Tied to Sam

'Cora Jane, look at you! What a pretty dress you're wearing.'

Her speech is harder to understand, and her movements are limited, but she's still the same energetic, funny, stylish Mary.

'Love the hair,' I say, once she lets go of me and I can straighten up over her. 'Do they do it here for you?'

And we chatter on like that for the afternoon. Soon after we've arrived, Sam disappears – to organise some cups of tea, it seems. And then produces a Jamaican ginger cake he must have brought with him. It's Mary's favourite.

'This is your mam's fault, Cora,' she beams at me. 'She introduced me to ginger cake, you know.'

I nod, the taste taking me right back to being a little girl, when we would come home from church on Sundays and have juice and cake together, sitting in our best clothes. Not that me and Sam's families went to the same churches, but we did grow to share the same taste in cake.

Sam pushes Mary out of the door and into the garden, and we walk around until we find an empty seat for me and Sam to sit, parking Mary up next to us. It's really warm now, and we are surrounded by the bright greens of an English summer garden, dots of pinks and blues where the plants are flowering.

'It's really pretty here, Mary,' I sigh, and I take her hand in mine.

Sam wanders off again.

'So, Cora Jane, tell me, do you have a handsome young fella back at that university?'

I grimace, but I'm taking it lightly.

'No I do not, Mary. I want to get a good degree.'

'Sure you do. You're a good girl, so you are. But there's no harm in having a fella to pay you some attention once in a while?'

She gives me a look of pure mischief.

'Mary, you are a shocker,' I laugh.

'To be sure. And how are you and Sam getting on these days? He misses you, you know.'

My cheeks pink up, noticeably enough for Mary's smile to get broader.

'Does he?'

'Course he does! Yes, Cora Jane. He's been hoping to see more of you, now you're back for the summer.'

'Well he's got me hard at work decorating the flat, you know, before Danny moves into the other bedroom.'

'Has he now? That's my Sam. Clever lad.'

We both giggle at that.

+++

Mary gets tired and wants to have a nap before dinner, so we take her back to her room and say our goodbyes. Sam wraps up the ginger cake and leaves it on her table.

The car is boiling hot when we open the doors. It's been baking in the sun most of the afternoon.

'I'll drive home,' Sam's saying, 'Don't want to wear you out.'

I look at him, thinking it's not the first time he's said that to me these last couple of days, but he's busy racking the seat back to fit his legs in under the steering wheel, so I can't see his face.

'Ok, but be sure you hit the speed limit at least twice on the way home,' I reply smartly and am rewarded with a quick tick of his mouth.

'It seems a good place,' I say, watching the home recede from view.

'Yeah. She's happy enough there, which is the main thing. Costs a bomb, so it's just as well she paid into that healthcare scheme all her working life, otherwise I don't know what we would've done.'

'Right.'

'And even now, Sean and Michael pay towards the cost.'

Those are his two brothers. They are both in good jobs, from what I can recall, although they also have their own families to support.

We're stopped at a light.

'They won't let me contribute until I'm earning more money,' he admits.

He sounds – sad? Frustrated? I touch his arm, lightly.

'You will. And anyway, you supply the cake.'

The light turns, his arm drops down to shift gear. I turn my head to look out of the window and don't expect it when his hand brushes my thigh, pausing long enough for us both to know it was deliberate.

'Thanks,' he says, quietly.

'You will, Sam. You'll make a success of going into business with Sanjeev, I know you will. You're a hard worker.'

He doesn't reply, but I sense his spirits lifting a little, and feel glad.

We're on the M25 when he asks, 'Dinner?'

'Did we do some decorating today?'

'We did.'

'So then – yes. Dinner is part of the contract.'

'Ok. Good.'

'We can assess how long it'd take us to clear out your bedroom and decorate it, once we get back to the flat. I mean it's only Saturday now, which gives us three more full days before we have to go back to work. And we've got, what, one more coat on the living room walls to finish off? I think it's easily do-able. To paint your bedroom as well, I mean.'

