Page 45 of Wishing Hearts

Chapter 13

Harrison

When I ease Winnie’s door partway shut, I listen for a couple seconds to make sure she doesn’t wake up. My heart is pounding, making it hard to hear anything else. But after I’m sure she’s well and truly down for the night, I make a pitstop in the bathroom, and then I head downstairs to find Sam.

He’s on the couch again, posture relaxed as he flips through a magazine, but he looks up immediately when I step into the room, giving me an easy smile.

So transparent.

“Sam,” I say, cocking my head toward the stairs.

He doesn’t have to be told twice. Sam drops the magazine, swings off the couch, and passes me by, jogging lightly up the stairs. I huff a laugh at his retreating form.

When I get to my bedroom, Sam is already inside, standing in front of my dresser and looking at a picture of me holding a baby Winnie. There’s a soft smile on his face, and it makes my throat close up a bit. When I lock the door, Sam’s head swings my way.

“Hey,” he says quietly, walking right into my space. I lean against the door as Sam lifts his hands to my face, cradling me for the briefest of moments before his lips press to mine.

I make a sound, the tiniest kind, and Sam rumbles in response, kissing me as if it’s all he wants. As if it’s all he’s wanted since the last time we were connected this way. It’s sweet and coaxing, but after Sam’s impassioned words this evening, I don’t need any coaxing. Not in this.

Grabbing a hold of him, I walk Sam backwards until he hits the bed. He oofs in surprise when I shove him flat, but there’s a grin on his face as I climb over his body, reconnecting our mouths in an instant. He moans against me, the sound turning into a grunt when I pin his wrists flat to the bed.

“Mm-hm,” he says against my mouth, voicing his approval as I rut against him. He meets my movements, our crotches rubbing together, both of us chasing friction on our cocks through the material of our clothes.

Abandoning Sam’s wrists for his fly, I lean up enough to open his jeans. His eyes are dark and wide in excitement, and the moment I get him undressed enough to close my hand around his cock, he groans.

“Shh,” I remind him, giving him a couple slow strokes. The weight of him in my hand is heady, and heat settles in my stomach as Sam hitches his hips into my grip.

I could take him apart just like this—slowly, methodically—but part of me is worried we won’t have the time. That this will be the night Winnie wakes, looking for me. The other part of me… Well, the other part is desperate to see this man fully naked before the night is over. We didn’t get the chance during our quickie in the shed.

With that in mind, I grab Sam’s waistband and tug. Sliding off the bed, I take his pants and underwear with me, pulling them neatly down his legs. His socks go next, and by the time my gaze rises to take him in, Sam has removed his own t-shirt, leaving him stark naked, up on his elbows on my bed.

I drink him in. The smattering of dark hair on his chest. The trail that leads down his stomach. The damn six-pack I just knew was going to be there. His cock, standing hard and flushed a beautiful pink. And… Oh. The tattoo sitting along his hip.

“Told you I had one,” Sam says as I step closer.

“What is it?” I ask, tracing the seven small, irregular dots that remind me of stars.

“The Big Dipper,” he answers, giving me a slight shrug when I look at him questioningly. “I like lookin’ at the stars.”

I hum, a million questions entering my mind, but Sam reaches for me. “Get undressed, Harrison,” he practically pleads. “I’m dyin’ over here.”

Huffing a laugh, I shuck my clothes. Sam watches all the while, his gaze on me hot. He rumbles when I finally drop my briefs, and God, I love that sound. I want to hear this man purr for me. I want to hear him growl.

When I climb back over Sam’s body, the both of us naked, he watches me carefully. I can tell he’s waiting to see what I’ll do. He’s sizing me up after the way I manhandled him onto the bed. He’s ready to let me lead, and I know he would do just that if it’s what I wanted.

I grab his wrists again, slowly, wrapping my fingers around him tight. He grunts slightly as I rub our bare dicks together. He’s hard against me—hard everywhere. His dick. His stomach. His thick fucking thighs.

“Sam,” I say gently, leaning down to nip at his ear. “You’re letting me win.”

His hands twitch. I can feel it in the way his muscles bunch under my grip. He’s still for a moment, processing, and then he tugs his arms down. He gets pretty far, too, nearly loosening my hold, but I slam his wrists back against the mattress, pinning him down tight as I rub against him.

“Thought you said you wanted your mouth on me,” I taunt, sliding my lips down his neck. I inhale greedily, and Sam infiltrates my lungs. He smells like sunshine. Like fresh air and an honest day’s work. I give his skin a kiss. “What are you waiting for?”

Sam takes and expels a breath. And then he moves.

Before I can count to two, I’m flat on my back, and Sam is claiming my mouth like he has every right to it. It’s hungry and near bruising, and I don’t know that I’ve ever felt anything more perfect. The startling thought lasts only a moment before Sam is moving down my body, one of his hands holding my wrists tight, his other sliding to my neck as he trails his mouth lower. My heart thumps a heavy, thrilling beat as he licks against the hollow of my throat.

“Stud,” he drawls, the word gravelly. “I wanna do so many wicked things to you.”

---