I don't sleep that night.
Instead I lie awake in my lonely bed with a fast beating heart, my mind running rampant in a way that can't be silenced. My heart aches— yearns for the boy in the house next door more than I can explain. It's an unfamiliar strain than what I've become conditioned to over the last five years.
My body tingles where every touch and kiss was left as if he's imprinted himself on me. Teeth and hot tongue on my neck, chest, and against my lips leave me in a state of desperation from the now almost fourteen hours without.
After we carefully and shyly reclothed our bodies, we went to the beach and treated the day as we always did. Only then, there was a strange feeling in the air between us. Undeniable lust and passion that swirls between us and weaves itself so tightly there that it feels like we'll never be who we were before.
But for the first time, there's no negative connotation to it. This feels really good. Safe.
Only now, we stay in our respective separate rooms and try to wrap our heads around this afternoon.
The next morning isn't any easier. As I run on very little sleep, I'm pretty disappointed to see Noah and Bennett in the kitchen at Sam's. I was hoping it would just be the two of us— selfishly. I'm quickly reminded that won't be the case for today or tomorrow, because they're staying over at Sam's tonight.
"Chandler can decide," Bennett drops his hand on the countertop.
"What can I decide?" I ask. I still haven't looked at Sam, worried my face will be the brightest shade of red and will therefore be a dead giveaway that something happened between us.
Noah sighs. "I think we should go to the beach but Bennett thinks we should stay in because it's raining."
I nod, careful as my eyes move to the boy who hasn't said anything yet. And before I can process the look on his face, I quietly ask, "What do you wanna do, Sam?"
Then, I process.
It's no secret that I'm the biggest fan of his eyes— an absolute sucker for their darkness. They're on me as he leans over the counter, as he often does, and there's a knowingness this time that's quite unfamiliar to me. A sparkle that I'm curious about, especially as it pairs with a very small, shy smile.
"Whatever you want, Chandler," he replies.
My skin feels ten million degrees the second my name rolls of his tongue. I want him to say it again, say it like he did yesterday when we were taking our clothes off, say it like he did when I was coming for him— over him. Rough and desperate all at once.
When his gaze becomes too much, I look down at the floor and shrug. He knows that neither of these options will suffice for me, he knows I'd rather repeat yesterday afternoon than anything else.
"You two are useless," Bennett rolls his eyes before I can respond. I snap my head up to him. "Can we at least stay inside until it stops raining?"
I'd try to rebut, but Noah and Bennett are already moving toward the living room before I can tell him that I'm not useless. The minimal rage flees the second I realize that their lack of patience results in Sam and I being alone in the kitchen.
"What's his problem?" I ask from across the room. It's my attempt at a neutral topic to test the waters.
He shrugs his shoulders. "Don't know. I don't really feel like keeping track of his emotions today."
"Why not?"
"Tired," he stands up straight.
"Didn't sleep?"
He shakes his head. There's a smugness on his face that intrigues me. "No. Did you?"
"No."
"Why not?"
I can't answer that right now.
My back touches the wall. I think it's holding me upright as I hurl playful taunts in his direction. "I just didn't. Why didn't you?"
He doesn't answer right away. He makes me wait as he watches me, studies me from across the countertop that serves as a barrier between us. Eyes start at mine before trailing down the couple of inches to my lips, taking them in until they make their move back to my eyes again.
It's confident. It makes my knees lock.
He raises his eyebrows. "Care to take a guess?"
I cross my arms over my stomach as I feel entirely vulnerable with him looking at me this way. It's not a familiar feeling, but still I crave it.
My lips part to respond but I'm interrupted when Noah comes back to the kitchen.
"I think we're gonna play Uno while we wait for the rain to pass."
But the rain doesn't pass. And I don't get any less angsty.
My skin is undeniably hot to the touch as I watch my best friend in a light that I'm unfamiliar with, replaying his demanding words all while professing his most intimate thoughts to me— showing me like he's desperate for me to understand. Every move he makes serves as a subtle jab to my side because I'm forced to remember that as real as he is before me, I've seen the realest and most raw side of him just yesterday that I can't unsee.
And even worse, I'm forced to sit beside him as we play the card game on the floor. There's less than a foot between us in our small circle and to be fair, I'm sitting just as close to Noah. Only I don't feel such a magnetic force between Noah and I.
Not like I do with Sam.
Speaking of, he's just hit me with a draw four.
"Blue," he smugly chooses the next color. I realize it's not only a draw four, but also a wild card.
