Page 51 of Waiting for a Prince
Sam’s eyes widened, his breathing quickening. “For what?” He licked his lower lip nervously.
Mark stared at the beautiful face which was always in his thoughts.
“For this.”
Mark slid his hand slid around to grab Sam’s nape as he brought their faces together—and kissed him.
Sam froze, his trainers falling from his hands onto the soft sand. Then he let out a soft whimper as he relaxed into the kiss, his tongue sliding deep to explore Mark’s mouth hungrily. Mark claimed his mouth, sucking at Sam’s tongue, losing himself in the increasingly sensuous kiss. He moved his hand down Sam’s back, skating along his spine, coming to rest just above the swell of his buttocks encased in those tight jeans, moulded around him like a second skin.
Sam groaned into the kiss, the sound full of urgent need as he clutched at Mark’s back. Mark pulled Sam against him, rocking into him, all too aware of Sam’s erection against his hip, his own rigid shaft pressing against the zipper of his jeans.
“God, I want you,” Mark moaned, reaching with both hands to cup Sam’s arse, pulling him tight against him.
When Sam froze, Mark’s heart gave a stutter.
He pushed Mark away with a low cry, his eyes full of misery.
“Why are you doing this? And why am Ilettingyou? God, we must be mad.” Sam ran his fingers crazily through his hair. Sam’s eyes locked on him, and the sight took Mark’s breath away.
So much pain…
Sam took a step back. “We can’t do this, Mark.”
“I-I’m sorry.” Mark’s stomach roiled as Sam reached down and grabbed his trainers. “Sam?” Breathing was such a fuckingchore. Sam backed even further away from him, trembling. “Please, Sam, don’t go.” His heart hammered. “I don’t want you to go. Come home with me. Please.”
Sam swallowed. “If you only knew how much I want to do that.”
And yet there was a chasm between them, an ever-widening strip of sand.
The haunted expression in Sam’s eyes threatened to unravel Mark.
“I said I’m sorry,” Mark blurted.
“I’m sorry, too.”
Mark wanted to say something,anything, that would turn back the clock and save their evening, but fear was thick in his throat. He could only watch in horror as Sam turned and fled, running to the road and heading toward the pier.
At last Mark found his voice.
“SAM!”
Sam didn’t turn back. Not once. Mark watched as Sam reached the corner of Union Street and turned.
“Sam.” The whisper slid out of him. “What the fuck have I done?”
He stood there on the sand, his limbs shaking, his gaze never leaving the corner where Sam had disappeared from view, as if keeping his eyes fixed on that spot would somehow bring Sam back.
It was a long time before he felt the inclination to move.
Chapter Eighteen
The blue LEDlight emanating from his alarm clock cast a ghostly hue over his bedroom. Mark had given up checking the time. He’d come to bed sometime after ten, when he realized he’d been staring at the TV screen for a couple of hours and hadn’t registered a single thing that had been on it.
It was nearly midnight. Through his open window he could hear the raucous laughter of the nearby pub’s patrons who had spilled out onto the streets and were wending their way home, albeit in a noisy fashion.
Sleeping was out of the question, given the circumstances.
Sam hadn’t answered a single call.
