Page 41 of Disgrace

“And some clothes,” he remarks.

“Hopefully not.” He tips his finger, a small salute in understanding. At the bottom of the stairs, Leon opens a cupboard and hands me a helmet. He grins and knocks the two hats together. I didn’t even notice the bike parked out the front when I arrived, but I do now. It’s a beast, bright red even in the dim street light, a 1000cc Ducati 916. He slides on and hovers his helmet above his head.

“Does Sam ride on this?”

“Oh, yeah,” he groans.

“Do you mind not making that noise when you’re talking about my girlfriend?” I grumble.

“Hey you’re the one talking about fucking her with others. Just know I want first refusal if that ever happens. Not that I’d fucking refuse.” He slams the helmet down and muffles more groans and curses. Fortunately, I am too focused on getting to Sam to think much about his comment. The last thing I need is a raging hard-on riding shotgun right behind Leon.

I never give my money much thought, probably because I am nowhere near Daniel’s league of wealth, but having access to the company jet anytime I know puts me in a very privileged position. A position I am more than grateful for tonight as my last minute flight has me only, just over three hours behind Sam. Leon promised me he wouldn’t call to warn her, and even gave me his key to the apartment. I am relieved at least that her best friend is giving me the chance to make this right. I grip the key hard enough to leave an indentation in my palm. My nerves are frayed with the uncertain hope that Sam will do the same and give me a chance. The taxi driver clearly gets bonus pay for the speed of each fare, whether we survive seems to be incidental. The traffic is surprisingly heavy for this time in the early morning and he weaves perilously close to the other vehicles, barely raising a curse when he clips and nudges a few.

The rain is torrential when the driver drops me at the far end of the street near the Steps. I challenge the wisdom that I didn’t take the opportunity to change when I stopped to pick up my passport. But my urgency to get to Sam outweighed any rational or practical thought. My suit darkens as it quickly absorbs the downpour. I am soaked to my skin when I reach the apartment building. There are no names assigned to the apartment numbers but Leon told me it’s at the top. Next to the buzzer is a little icon depicting unlocked handcuffs. I sniff out a laugh at the fitting representation and wonder which one of them considers that to be Sanctuary, Leon or Sam.

It’s still dark, and with the heavy rain, the early morning sun is struggling to cast any light on the street. The buildings are tightly packed together, sandstone coloured, six and seven stories high. This building has typical architecture of the fifteenth century Renaissance period, which is stunning and prevalent throughout the ancient city. The elaborate wrought iron gate guards the more modern glass doors to the apartment block, but it is unlocked. I open the main doors with Leon’s key and enter a spacious marble vestibule. The staircase winds around the square room, and rather than waking the entire building by using the antique looking open lift, I take the stairs. My wet shoes skid, failing to gain any traction on the smooth floor, but the stairs have a thick, green carpet and I am able to take them two at a time.

I take a deep breath when the key sides into the lock. I am soaked to my skin. My heart is pounding like it is desperate to escape my chest. Painful, hard beats thump so loud it’s distracting. My mouth is dry, and I realise I am a mix of nerves and desperation. I have to make this right. The hallway is an extension of the stairway, light marble floor and intricate mouldings that edge the walls and decorate the five metre high ceilings. The narrow strip of carpet silences my footsteps and leads a natural path into the apartment. The living room is empty but that isn’t a surprise. Sam isn’t a morning person. I turn back and walk along the other part of the corridor to the only door that isn’t open. I nudge it open. A large four poster bed dominates the room. Elegant and gaudy gold gilt carved wood columns with heavy red velvet drapes on each of the posts almost hide the sumptuous empty bed. My heart drops at the sight.

