Page 17 of Samuel's Heart

I lick my lips and I love the sound John makes, so I do it again.

He stops when he’s only inches away from me, leans to the right, and in a quick move, reaches behind my back, snatching the garment from my hands.

“I think you should smellme. All over,” he says, while throwing the shirt behind his back without worrying where it lands.

His wicked smile brings even more of my blood to my already hard shaft.

“Oh, God. Stop saying things like this, especially when we need to go out,” I complain.

He leans in, going on his tiptoes and kissing me like his life depends on it. I’ll give him everything he asks for.

“I love your smell,” I say once we’ve separated.

“I love your smell, too. On me.”

I pull away and swat his ass, lingering there before moving back. I really want to pull him against me until we’re both sweaty and satisfied, but we need to go out.

Something falling on my hand brings me back to the room and the pain of loss. Now that I’m allowing the memories to seep through, the pain of what I lost is even greater than before. The pain of not seeing him one last time, giving him one last kiss, telling him one last time how much I loved him, and how lucky I was to have met him.

I wasn’t able to do that, but now at least, thanks to Samuel, I’ll be able to witness the parts of John that have given other people a better life.

Samuel . . .

I push the thought of him away because, before I start anything with anyone, I need to let John go.

Maybe one day . . .

Chapter Seven

Samuel

As expected, the file I’ve received from Henry is thin compared to Aidan’s. There aren’t any further details that are missing from the first one, so it’s useless.

Two things are missing from Aidan’s folder. One is the address, and the second is a detailed section on the guy’s movements. For the first, I bet he’s expecting me to call him, so he can brag some more about how good his company is, and how slow and paper-excessive the police are.

I would never admit that to him, but he’s right—too much paperwork to fill out and pass from hand to hand before things are done. While I understand it’s done to protect the public, I’m also aware of the damage it causes.

Anyway, hell can freeze over before I call him.

I fish my phone out of my pocket and search for Felix’s contact.

“Hey man,” I say as soon as the call engages.

“Were you looking for me?”

Oh, come on! I bite the words down when Aidan’s voice comes through the microphone.

“If I was looking for you, I would have called you.”

“ I see. You’re avoiding me.” His tone is colloquial with a hint of smugness I find detrimental to my sanity.

“Can I talk to Felix?” Let’s cut to the chase.

“He’s busy.”

Aahh! Every time I speak with him, I end up feeling like I’ve been stabbed all over by sticks.

“Are you going to ask for an address, or shall I tell Felix to call you?” I can practically taste his smirk through the phone.

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