Sam

byrachelbagel067©

I met him when I was in high school. I had just come home from school and was dripping wet. My high school is only a block away from my stepfather's neighborhood (my mother moved both of us and my cat, who got hit by a car trying to go home, to his house). After shutting the door, I dripped on the rug and yelled at the top of my lungs, "MOM, YOU ARE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE WHAT THAT BITCH NIKKI WATSON DID TO ME TODAY!" The rain had only heightened my infuriation throughout the day. Suddenly, a gorgeous male stepped out of the hall. My mouth dropped as I stared at him, unable to tear my blue eyes away.

"Um, hi!" I squeaked out, wanting to ask my mother why a college hottie with good arms was in the hall of my class, or "wherefore", my new favorite word, since I found out it was a fancy way of saying why (although I'm not a fan of Shakespeare, I love the way Juliet says, "Wherefore art thou Romeo? Would a rose by any other name smell so sweet?" Aside from those lines, I think stuff most girls see as romantic is stupid). I knew there must've been a logical reason wherefore he was standing in our living room, but I needed my mother to tell me. However, instead of yelling, "Mom, wherefore is a yummy hottie standing in our living room?" like I meant to say, I blurted out, "What are you doing here?" all the while picturing him without clothes, letting me use my mouth on his maleness, throbbing beautifully at my kiss. Rather funny because I'd never seen an actual naked guy before, unless you count sneaking my mom's porn up to my room when I found out she had some. To be honest, it wasn't that good. Rather dull.

"I just came to see my dad," the nude image was saying in a deep, sexy voice as I stared at him intensely. Really, this is what males are said to do; I've always thought of myself to have a bunch of virile traits. However, I was sure he wasn't picturing me naked, not after the way I'd just screamed like a two-year-old.

"You've got the wrong house then," I informed him as disappointment enveloped my senses.

"He's my son," my stepfather announced as he came around the bend, his bald head shining as the overhead light bounced off of it.

"You don't have a son," I reminded him.

"Yes I do. From my first wife."

"Ohh. Then wherefore haven't I met him before?"

My stepfather laughed with a teaspoon of nervousness. "She's nosy," he told his son. "Um, Saffron, this is Sam Burgess, my son." A tiny bit of pride found its way into his tone as he uttered the words, "My son." "Sam, this is Saffron, my stepdaughter."

"Yeah, my dad named me for my eyes." I didn't look at Jake, my stepfather, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw him flinch. It really irks me that he thought all he had to do was marry my mother and—bam!—I see him as a father. I mean, I liked him and trusted him then, but I still sometimes felt the urge to remind him he wasn't my father to me and never would be. I loved my father, for, though my mother divorced him because of his womanizer ways, he never hurt me and always treated me like a father should treat a daughter, and I never stopped loving him for it. There was no way I was going to let my mother's husband whisk me away from the one person who loved me more than anyone. "My mom was zonked out when I was born. The nurse asked Dad for a name, and he took one look into my big blue eyes and said I was Saffron."

"That's a lie," Jake utters bitterly, so eager to believe anything horrible about my father. "The latest girl he was sleeping with that wasn't your mother was the real Saffron, and it was all he could think of."

I glared at him fiercely and told him to shut up. In front of Sam. I really couldn't help it. It infuriated me more than the cold air surrounding my damp clothes and hair. How he could say such awful things about the father I adored so...well, it was enough to make me decided I didn't like him after all as the hairs to the back of my neck rose in my defensive mode.

"I like your name," Sam uttered to me in that wonderful voice, causing his father to shoot him an annoyed look, which he ignored. "It's pretty." I guess he was also mad at his father for making such a comment though I have no idea what he stood up for me after I called Nikki Watson a bitch.

I smiled at Sam, thinking, I like seeing you without clothes. "Thanks. I like yours. Short and masculine," and sexy, I added mentally, not ever wanting to tear my eyes from this sexy babe in front of me.

I was fourteen then, on my way to fifteen, and Sam was twenty-two and a bit behind in college. He finished two years later than he should have, as age twenty-four.