Through slightly gaped lips, I stare back at him. "Sam, what the hell?"
He shrugs. "Sorry. There's no loyalty in Uno. You know that."
"Fuck you," I scowl at him.
It's mean to be a joke. It comes off as a joke, and I'm fairly certain it's accepted as one until our eyes connect.
Dark eyes make him look like he wants to say something. Badly. Something that he shouldn't say, something that's been on the tip of his tongue for the last twenty-four hours.
It's like he's telling me, Gladly, selfish to relive yesterday just like I am.
The gentle curve of his lips sends searing heat between my legs that feels impossible to ignore.
Noah wins the first round of Uno and because of that, we all agree to his plan to go to the beach despite the rain. He's sure to note that it's not down pouring, it's only drizzling. So for that reason, we should enjoy the summer day while we can until the thunderstorms strike later that evening.
Beneath a light gray sky thick with bellowing clouds in the distance, we play chicken and Bennett shows us his handstand and Noah tries to one-up him by showcasing his cartwheeling abilities on the shore. I take it one step further and share the back-handspring I learned from watching Bring It On far too many times.
Playful and familiar smirks are passed along to me amidst it all. Knowing glances and raised eyebrows. Despite yesterday, we feel aligned. Close. Like nothing ever drove us apart. Security is all we know, and we'd never dare to lose it.
Even in the rain, it's a perfect day.
When light gray is replaced by muted dark blue, we call it quits and plan to head back to Sam's. My hands and knees are coated with the tiny grains of sand in the most uncomfortable way so I mention that I'm going to run home to shower and change, but I'll make it back for our Nightmare on Elm Street movie marathon.
I do just that, hurriedly pulling at the straps of my bathing suit before I've even made it to the stairwell. But I stop in my place with my hands covering my chest when I realize that I'm not alone, because the back door has opened and closed behind me. I don't need to ask who it is because I already see Sam, his skin slick like mine even in this darkened daylight. His chest heaves, I can see it even from this far away, as he watches me with warm eyes.
"Oh. Hi," is all I say, breathing out nervously.
"I, um," he gulps, his throat bobbing. "I told Noah and Bennett to use the showers at my house."
There are three showers at the Prescott house. This has never been a problem before.
"Okay," I nod.
He steps closer until he meets me at the bottom of the stairs while only leaving a small amount of space between us. I can feel his breath grazing my cheeks, sending chills through my already cold body.
I don't need him to elaborate further.
I already know where this is going.
So instead of saying anything more, I start up the stairs with him following close behind, all while still clutching my damp bathing suit in my now shaking hands in a desperate act to keep myself somewhat decent in the event that I've misconstrued.
I wonder if he can hear me swallow hard as we enter my silent bedroom. I wonder if he can hear my insatiable heart racing in my chest, all for him. I wonder if he notices my hand shaking as I open the bathroom door that leads off of my bedroom, or as I pull the faucet open to start the warm streams of water. I wonder if he sees the hopefulness in my eyes when I look up at him as we both stand inside of my bathroom.
"Do you want to go first?" I ask lowly, my eyes dazed as they fixate on his neck and collarbones that glisten from the rainwater.
It's not fair when his throat contorts as he swallows, serving as a vicious taunt for what I can't have right this second.
"No," he shakes his head. He sounds breathless. "You can go first."
I mirror him but find myself unable to move, my feet glued to the floor. It's hard to tell if the heat I'm feeling is from the hot shower steam or his body or my very own nerves, but I feel myself going warm. Hot. Desperate to remember what yesterday brought.
"Chandler," he breathes. It hitches.
"Hm," I hum as I still can't get myself to look away from his chest, his shoulders, his neck, his—
"Aren't you going to get in?" he asks.
My eyes are slow to find his but once they do, I know it's no use to even attempt to stop the words begging to flee my unruly lips.
"Can you help me with my bathing suit?" I act as if I haven't done this on my own hundreds of times. Even the most complicated strings were no match for me now.
But something shifts in me. I'm addicted to the way Sam touched me and looked at me yesterday afternoon, viciously craving my next fix as if it's been lifetimes without.
He doesn't respond, but he doesn't need to. Dark, beautiful eyes don't dare part as his hands reach for mine that stay clutched over my chest. He's gentle as he pulls them away, allowing just one side of my bathing suit to fall and expose the very top of my breast just above my nipple. The other is still tied at my shoulder. His breath catches as he pulls at the other tied string to match the other.
