The guy sitting at the end of the bed is looking at me as if I am a a fine piece of art. I back more into the wall than I thought possible.
"Who the hell are you? And how the hell did you get in here?"
He shrugs, still looking at me in that way, "You left the window open."
My eyes bulge out of their sockets, "Oh God you're a rapist."
His golden eyebrows scrunch together, "I thought you'd know me."
"I have never seen you in my life! If I had I would remember," his forest green eyes fly back up to my face and a shiver runs through my spine. I shudder.
"Sam Tatum," he says abruptly.
"What?" I ask, concerned at why I'm still talking to a thought to be rapist. Am I nuts or what? But for some reason I can't ask him to leave. I find it an effort to talk without my voice crackling.
"My name. Sam Tatum. Does it jog your memory?" his eyes meet mine and I gulp loudly, pretty sure that everyone and their dogs heard it. I shake my head.
"I'm your mate, Jett," he tells me. My mate? What the hell is that meant to mean? Friends? Personally I would have taken a smoother and less creepy approach to be friends. His hand reaches out to touch me. His hand goes out, I jump up.
"No! No touchy!" I make the sign of the cross with my fingers. He chuckles. Then I am shamefully aware that all I am standing in is a pair of black boxers with yellow smileys on them.
Shoot me now.
He studies me in that way again. But chuckles again, surprisingly.
"What?" I ask, agitated. Then I too look where he was looking. And if I thought things couldn't get any worse I have morning wood. I yelp and grab the blanket to wrap around my waist.
"I could take care of that for you," he tells me. My eyes bulge yet again.
"I don't swing that way!"
"I didn't say you had to," he shrugs and stands up, smoothing out his clothes. Of which I note are torn and dirtied with mud. He steps closer to me, slowly. And I back up more into the wall, waving my hand in front of my frantically. He smiles and steps closer all the same. The look on his face makes me stop frantically waving and just stand there, looking at him. His hand caresses my face, setting of a number of tingling sensations in my cheek. I find myself shutting my eyes and leaning towards his touch.
"I have been waiting twelve years to touch you," his lips brush against my forehead. I can't move. All I want is for him to touch me more and I don't know why. It's like I can't control myself when I move myself closer to him. I'm fully aware that my hard on is pressed against his own crotch. But I can't control my movements. It's like I want this so badly, but I don't know why I do or why I can't stop. We're around the same height of six foot so when he pushes his forehead against mine we look at each other directly in the eyes. His hands cradle my head firmly.
"You are so beautiful," he whispers and I can't find any voice to reply. I basically fall into his embrace, not wanting to let go at all. His arms are around me, lips against my forehead. My heart rate quickens and my whole body feels as if it's bathing in heaven.
"What have you done to me...?" I manage to ask in a slow, low and slugish voice. He holds me tighter.
I shut up and just savour this.
"Jett? Are you up yet?" Dads voice wanders up the stairs. I share a fleeting moment of panic with... Sam. He kisses my forehead once more and jumps out the window.