Now I am nineteen and in college. Still I see Sam often enough. Even though I wanted to get away from home and experience freedom (not to mention, show Jake that I don't need him after all), I couldn't stop my wishful thinking that maybe...just maybe...but I am not his type. He was the reason I turned down the three guys and one girl who asked me out in high school, but with my natural blonde hair, I don't have a chance. He digs brunettes and has never once dated a blonde. Nevertheless, ever since I first set eyes on Sam, he's the only guy I want. And the way he treats me...ooh. Sometimes, it is wonderful, but sometimes it hurts. He's so nice and respectful to me, and all I want is for him to want me, to kiss my mouth and take me to bed. Still, it is a bit nice to be respected.

"So, um, what are you doing here?" I utter softly as I look at Sam and hope beyond hope that he has gone stark raving mad and is here because of me. "I mean your dad is gone overnight on a business trip..." and my mother is dead, I fill the blanks mentally and plaintively. I try not to let anyone see my pain of my loss in my eyes. Nobody is supposed to know my mother's death affected me, but it did. I told her everything before her death, like how Nikki Watson thought pantsing me in front of a bunch of nerds was funny and how she once thronged me (lifted my shirt and revealed my thong) in front of everybody in the PE locker room (which is how I met my best friend my own age, by the way).

"I know. Dad called me. He said he didn't like you staying alone all night."

Damn him he did, I think, feeling my mouth twist down from a soft smile that was on my face because Sam is here into a hard frown.

"You mean he doesn't trust me?" Sam looks away, those muddy brown eyes that are breathtaking to me darting hastily. "My God!" I fume even though I keep my voice from rising. "I've never even been on a date before! I never asked to date, and he thinks I'm going to throw a huge party?" I ask with disbelief, knowing I shouldn't really let my fury at his father be revealed in front of Sam but unable to help myself. Besides, he always catches me at the worst time anyway; what more do I have to lose? If he wants to hate me, he should already be there. Maybe he does but conceals it well.

"He's suspicious about that, yeah. He doesn't know whether you're secretly dating somebody, you've got an online boyfriend," oh heck, I never even use the Internet! What is wrong with Jake? I scream inside. "—or you're gay," he continues, paining me more than ever at that suggestion. Just knowing that he thinks it's a possibility that I'm gay when I want to jump his bones...yeah, it's enough to make my stepfather sound like a nice neck to wring for putting the idea in Sam's head. But maybe he didn't, I tell myself to be fair. "In any case, he doesn't see your reluctance to ask him for permission to date as a good thing."

"That's just great," I mutter in a tone that says I don't think it is great at all. Sure, I wanted Sam to come over for me and should be happy that he did...but there was never a thought in my head that he'd come over to baby-sit me. Deciding to change the subject, I flop on the couch. "Have a seat," and I pat the spot next to me as I wonder once again wherefore I had no idea he existed from the time Jake and Mom got married when he was...fifteen and I was...seven until he was twenty-two and I fourteen. Wherefore? I wonder (some things never change). Sam sits down next to me, making me have to force myself to keep myself from kissing him on the mouth. The urge is as strong as the urge to breathe after being under the water in a swimming pool for five minutes. "Do you mind if I massage your shoulders?"

"Not at all," he replies in that respectful tone of his. "I had a long day at work and could really use it." Of course, he thinks nothing of it. Even though we hardly know each other (aside from my bursts of hysterical words), I suspect he thinks of me as a sister. I mean, it's not like we even met until after I hit my teen years, but the kind of guy he is...he'd probably see us together as nothing less than incest. You know, if he could look past my blonde hair. Too bad I could never think of him as family, especially not a brother. I never had one, so how the heck would I be able to think of him as one?

"You should be a masseuse," he murmurs happily as my hands work their magic, proving how little he knows me.

"I am," I reply, gazing at his broad shoulders and aching to tell him how I feel about him. But how do I feel about him? Oh, yeah, how nice. Go up to a guy and say, "I'm in lust with you." That's a good way to dig your grave and have him think his horny friends can get a little something off of you. That is assuming a guy so respectful (albeit hot) like Sam even has any less-than-respectful friends. "You know your dad isn't going to buy me stuff, and since my dad died of testicular cancer and mom killed herself..." because she did love Dad and couldn't live without him...or for me... I wipe tears from my cheek with my arm. "Sorry. I mean, I just...you know your dad gives me a place to stay and eat and helps me pay for college but that's it." I pull away from him. "Let's focus on you now." I smile softly into his gleaming brown eyes. "So you think you're going to ask Sarah to marry you soon?" Sarah is his girlfriend. I know he really cares about her and is going to marry her some day. She is really special to him. More so than he is to you, I tell myself when that familiar ping of jealousy hits my stomach at the thought of him loving Sarah.