I bite my lip to prevent a desperate moan from slipping through. But Sam is quick. He pulls my lip free to force whatever words or sounds lay dormant in my throat until he makes his next move.
With his other hand, he finds the back of my bikini top that ties neatly against my skin and he pulls that one next to let gravity to the rest and leave my damp suit a crumpled mess at my feet.
He doesn't look away from my gaze, years of miscommunication and uncertainty and angst coating the walls around us. Like me, he's apprehensive about making the wrong move. But I know we've fallen victim to our fears of rejection far too many times over the years.
So I take a leap.
Painstakingly, I capitalize on his thumb being gently pressed to my bottom lip by opening my mouth slightly and with innocent yet pointed eyes still locked on him, I wrap my lips around him and force my tongue against his thumb. Through dazed eyes I watch his shift, that similar darkness from yesterday flashing over them that makes arousal rush between my already wet center.
I'm not shy as I take him a little deeper, shamelessly loving the way his face looks so concentrated yet captivated. The taste of his skin leaves me reeling in the most obvious way especially as I moan helplessly against him. He wants to do something but he's stuck when I selfishly untie the knot at his waistband in an attempt to move things along as my patience wears thin.
"Fuck this," he growls before pulling himself out of my lips. I think he's frustrated with me until he slides his hand around my neck and forces his lips to mine.
Hot. Heavy. Sam.
If it weren't for his hand around my neck, I don't think I'd be standing upright. His mouth is possessive, his tongue demanding as it presses against mine. He tastes like mint and salty ocean and Dr. Pepper. He tastes like the only taste I ever want to know ever again, because no other taste matters.
With his free hand, he forces me against him by my lower back so we can feel just how tormented we both are. It's unmistakeable.
"I didn't want to rush this, Chandler," he roughly murmurs against my lips, all while rushing to touch every inch of my skin. What he's saying and doing are pure opposites which leaves me only a little confused, until he says, "But I can't help myself. I need you."
He needs me.
I need him.
And that's the only thing that matters.
"Come here," he murmurs against wet lips as he pulls me backward until we're both covered by hot beads of water. It's not enough to pull us apart, though. I fear that nothing could be.
When his lips selfishly find my neck that's slicker than it was before, I weave my fingers through his messy hair to keep him there and warmly exhale his name amidst the subtle roar of the water above our heads.
I barely notice my fingers are at his waist again until I quietly plead, "Can we?"
"Yeah," he presses. "Yes. Now."
All I can do is nod as I hastily pull down his bottoms to leave them in a pile on the shower floor. Mine are quick to follow at my own volition to leave us both completely naked for the second time in just twenty-four hours.
Our previously drenched bodies are now even more drenched as the hot water cascades over us. I'm in a trance as the droplets bead against his shoulders and chest, remembering those summer afternoons when I was just a teenager desperately wondering what it would feel like to touch them. Kiss them. Taste them.
Fearlessness is all I know in this moment and I do exactly that. I pepper soft kisses along his already wet skin, my tongue gathering the drops against it as if to collect them for myself.
It doesn't last for long, though, because Sam is fisting the hair on the back of my head to force my face to look up at his.
"Can't get you out of my head," he confesses. "Never. I've never gotten you out of my head."
"I don't want you to."
"No, no you don't understand. I've thought about this— I've lost sleep over this."
My eyes fall. "Sam."
"Do you want me to fuck you again?" he's bold and serious, darkness in his eyes to show me that he's in control.
I could moan from his words alone, but instead I nod.
When he leans in to kiss me again, I stop him. Bravery still laces my bloodstream. "Do you want to fuck me again?"
He's hasty. "God, yes."
He lifts me up so swiftly and is suddenly inside, swears and moans littering the small enclosure we've found ourselves in. We don't move at first. It's still a completely foreign feeling that I'm not sure will ever lose its luster, especially not now with it only being our second time. But suddenly my back is against the tile and with his arms beneath my knees and his palms against the wall, he slowly stretches me and waits until I'm ready for more.
Hot lips stay against mine when he growls, "Are you okay? Do you want me to move?"
"Yeah," I whine.
His smile is nothing less than confident as he pulls himself out of me before sliding right back in with much more ease than the first time, but it still leaves me breathless. I close my eyes for a moment to bask in the pleasure of it all, but he bites down on my bottom lip to draw my attention back.
"Look at me, Chandler," he demands.
