Page 75 of Wishing Hearts

“I’m not your mom,” I say at last. “I won’t ever leave you. Not like that. Not for any reason, you hear?”

Winnie nods, but her bottom lip is trembling, and it’s all I can do not to curse Danielle’s name. It’s for the best she didn’t stay. I know that—I do. Lord knows what would have happened if she’d kept Winnie, but it still angers me to no end when I’m put in this position. A position where I have to lie to my daughter.

When do I tell Winnie the truth? Do I? Danielle didn’t want her to know.

“Try to close your eyes and rest, Pumpkin,” I say, running my fingers soothingly through Winnie’s hair.

She does as I ask, turning slightly and wrapping one arm over Tigger, but the tension doesn’t leave her face for a long time. It’s not until a good twenty minutes later that Winnie’s breaths are even and her expression is smoothed in sleep.

I exit her room carefully and stop to listen outside the door, letting out a deep breath when all stays quiet. Heading down the hall, I find Sam in my bedroom, shirtless and sitting against my headboard. The light in the en suite is on, and the mirror is still a little fogged from Sam’s shower.

I lock the door before approaching, and Sam tilts his head. “What’s wrong?”

“Rough one,” I answer, sitting on the edge of the bed. I’m not surprised he could read it on my face.

“I’m sorry,” he says gently. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Maybe later,” I say, rubbing my eyes before squeezing Sam’s leg over the sheet. He looks a little sheepish suddenly, and I notice the bottoms of his arms are hidden away under the white linens, same as his legs. “Why do you look like that? Are you hiding something?”

Sam gives me an almost apologetic smile before he lifts his hands out from under the sheet. His wrists are bound together with a tie.

I slap my hand over my mouth, barking a laugh. “Sammy, what did you do?”

“Well, I thought you might wanna play,” he says slowly. “And don’t worry. I coulda gotten out. But, uh, now you seem like you might need a hug instead.”

He twists his hands, reaching one toward the tie like he’s going to free himself, but I grab the fabric between his wrists, halting his movement. His eyes ping to me, watching, waiting.

“You really wanna play Bad Cop?” I ask, pulse firing.

He licks his lips. “Well, I’m already tied up for ya.”

“Oh, Sam,” I say, rolling to my knees and crawling up over his body. He tilts his head back, eyes moving with me as I settle on his lap, his bound hands between us. “You’re good for me, you know that?”

I get one of those grins that make my knees a little weak.

“Are you naked under here?” I ask, slipping my hand beneath the sheet and encountering bare skin. I flit my fingers along Sam’s hip, right where his constellation should be.

“I’ve already been debriefed,” he says, deadpan.

I laugh again, my insides feeling so damn light. “Fuck, Sammy.” Grabbing his wrists in one hand, I bring them up above his head. My body is thrumming in anticipation, and after the day I’ve had, I do want to play. I want to lose myself for a little while in this man. I want to thank him for everything he’s done. For who he’s becoming to me. “Looks like you’re mine tonight. You okay with that?”

“Yeah, Officer,” he answers, voice taking on a hoarse edge. “Do your worst.”

My cock bucks, and Sam stays still, watching me patiently despite the hunger I can see in his eyes. He’s wearing that glass heart of his right on his sleeve, transparent as ever, and I want to protect it. I want to place it beside my own. A perfect pair.

Maybe he can protect mine, too.

Leaning forward, I bring my lips to Sam’s. He meets me eagerly, tongue tangling with my own and hips moving restlessly, seeking friction. When I lean back, he chases. Chases my tongue, my touch, my very essence, it seems. He asks for more.

I want to give him everything.

“Hands behind your head, Sam,” I tell the man, giving the tie binding him a squeeze before letting go.

Sam rumbles—purrs—as he lowers his wrists, settling them comfortably behind his neck. I ease back, raking my fingers down his torso as I take the man in. His reddened lips. The flexed arms. His broad chest and defined abdominals, and the trail that leads down below the sheet. The way he’s fixed on me, trust and something that feels a lot like familiarity in his gaze.

“You said I could use your mouth,” I say, flitting my fingers over Sam’s crotch and the outline of his cock.

Sam nods, cheeks flushed. “Yes.”

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