He sighs heavily. "No, Saffron...we broke up, actually."

"What?" My voice has an edge to it because I want it to be because he secretly likes me so badly that it hurts because I know it's not true. My brain knows it's the fattest lie since the numerous old wives' tails floating about. "Y'all were perfect for each other!" I all but wail. "What happened?"

"She said that she only said she'd be my girlfriend to be nice to me because I asked her, and she just couldn't take being my girlfriend anymore."

"She's crazy." I want to wring her neck for saying something so hurtful to him, to Sam. What in the hell is that idiot's problem? Can't she see he is way too good for her? "An utter idiot." Who I'd just love to sink my teeth into at the moment even though I've never been furious enough to actually bite another person's flesh before. I know that if she were here right now, I'd definitely do it. Who couldn't find Sam comely to begin with? Gr, that hateful moron!

"She's very smart. A straight-A girl when she was in school. A psychiatrist now."

"That doesn't make her smart," I snap. "Sorry. Ooh, I am just so furious with her!" I can't help but utter.

He laughs weakly. "Well, so far as I know, everybody makes you mad but me." Then he gazes into my eyes. "Or do I make you mad?"

"No. You couldn't if you did my biggest tick-off...thing."

"What's that?" His eyes are sparkling with curiosity. Dammit, why does he have to be so hot?

"One time, Nikki Watson paid a guy to chase me home and pee on me. I swear, I was so incensed that I slapped that smirk right off of his gross face. I hate men who think they can just do anything to girls like we're not human. It's just so sexist. 'Oh, we boys have feelings, but you women don't have pride.' Men." I snort. "The worst part was Nikki and that bigot's friends saw the whole damn thing. You can imagine how awful that was for my pride."

"I'll bet," he utters softly.

"What's the deal with the moron anyway?" I can't help but ask. "If she didn't think you were downright sexy when she met you, why the hell didn't she just say so?"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure that nobody thinks I'm downright sexy when they meet me," he replies modestly. I almost tell him. I have this funny little hint of sadness and just want to tell him so badly...but the fact that we're together stops me. Or maybe it's just him. If he weren't so nice to me, so respectful, I would tell him without much thought, but the way he treats me makes me afraid that he'll hate me if he knew what I think of him. "She's smart but too nice. Can't turn anybody down."

I snort. "Nice? Nice? That's not nice, dammit. Oh, sure, saying, 'You're a freak,' isn't nice either, and believe me," I quickly add, "if she thinks you're a freak, she's the stupidest woman in the world. However, turning someone down politely is nicer than stringing you along." My voice deepens as I put my arms around his shoulders. "And what about you? She hurt you, didn't she? I know you really cared about her..."

"I don't want to talk about it," he utters, sounding sick to his stomach.

"You're amazing," I tell him, feeling desperate to remove the scars from his broken heart.

"Yeah, whatever, do you have any beer?"

I raise my eyebrows. "I didn't know you drink."

"Rarely," he replies, making me feel happy inside because I was right about him...even if he was wrong about thinking I wasn't yet a masseuse. "Only when I feel like I need one." That explains why he isn't fat. "I've never been drunk before," he confirms. "Just drank a bit once when I was upset."

About what? I want to ask but the look in his eyes tells me he doesn't want to share. My nose picks up a delicious shampoo scent, and I find myself wondering what it'd be like to run my fingers through that sandy brown hair.

I get up, and Sam follows me into the kitchen. "I did once, just to see what it felt like. I did it on the weekend so that Jake wouldn't find out. It was fun until I woke up in the morning with the worst migraine."

"I'll bet."

I reach into the refrigerator and pull out a bottle. Glancing at the unopened seal then down at the bottle's papered stomach, I shove it back in, uttering, "Oops, that's Ginger Ale. Your dad got some stomach thing and bought it last week. Ginger Ale is nasty." I grab another bottle, knowing without looking that it's beer because Jake only bought two Ginger Ales and drank the other. He told me to drink that one, but like I'm going to drink something I hate. Pour it down the sink, maybe, but drink it...no.

"Thanks," he says, looking at me. I would take advantage of his hurt feelings to get what I've wanted for five long years, but I don't want him to hate me afterwards. Besides, I don't know that he is actually hurt enough to let me kiss him...much less go farther with him.