I feel drunk when I open my eyes to look at him. Completely helpless and under his control more than I've ever been as he begins to fuck me like he's done it hundreds of times before, knowing every little crevice and every little hang up I have.
"Good girl," he praises all while whimpering from the pleasure. I'm not the only one. "That's my good girl."
My eyes roll back without warning. I'm sure to return them to his in a desperate attempt to obey his command.
Sam Prescott is many things.
He's smart. He's kind. He's funny. He's outgoing. He's handsome. He's athletic. He's loyal. He's family oriented. He's a good friend.
And he's fucking unbelievable when he's having sex.
The words that fall from his lips are ones I couldn't even have dreamt up in the filthiest of my fantasies about him, not that I'm complaining in any form. This is a pleasant surprise that I'd like to uncover more and more as we continue whatever this is.
"Faster," I pant eagerly. "Please."
He covers my mouth with his in a passionate yet sloppy kiss that leaves me reeling and begins to move faster per my command. My back hits the tile over and over until he pushes himself as close as possible so that my back doesn't leave the wall, and he's in full control of the pace he decides on.
"Oh, god," I cry out when he wraps his lips over my nipple, all the while he moves in and out of me. "You— oh god— you're—"
Apparently Sam has the power to leave me speechless, more than I've ever thought.
"Talk to me, baby," he bites down on the sensitive skin.
If he doesn't stop, I'll come. Fast. And I want to make this last as long as I can before our friends start to question our whereabouts.
"You're going to make me come," I confess almost pathetically.
He smiles against my chest which only further worsens the wetness between my legs. I swear I can feel my heartbeat there when he says, "You'll come when I let you come."
"Sam," I gasp. "But what about—"
"What?" he keeps going.
"We have to get back soon before—" I lose my breath again when he moans against me. "Before they start to wonder where we are."
He shakes his head. "I don't care about them. I care about this. You. Right now."
Our lips are forced back together in a passionate frenzy that makes me question my sanity.
"Do you care about them right now? Hm?" he bites my lip gently. Assertively.
I throw my head back as hot beads of water attack my neck. Sam follows, licking and sucking on the hot skin that only gets hotter as each moment passes.
"No," I finally say, ridding our two friends from my mind. I let any worry leave my head and bask in this for now, using Sam's words as a way of easing me.
"Good. I'm not rushing this. You look too fucking pretty when you take me," he praises against my lips. "I wish you could see yourself."
"Fuck, Sam," I whine again. My jaw clenches instinctively.
Ridding the tiny grains of sand couldn't be farther from either of our minds despite it being the initial purpose of showering. Only now, I don't care and neither does he.
Brazenly I spit on my three fingers and hurriedly press them to my clit in an attempt to show him I need release, and I need it fast. I need to come for him— with him— because I feel like I'll die if I don't.
He whimpers at the sight. "Oh my god, look at you," he staggers. "Touching yourself," he pants breathlessly.
I nod, the light in my eyes going in and out as he fucks me senseless beneath the hot water. Wetness slips between our lips as we messily kiss, tongues and teeth knocking together in a passionate frenzy.
"For you," I moan in agreement.
"Yeah?" he smirks. Even still, I know he's going mad at the thought and sight. "You always think of me when you do that?"
Even though he asks, I know he already knows the answer. It's been him, only him, every single day for as long as I can remember. He's the primary thought when I selfishly press my fingers inside of myself, and he knows it.
He loves it.
I gasp when I think he's going to let me come, then doesn't. He leaves me hanging there to show me that as long as he's inside of me, I'm under his control.
"Yes," I whine, the desperation dripping down my lips. "You, Sam," I say again for good measure.
He bites my lip and begins thrusting into me in shorter, faster motions with the tops of his thighs pressed so tightly against the insides of mine. I'm already close to finishing as the pressure accumulates between my legs, but this puts me into a state of pure desperation that I don't know.
"I think of you, too," he confesses before kissing my lips. "Always you. Only you."
"Really?"
"God, yes," he exhales. "Like this. Letting me fuck you and kiss you any way I want. Watching you take me like such a good girl."
"Sam," I throw my head back. "Say that again."
"You like that? Hm? You like when I call you my good girl?"
He runs his tongue up the length of my throat to claim me again.
My body jolts reactively. I could listen to his voice like this all day. Raspy and low only for moments like this, when he gets to touch me in ways I've fantasized since I was young.
I moan, feeling entirely helpless. "Yeah. Yes. Please."