He seems noncommittal again, so I leave it.

+++

His flat is warm too, and I open up all the windows, leaning out of the one in the kitchen, waiting for him to finish in the bathroom so I can use it. The traffic had been heavier than when we'd driven out, and the journey had taken close to two hours, so we're both in need of a pee; Sam more in need than me.

I feel, rather than hear, him standing behind me.

'Better?' I ask.

'Much,' he sighs.

In the bathroom, I rub some of the cool water around my neck.

He's standing in front of the open fridge.

'What do you want to drink? Hey, you're feeling alright?'

I touch my neck where little drops of water are sitting on my skin.

'Yes. Just a bit too hot, that's all.'

'Have some water first, then,' he's already holding a glass under the tap for me.

'Thanks.'

'And one of these?'

He holds up a bottle of beer.

'That too, thanks.'

He twists the caps off two bottles, hands me one.

'What's for dinner?'

'Noodles. And some salad, probably.'

'Nice.'

'If you want ice cream, you'll have to go out for it.'

I click my tongue at him.

'I know. It's terrible service here.'

I tut again and wander out into the living room, casting my eyes over the painting we've done so far.

'I do think we need to do one more coat in here,' I call out to him; hear him grunt in reply.

I walk down the hall into the bedroom we've pretty much finished. Think about whether the skirting boards look like they need painting or not. Not, I decide.

'So how long's it going to take us to clear the stuff from your bedroom? Do want to paint it a shade of blue again, or what?'

'Sam?' I call out again.

No reply.

Without thinking I push the door to his room open. It's neither tidy nor a bombsite. The sheets on his bed are pulled back. Some of his clothes are piled up on a chair in the corner, and there are some boxes lined up along one wall, full of stuff he's moved here from the living room while we decorate it. I don't recognise any of the furniture, and I'm just trying to work out how long ago I was last in here, when I hear Sam in the hall, the sound of his front door closing.

'Cora?'

'In here,' I call out, belatedly struck by how I've so rudely barged into his bedroom without asking, and, looking up, catch sight of pictures and photos he's hung on the wall, and – above that ...

Huh.

'Cora?'

His voice sounds rather urgent this time, and as I look harder at the wall over the bed, I think I know why.

'Uh –,' my voice sounds weak.

'Oh. Shit,' his voice is right behind me, and heavy with dismay.

We stand there.

I don't know what to say.

And I'm sure he doesn't.

'I'm sorry, Sam. I shouldn't have come in here. I just didn't think.'

'Uh –,'

Poor Sam. I can feel his embarrassment rolling off him like a heatwave.

I gulp in some air for courage, and turn around. His white Irish skin has gone bright red.

'When did you do that?'

'Err – ah shit. The night before last.'

He won't meet my eyes, but sighs heavily, rubbing a hand in his hair.

'Cora –,'

But I shake my head at him, and reach for his hand.

'What were you planning to do?'

I watch as a whole range of emotions play across his face, and I squeeze his hand.

'I don't know. Not exactly, anyway. But I thought maybe if it got to a point where I thought you, –

where we –,'

He stops. I squeeze his hand again.

'Cora, it's just something I've been trying to work up the courage to say to you. Or show you. That's all.'

And now he looks at me, his eyes bright.

'No-one's ever said that to me, Sam.'

I turn to look again at the words he's painted on the wall over his bed: "I'm in love with you Cora".

I imagine I'm as red in the face as Sam. I certainly feel it.

He tugs at my hand, just gently; his way of asking me to say something.

'It's going to take me a while to get used to the idea of it, Sam.'

His fingers flex, then relax.

'It's only this week I've begun to think like that about you. It's been a bit unexpected, to be honest.'

I hear his breathing behind me. I can't stop squeezing his hand.