We go back into the living room. He is walking and sipping from the bottle, but when we sit down, he chugs it down like a fish. When he sits it on the coffee table, it sounds so empty. The look of pain in his eyes as he remembers the words Sarah spoke to him is enough to make me want to hold him.

Apparently, one bottle of beer isn't enough to erase his pain. He asks me for another beer, and I jump to my feet. This time, he doesn't follow, but I do catch him staring at my legs, which are peeking out of my miniskirt (or "casual" clothes that I wear at home).

I wonder if I have something on my legs as I enter the kitchen. I feel so self-conscious as I glance down at my legs and see nothing. God, maybe he thinks they are fat, I decide as I start to think so too, causing my cheeks to color. In reality, my thighs are average-sized, but since Sam was looking...and he's not interested in me in that way...obviously, there must be something wrong with them.

Breathless, I hand Sam his second bottle of beer. As I look at him, guzzling the beer down, I suddenly think that if I get him drunk enough...finally...what I've been longing for...I hardly dare to think it because I've been wanting him for what feels like my whole life.

"Another one," he orders, staring at me with a more intense look than he's ever given me. What I would do just to know what he is thinking! I want him to be thinking of me as a woman so badly...but yeah right.

In the kitchen, I grab two beer bottles, praying four bottles will be drunk enough, especially at that hasty rate he is inhaling the alcohol. It's so weird that he can drink so fast when he has never gotten drunk before, but the things scars on our hearts will cause us to do.

I'll kill her for hurting him, I think fiercely.

After he downs both of the other bottles, he grabs my hand. "You look so good," he mutters.

I start freaking out as a wide grin breaks out on my face. Then I realize he doesn't have a clue what he is saying and isn't thinking straight. His words don't mean a thing. I cover his mouth with mine, knowing that if he doesn't really want me like this...well, I do, and I am not going to pass this opportunity just because he doesn't feel the same way. He kisses me back and moans. Surprisingly, instead of taking my virginity on the couch, he lifts me up and carries me to my bedroom, stumbling because his legs aren't functioning properly and kissing me along the way, sliding his tongue in my mouth. I can't believe I have to wait even longer. Dang it. Perhaps it the fact that he respects me inside and out and somehow thinks the couch is a bad place to do it. Well, that's the only reason I can think of as I attack him with my tongue and picture us going at it on the hard kitchen floor. Painful but sexy. The thought of him wanting me that badly makes me suddenly ache harder for him as he dumps me on the bed and I get on top and kiss him passionately as he unzips my skirt with clumsy fingers.

"Sam," I gasp and look at his fingers with euphoria. He is exploring my body like Columbus explored America...thoroughly...my eyes glint and lose their focus in my rapture.

He wrestles with me until he is on top. I feel his wet mouth sucking hard at my throat as he kicks off his jeans. I whimper, feeling too ecstatic for words as he makes his mark on me. Then he finds his place inside of me, and my eyes bug out.

"Please, oh God," I sob from joviality as he fills me up. I've never, in all of my nineteen years, been this happy, especially not since my father died. It's so good...I shut my eyes tightly as the rapture makes it hard for me to do anything but. His mouth is everywhere, telling the world that I am his woman. Losing my virginity is supposed to hurt like hell, I realize as I bite gently on his collarbone and moan with elation. However, I've done a little inspection on myself, and I never had a hymen. Good thing too. Being with Sam is like flying, only less scary.

I climax twice before he finally stiffens and spreads his seed inside of me. I've been wanting him for so long that it's no surprise to me that I'm the first to show pleasure from more than just looks. His mouth covers mine as he holds me. "God, you're so beautiful," he mutters, but I know he only thinks this because he is under the influence of beer. He mutters more meaningless words, but I am just so happy to be with him that I let him say what he wants to say. The shocking thing is he knows who I am. He doesn't call me Sarah like he probably should. He calls me by my name as he tells me that there's no woman who could compare to me.

Finally, as he is leaning in to give me another kiss, he passes out.

Suddenly, I find it impossible to breathe as tears fill my eyes. I'm so blissful in his arms. I didn't know it was possible to be so content. All this time, I've dreamt of it happening this way (except he was somber, but, heck, what do I expect?) with him kissing me fully then falling asleep next to me. He's so gorgeous, I think as I stare at his naked body, resting my eyes on his wondrous face. Is it really possible for a man to be so utterly beautiful?

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