"Come on, baby. Be a good girl and come for me."
And that's what shoves me headfirst over the edge.
With my hand on the back of his neck, I hurriedly pull our mouths together for a searing kiss. And despite his command that I can't come until he lets me, I find myself selfishly coming around him so hard that I'm certain the room around me goes black. My body trembles, tremors tearing through me long enough to hold him through. His quick pace abruptly stops when he forces himself all the way in until he spills inside of me with our lips still pressed together.
"Oh god," I gasp for air while he kisses the corner of my lips, my cheek, my temple, and my jaw all while remaining inside of me. It's his way of easing me as I come down from my lengthy high.
I can feel the smile on his lips as he kisses everywhere but my lips, forcing me to let out a soft, exasperated laugh while I try to catch my breath.
Suddenly his lips are against mine, but we don't kiss. Tired eyes connect and we finally observe each other with cleared minds.
"How is this even better than I imagined it to be?" he asks, lazily looking down at my lips before meeting my eyes again.
I smile, brushing his wet hair behind his ear.
"Do you think it was worth waiting for?" I lick my bottom lip, desperate to taste him even though I've just had him all to myself. Still, it doesn't feel like enough.
It's more than worth it for me, but I need to know what he thinks.
He shakes his head and moves closer to kiss me, not before mumbling the words, "So fucking worth it," into my mouth.
Our friends don't seem to expect a thing when we get back. In fact, we probably could have been gone another half hour and they wouldn't have batted an eye. They're preoccupied with watching a YouTube video on the desktop computer in the living room.
They don't seem to notice how closely we sit together on the couch that afternoon. Or when I offer to make hot chocolate for everyone and Sam "helps" me in the kitchen by touching my hips and kissing my neck. Or when we sneak away to the brush when the rain clears up and touch each other beneath our clothes for what could be hours underneath the stars in the dead of night.
It's unspoken between us to keep this a secret. It feels more fun that way, even though sometimes I'd like to scream from the rooftops that I've finally gotten what I wanted. Or a fraction of it, at least.
Whatever this is, it's enough for the both of us now.
It's late the following day and Bennett and Noah still haven't left Sam's. It's almost like they know this is living torture for me and Sam, and they subconsciously get off on our deeply woven sexual frustration that's been nothing less than obvious since we were teenagers. Only now, we've both had a taste. I fear I'll never crave another on my tongue.
I was able to have a few hours of relief — if that's what you want to call it — because I had group this evening.
Tonight they made us dinner, one of their ploys to remove control from us when it comes to food. I remember the very first time I encountered that challenge, and I recall the vicious lump in my throat that would not subside as they quite literally force fed me a chocolate milkshake from McDonald's. Tonight was easier, and there was no force feeding necessary.
When I find my friends, they're sitting out on the beach by the fire pit. It's just the three of them, Bennett and Noah yelling back and forth about something I can't quite hear yet. Sam listens, and I observe him greedily as orange light kisses his tanned skin. He looks beautiful and comfortable with his knees slightly bent and his arms resting over them. The neck of a beer bottle is between his index and middle finger, dangling casually before he takes a small sip.
And then I feel my heart jump in my chest the second he notices my presence, his eyes going warm and his shoulders relaxing as I make my way through the sand.
"You guys aren't sick of each other yet?" I say, plopping down beside Sam. He hands his drink to me, and I take a sip.
In my head if I act normal, we can keep our intimacy private much longer. Internally, I bask in the fact that we've just drank from the same bottle. It's the closest to kissing him I've come since last night in the brush.
"I'm always sick of him," Noah growls, rolling his eyes toward Bennett.
"Fuck off," he shoots back.
I shake my head. "That's not true. You guys would be lost without each other."
"Throw up," Bennett points at his tongue.
"What were you guys fighting about?" I ask bravely. Most times, I try not to ask because I know it only fuels the fire. Sometimes it's easier to pretend it isn't happening at all.
Noah rolls his eyes shyly. "Nothing."
Bennett is more brazen. Bold, might be a better word. "He won't go down on that girl he's been seeing."
"That girl from your school? Maddie?" I ask. They both nod. "Why not?"
I feel Sam look over at me. I think it's a prompt to return his drink, so that's what I do. But my attention is mainly on my other two friends, because I'm entirely curious to hear Noah's reasoning and Bennett's argument back.
This is a fight I can weigh in on.
"He doesn't want to," Bennett answers for him.
