many younger women would give anything to be in my shoes. I thought about the girls in the store, talking about Sam like he was the last man on Earth. I won. After years of being treated like I didn’t matter by Noah, here I was, with a guy—desired by so many—breathing heavily because of me. It was unexpectedly empowering.

Desire filled the kitchen. He wanted it; I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. Sam Martin wanted me as much as I wanted him. I could see it in the way his hands clenched and released, the subtle flex of his biceps. I felt his fingers brush my skin as he slowly lifted my t-shirt.

“What are you doing?” I whispered, still too afraid to meet his gaze. Honestly, I was just as scared of my own reaction.

“Helping you out,” he replied softly, his hands steady as they stopped just beneath my breasts. It was bold and outrageous, something I should have stopped. Instead, I lifted my arms, letting him undress me. We were both just waiting for that final push.

“Sam, we can’t. We shouldn’t.”

“What?” His voice was teasing, sensual. “Take off our wet clothes after the rain?”

“You know what I mean.” My voice wavered. What was he doing to me?

“You want this, Elena. You want it as much as I do. Just say the word. You won’t regret it.”

I didn’t want to just say it—I wanted to scream to the world how much I wanted him! How much I needed Sam Martin right then and there.

Avoiding his eyes, I looked down. Oh my God. My breath hitched. He was more than ready. No question about it.

“It’s yours if you want it.” He traced his fingers down my arms, sending shivers through me.

And I did want it. Screw ethics and professional boundaries. I looked into his eyes, and within seconds we were kissing ferociously. Our tongues battled for dominance, our hands were everywhere. Sam unhooked my bra and began teasing my nipples. In response, I unbuttoned his jeans and freed him. I stroked him gently, and he groaned in approval.

His lips moved to my neck, leaving kisses and soft bites as he unzipped my pants. In one swift motion, he pushed everything to the floor, including my underwear.

“Turn around and bend over the counter,” he instructed.

I didn’t hesitate or resist. At that moment, I was his, and I turned as he guided, leaning over the counter with my elbows. With his knee, Sam spread my legs, trailing kisses and soft bites down my back.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured between kisses.

“Sam,” I breathed, the sound barely audible.

He let out a low chuckle. “What, Elena? All you have to do is ask.”

My body was on fire, every inch of me aching for him, but I was too overwhelmed to speak. His hand slid around my waist and down between my legs, making it impossible to think. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I registered the sound of a condom being opened and felt a surge of relief that at least one of us had remembered to be responsible, since I could barely remember my own name.

“Holy fuck,” I moaned. All those guitar lessons were definitely paying off. “For God’s sake, Sam!”

“As you wish.” Without another word, he filled me completely, and in that moment, I forgot every time I’d called him a kid or thought of him as innocent.

“Fuck,” I groaned as he moved slowly inside me. His grip on my hips tightened, and he picked up the pace. It hit me then—Sam Martin inside me was one of the most incredible feelings in the world.

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