I feel a chill of a breeze and see the movement as the wind catches the light chiffon curtain and billows it into the room. My heart stops. The image is breath taking. Sam is half leaning, half embracing the stone column that frames the open window. The curtain lifts and sighs with the natural breeze, dancing and teasing her nakedness. Her hair falls straight and almost kisses the base of her spine, the soft curve of her hip and smooth round of her bottom, flawless. Her long, slim legs cross one behind the other and—fuck me—she’s wearing heels! Six inch, white satin with thin straps, crisscrossed at the back of her ankle. Delicate white feathers dance in the breeze. Fuck, they are sexy. But it’s the middle of the night, or early morning, why the fuck is she wearing heels?

“Fuck,” I breathe and snap my mouth shut, too late to not be heard. She jumps and turns grabbing the sheer curtain to cover herself. Her face is shocked then instantly broken.Shit.I step forward. I can’t stand it. Her eyes are glossy with tears, red and ugly with the pain I’ve caused. She’s so fucking beautiful. I hate that I have marred her perfection. I step forward and she shakes her head. “Sam…” My voice is stern, it’s the only way I can keep it from breaking at her sorrow-filled expression.

Her eyes darken, and she goes to speak, but I worry I won’t like what she is about to say. I need to show her what she means to me first. I need to make herfeelme. Then we can talk. I swoop and crush my body against hers. She gasps at the impact against the marble column. My mouth crushes hers and her fists hit my shoulders, thump and pinch and pull and embrace. Grabbing and tearing at my wet clothes with a wildness akin to something feral. My jacket hits the floor. My shirt is ripped in two, quickly joining the ever-increasing heap of my clothes on the floor. Trousers, pants, socks, everything is soaked and resisting its necessary removal but I am on fire. I suck in my first real breath once I am free and naked. She sucks my lips and bites down, sucking again to taste the blood she’s just drawn. I growl into her mouth, and she moans. Her hands thread through my hair and grip and secure me against her. At this moment, I am not sure who is leading this dance, but I am at least glad we are on thefloor.

We spin and tumble into the room. Her eyes meet mine, the fire and desire has burned away the moisture, but deep down, I can still see the hurt. I clearly need to delve a little deeper. My tongue pushes into her sweet mouth, fighting and taking, desperate movements to consume and be consumed. Breathless and aching, I pull back, turn her in my arms and press her flat against the full length gilt mirror on the wall. Her breasts are pushed flat, her forehead resting lightly, and my arms cage her. She looks up through her long lashes, her breath deep and ragged. Her eyes shine with lust and passion.

“I want you, Sam.” I grit out angrily through clenched teeth.

“Yes. I get that.” She tilts her hips back to rubs her sweet arse against my painfully hard cock. I hold my position but don’t push back.

“No,” I pause and draw in a steady breath. “I wantyou.” I repeat and she narrows her eyes, her jaw tightening.

“Yes, Jason, I get that. I’m hardly saying no, am I?” She pinches out a tight smile, but her brows flicker with a flash of doubt.

“Sam, I want you.” My voice softens and she closes her eyes. When they open the lashes are again heavy with tears.

“Don’t.” She closes her lids tight and bites her lips.

“I wantyou,Sam.” I wait for her to open her eyes. I need for her to see me but she is stubbornly keeping them closed. I lean closer to her ear. My breath makes her tremble. “I loveyou,Sam.” Her eyes fly open, fat tears burst onto her cheek.

“You can’t love me, Jason.” She shakes her head and searches my eyes for the trick.

“Why?” I hold her gaze with utter honesty. This is no trick.

“People like me—” Her voice waivers but I snap my interruption.

“I’m more a whore than you ever were, Sam. We both know that.” My voice drops at the end of my declaration and a moment passes before her faces dawns with understanding.

“Fucking Leon.” She rolls her eyes then shakes her head with resignation. “It doesn’t change anything, Jason.”

“No, it doesn’t. I want you, Sam.” She shifts uncomfortably under my gaze caged within my arms.

“Jason—” her plea is halfhearted but I need to make things clear before we can hope to get past this.

“Do you believe I fucked Peitra?” I relax with her instant answer.

“No, but you lied to me.” She levels a scowl that could leave scorch marks if I wasn’t already burning.

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