Noah punches his arm. "Not what I said."
I shrug. "What is it then?"
Silence falls between all four of us as I wait for a reply. My instincts tell me that they don't want to go into detail with me because I'm their girl friend, but this is one of the few things I'm actually able to speak to. Not the video games they play or their film class or whatever else. Giving them advice about girls has always been my strong suit.
I wonder sometimes if it's the reason they keep me around.
"Well?" I shake my head, looking back and forth between the two boys across from me.
Noah looks down, and I'm fairly certain flush has found his cheeks. "Chandler, I don't know if I want to—"
"Come on!" Bennett pushes. "Tell a woman why you're too afraid to go down on another woman. I'm sure it will go over well."
"Have you?" I ask Bennett, taking some of the heat off of Noah. I know he has a way of constantly applying pressure on people when it isn't necessary, or when it's completely hypocritical. He gets so wound up so quickly, that sometimes he needs to be talked down.
He shrugs and looks at me through squinted, accusing eyes. "Are you kidding? Of course I have. I'm like, the fucking king of eating pussy."
Okay, throw up.
"Alright," I sigh, dropping my palms to my thighs. Ignoring Bennett's crudeness is like an Olympic sport when it comes to the rest of us. "So Noah, what's stopping you?"
"I just think it's too soon," he replies. "We've only been on, like, three dates."
"But they've had sex," Sam chimes in.
I furrow my eyebrows, looking over at him. "Wait a second. Have you done it before?"
"Had sex?" he challenges, trying to change the subject all while hurling a harmless taunt in my direction to catch me off balance.
It does for just a second, but I keep it together for the sake of wanting to know his answer. Bennett's boldness can be contagious, so I keep him and his nature in mind when I challenge back.
"No. I know you've had sex," I say. With Blake. With me. "I'm asking if you've ever eaten a girl out."
His eyes flash with something that I've only come to know in recent days. He looks entirely captivated. Turned on, maybe. The words that leave my lips are ones that I'd never say, the forwardness taking him off guard.
Except he loves it. I can tell by the way his gaze graces my lips before his tongue touches his bottom one, his breath slightly staggered as we all watch him and await his reply. Only it feels like our friends have disappeared in this moment, leaving just the two of us on the beach as the fire blazes before us— within us.
Without looking away from me, he slowly admits, "No. I haven't."
"What?"Noah and Bennett say in unison.
I raise my eyebrows to force him to elaborate, still not paying any mind to the other two bodies in this circle with us.
"You mean to tell us that you were with Blake Isaac and you've never done it?" Bennett asks.
Still, he only looks at me. "No. I didn't want to."
"Chandler, I'm sorry that two of your close male friends aren't feminists like I am. You know, I always knew they were women haters," Bennett rambles needlessly to fill the silence.
It makes me laugh.
"It's not that I don't want to," Sam adds, making us all look at him again. He's not watching me anymore, at least not at this second. Eyes make their way back to me when he softly says, "I'm saying I didn't want to. With her, I mean."
"Why?" my voice feels strangled.
He swallows hard. "Because I wanted to save it for someone I actually care about. Someone that means something to me."
It's quiet again, the uneven crackling of the fire and the only sound filling the air. The waves are quiet tonight from a placid ocean which would usually be comforting in a way, but right now it feels like we need it. At least, I do, because I feel like I have so many questions pleading to spill from my lips and any distraction would be greatly welcome.
"That sounds gay," Bennett mutters finally.
All the while, Sam eyes me like it's still only us at the fire. It's enough to close my throat, leaving behind any infectious confidence provided by Bennett.
It's pretty late when our two friends leave. So late, that I decide to call it quits myself for the evening to reside in my own bed. I fall asleep quickly, but not before having the hardest time shaking our conversation from my head.
I don't see him again until dinner the next day at his house.
Despite the unnamed tension between us, it doesn't mean we don't touch beneath the dinner table. Legs graze one another's with very clear motive while his hand only adds fuel to the fire as his knuckles carefully graze my bare knee. It makes me shift in my chair and out of the corner of my eye, I see Sam knowingly smile down at his plate.
Mom and Mari are clueless, or at least it seems that way. They make plans to go see the new Sex and the City movie this weekend, but not before asking if I want to come too.
"Oh, maybe," I smile politely. Selfishly, I think I'd rather take the alone time with Sam. "I'll let you guys know."
"Did you call your dad for his birthday?" I hear my mom's voice over the very loud tension accumulating under the table's surface.
