Page 60 of Samuel's Heart

“I’ll have to stop, unless you want to help me out by riding me.”

There is a long silence, and I’m nearly ready to call it a joke when he answers.

“Give me time for a shower and I’ll be there.”

“I have a better idea. Have a shower here. I’ll lend you a hand.” I’m proud of myself when his breath hitches, telling me he’s getting aroused.

“Bye.” And the phone goes silent.

I wheeze at the thought of him coming here and us showering together. I replay our conversation to distract myself, laughing at how quickly he ended the call.

With some difficulty, I push my dick back into my boxers. I leave my trousers open, and try to avoid playing with myself before he gets here.

I look around and the place is a mess, so I quickly wash my hands and begin cleaning the places he’ll be seeing on the way to my room. Once I’m done, I walk to my room and tidy up there as well. This time, we’re having sex on the bed. I move to the ensuite bathroom, ensuring clean towels are on the hook.

Once everything is how it should be, I return to my spot on the sofa and pick the folder back up. I’m so engrossed in reading the information that the bell ringing makes me jump.

I stand up and rush to the intercom, pressing the button to open the building door, and then I wait by the door, eager to see him. I’m a bit embarrassed about my need to see him, and that’s when I notice my trousers are still open. I quickly do them up, so I don’t seem too eager to move from the door to the bed.

He doesn’t even need to knock because I open the door as soon as I hear his steps getting closer. I love the way he stands at the entrance and leans against the frame, looking me up and down, as if already savouring me. I do the same, and I love seeing him blush under my perusal.

“Come in,” I say, inviting him in with a smile.

“Hi,” he says, while moving away from the frame and taking a few steps in until I’m able to close the door.

Then he turns, and takes a few more steps towards me until my back is pressed against the door I just closed.

“How are you?” he asks, his tone sinful and charming.

“I’m okay,” I say, pulling him closer and leaning in to kiss him.

“How’s your leg?” he asks once I let him go.

“Better,” I reply, moving away from the door and over to the sofa. “Would you like a coffee?”

“No, I’m good,” he says, sitting down.

His eyes fall on the papers on the table, and the goofy atmosphere disappears in a blink. I want to put them away, but I understand his need to go through them.

“Let me make you a coffee and then we can have a look at them,” I say, standing up.

“Do you mind?” he asks, guilt playing on his face.

But that’s not what I want. I want him to be open, and demanding, and funny, like he was over the phone and when he entered the apartment.

“It’s all good. I understand your need to know.”

“Thank you,” he says, and I want to lean in and kiss him, but I don’t.

“Have a look,” I say, taking the folders and placing them on his lap.

I take my time preparing our drinks, and when I return, he’s immersed in the papers. His eyes are full of tears. It must be hard for him to read about the love of his life, and how his organs were scattered around the country to save the lives of people who’d probably lost all hope.

Nothing is going to bring John back to him, but maybe knowing how much good he did will help him with the pain he’s going through now—and when he woke up and realised John wasn’t there.

I’m aware of the pain of being a survivor. To be the only one left. The guilt that eats you from the inside, and ruins everything, until you are an empty shell.

I stand there, looking at him, until he wipes his tears and sniffles a little. Only then do I make my presence known, and he turns his head to finish cleaning his face.

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