I reach for my drink. "Me? No, I guess I forgot."
"You probably should. It's the least you can do since you haven't visited in almost two years."
The laugh that leaves my lips isn't meant to be so cold, but I think it comes off that way. "Are you saying you want me to go see him?"
"Of course I don't want you to, but I don't think it would hurt to call him a little more," she explains.
I shrug. "The phone works two ways."
"Your dad has never been good at communicating. You know that," she rests her elbow on the table.
"I wonder how Brissa deals with him," I mutter with a smirk.
"Her problem, not ours," she grins back at me. "But still. Call him."
"I will later."
___
My mom and Mari leave a little after dinnertime on Saturday to head to the movies. They plan on staying at a hotel in the city tonight when they find out that I'd rather stay back, which I wonder if Sam had a hand in. It seems like something he would do so we could be alone. And without Stella who is staying with one of her new boyfriends on and off this summer, that means Sam and I are left entirely on our own with two empty houses.
So when he calls and asks if I want to come over to watch a movie that night, I'm anything but surprised.
Nervous, but not surprised.
I'm even less surprised when we find ourselves on his bed in a passionate frenzy, my knees pressing into the mattress on either side of him. His strong, warm hands cover the backs of my bare thighs as fingers carefully tease the hem of my shorts. His shirt was shed moments ago in the doorway, but I stay fully clothed for now. All the while, our tongues slip against one another's as if it's all we've ever known.
With an empty house, it feels good to be as loud and honest as we crave to be. Although words haven't coherently been spoken between us yet, the whimpers and moans that litter the room are as truthful as it gets.
We want each other. We need each other. Whatever that means, it doesn't matter because right now, this is enough.
I press myself closer to him, rolling my hips against his clothed lower half. He groans into my mouth, telling me to do it again. I do.
"You drive me crazy," he mumbles against my lips after pulling my tank top free. "You know that?"
I swallow as I attempt to catch my breath, a challenging smile gracing my lips. "No, I don't know that."
"Come on, really?" he wets his lips. He looks intoxicated as he looks at me. "You can't feel it?"
I laugh, then press my mouth closed to fight off an exasperated moan that so desperately tries to find me when he forces his hips upward.
"Maybe," I hum. "I think our clothes are in the way."
He touches my breast that's still covered by my bra, his fingertips grazing the strap. With quiet laughter, he brazenly says, "Let me take them off so I can show you, then."
Before I can say anything more, he flips us over so my back is against his mattress. I look up at him under the dim yellow light coming from the lamp beside us. It's just enough to keep everything intimate while still letting our curious eyes discover more of one another.
Breathlessly, he begins kissing my jaw and neck with purpose. It's wet and warm, comforting and exhilarating.
I clutch his hair in my trembling fingers when I finally find myself speaking up to ask the question that's been on my mind since yesterday. "Sam?"
"Hm?" he hums.
I help him pull my shorts down to leave me in just my bra and underwear. He's hovering over me with desperation in his eyes to continue, but he waits for me as I try to make sense of my words in my head before asking them.
"Is something wrong?" he brushes my hair from my face.
A breath of air leaves my mouth. "No. No, not at all."
"What is it?"
"Did you mean what you said about Blake?" The words leave me so suddenly that I'm not entirely sure they're coherent or not. "About not, um, going down on her, I mean?"
"I was telling the truth about it," his thumb finds my lip, brushing back and forth across it. "Why?"
I shrug. "I don't know. It just surprised me, that's all."
"What do you mean?" Pretty lips form a small grin.
Again, I shrug. "I just assumed you'd done everything already. Maybe not with Blake, but with someone, I mean."
"Someone?" he furrows his eyebrows. "Chandler, there was no one else. I've only ever been with one person."
"You were with her a lot, though. Weren't you?"
He sighs, his warm breath easing me. "We had sex, if that's what you're asking. But it wasn't the same. She didn't—"
It's quiet between us. His chest moves uneasily but he looks at me with such honesty, such softness that I know is exclusively for me. It made me fall in love with him so long ago, and even more so right now.
But my breathing stops because although Sam is truthful, this is all uncharted territory. It's scary because I don't know this side of him despite my everlasting curiosity to learn it.
He quickly relaxes, pretty eyes warming to me when he says, "She didn't mean to me as much as you do."
My heart constricts in my chest. "So you didn't, um— you didn't—"
"No. I didn't, Chandler."
Quiet again. Time stands still, and I'm not sure if I want it to stay this way or to pick up again. Regardless, I need him to say more because I don't have words left in me.
"My first kiss wasn't with you. My first time having sex wasn't with you. So I wanted to save something— for you— just in case we found our way to each other," he goes on. "And we don't have to tonight if you're not ready, but—"
"Okay," I reply.
"What?"
I gulp. "I said okay. I want to."
His eyes search mine. "Are you sure?"
I nod and pull his lips back down to mine for a deep, slow kiss that eases my nerves. He kisses me back without hesitation. The whimper that vibrates against me makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up, but even more so as he begins his venture down my trembling body. Kisses against my chest, my stomach, and just above my underwear have me severely pleading, my hips lifting instinctively where his mouth goes. I barely notice that he's pulled my underwear more than halfway down my legs until he's lifting one of them over his shoulder.
Beautiful eyes don't part from mine when he says: "Tell me what to do, okay? Tell me what feels good."
I want to reply but the hot, wet kisses he places on the insides of my thighs take my breath away. The gentle bites make me gasp.
"Tell me what you like," another kiss is pressed against me, much closer to my center. "Tell me how it makes you feel," and another kiss. Closer. "Tell me everything."
Both of my knees are bent to give his arms room to hook beneath them. Strong hands rest on my stomach at first, then fingers creep downward to keep my legs apart. My skin goes hot as I watch him, but even more so when his lips graze the even hotter, more sensitive, wet skin that resides between my legs.
"I want you to talk me through it," he commands lowly before pressing a wet, opened mouth kiss against my throbbing middle.
I gasp at the feeling, my hips lifting off the mattress.
"Relax," he hums. "It's me, okay? Just relax."
I want to laugh in his face. If he thinks calling attention to the fact that he's the one who's about to have his tongue between my legs is going to calm me down, he's absolutely mental.
If anything at all, this only heightens my nerves.
It's Sam, for god's sake.
He kisses there again before swiping his hot tongue from bottom to top, which I'm fairly certain almost makes me black out. Just when I come to, he does it again, and I black out.
Again.
Trembling hands fist the bedsheets on either side of me when he boldly begins pressing his tongue in and out of me, quite literally fucking me with it. I call out his name, which earns me a moan that rattles through my insides.
"You taste—" he pulls me closer by my hips before sucking on the sensitive skin. "So good. Like fucking honey."
My eyes close because they're unable to bear the sight of him. Hearing and feeling him is quite enough and if I want to last, I need to give myself somewhat of a chance.
But he doesn't make it easy.
Lips graciously press against my clit before the very tip of his tongue swirls against it as if he's done this hundreds of times before. I want to question if he was telling the truth before, because it seems to me that he not only knows what he's doing, but he's a fucking expert at it.
"Oh my god," I whine, my hand bravely finding his hair. Dark waves weave between shaking fingers to keep him steady, right where I need him.
He kisses my skin again, then slowly inserts his middle finger inside of me.
"Oh my god!" I cry out.
I'm certain he smiles against me, which is confirmed when I daringly open my eyes to see him again. His eyes are so confident as he pleases me in a way he never has with anyone before.
It's then I realize that Sam Prescott is good at everything.
Our first time only ignites something between us. We had a hard time keeping our hands off of each other before, but it only intensifies after this moment.
Sam's insatiable need to taste me doesn't stop that night. If he has the opportunity to press his tongue between my legs, he does it.
Whether that's on the guest bathroom counter after we tell Mari we're going to watch movies, or if it's at my kitchen table after we've eaten lunch together on a sunny afternoon, or if it's in my bed after I've carefully helped him creep past my mom's bedroom late in the night, or even against the bay window in my bedroom as rain crashes against the glass.
But I'm not innocent either. His lust has me feeling just as ravenous for him during all hours of the day and night. I initiate quick, secretive sex in small passing moments when our friends are with us, when I see him get back from his morning run on the beach and he's about to take a shower, and in the back of his car when he picks me up from group.
I don't leave him hanging either by bravely breaking the ice and offering to go down on him, which only adds to the already intensely thick layer of passion coursing between us.
Sam's hands are on me more often than they aren't, his lips and tongue following close behind. Orgasms are shared in handfuls, each one providing more clarity than the last. What we share is absolutely explosive, unreal, and unbelievably easy. Any nerves or apprehension I've ever had about sex or intimacy no longer exist, because we're open to it all.
To everything, as long as it's with each other.