'I don't want to spoil what we have, Cora, so I've held back saying anything to you. But I wanted to kiss you so much last night – and I chickened out –,'

'Huh. That explains it, then.'

He sort of laughs a bit at that. I think he's relieved I haven't stormed out on him.

'What do you mean?'

'I went home last night wondering how it hadn't happened; whether it'd been me or you who'd chickened out, as you put it.'

'Really?'

'Yeah, really.'

He gives me a bit of a look, and tipping his head to one side; asks, 'What are we going to do now?'

'I don't know about you, but I'm really hungry and, more to the point, still owed a dinner.'

He definitely laughs at that.

'Ok. You're right. I have an important contract to fulfil.'

He seems grateful to be given something else to focus on, but doesn't let go of my hand; instead he pulls me along the hall and into the kitchen with him.

'Put some water in that pan, will you, and put it on to boil?' he bosses me.

I do that, then watch him finish chopping up the vegetables. The look on his face as he'd tried to explain himself just now, and the way he concentrates on stirring the vegetables around the wok – I just want to stare at him, wondering how everything is changing so fast.

I think he's pretending not to notice me.

'Drop the noodles into the water, will you? This meal's a sprint finish,' and he's smiling, humming, shaking the wok over the flame.

I pick up the chopping board to drop the waste into the bin, but see it's not got a bag in it.

'I was putting the rubbish out just now,' he explains.

I shake my head in another apology.

'Bowls?' he points me to the cupboard.

I extract bowls and forks and more beer, and take it all into the living room to the table. The remains of lunch are still there, so I tidy that up, and reverse back to the kitchen with the dirty plates, and set them down next to the sink.

'We forgot about these,' I smile at him, and my heart lifts when he gives me a sweet smile in return.

'I'll wash them up after,' I say, watching him flick the gas burner off.

I follow him over to the table, grabbing the roll of kitchen paper on the way.

He dishes up. I tear off some of the kitchen paper and flap it at him.

'You'll need to tuck this into your t-shirt, if I know anything about how you eat noodles.'

He arches an eyebrow at me, but takes it anyway.

We eat.

'This is good, Sam.'

He nods, too busy eating to reply.

I drink some beer, looking at him. I find it hard to describe him because to me, he's just Sam. He has Sam's light brown hair, blue eyes, friendly mouth. He's Sam's height, with his long legs and wide shoulders. Nice fingers. I've always liked those. They're long and he has nicely-shaped nails.

He pauses eating.

'So, how long do you think it's going to take you to get used to the idea?'

He flicks his eyes up at me, his mouth giving a little tick. Back to being Sam, then. But that's ok. I can give as good as I get.

'I haven't finished eating dinner yet.'

'Yeah?'

'And then there's the washing up to do.'

He nods his head, resumes eating.

'And we've got more of 'The Bridge' to get through. Not to mention the sad dearth of ice cream. So – a while longer, I'd say.'

He just chuckles.

But we do finish eating, and we wash up.

+++

He's turned on the TV, sitting in his usual position on the sofa, when I return from the bathroom. I sit down on my side of the sofa, cross my legs in front of me.

'Episode 4, then?' I ask him.

He picks up the remote.

I lean forwards.

'Sam?'

'Hm?'

He turns his head.

'Are you going to kiss me tonight?'

He smiles.

'Only if you'll kiss me back, Cora.'

I lean closer, then stop.

Ask him, 'Are you nervous about it?'

'Only that you might be a terrible kisser.'

I laugh.

And then he kisses me.

Huh.

So, so gently. Maybe a bit tentatively, at first.

But I do kiss him back, so he gets braver about it and so do I. Because kissing Sam turns out to be – good. Really good. I shuffle closer to him, tilt my head and open my mouth. His breath is warm on my face. When he puts his hands on my shoulders I open my eyes. He's already looking at me, and I pull back just a little bit, to get used to it – his look of love.

'Sam,' I say against his lips, and he blinks.

I lean even closer; he's pulling at my shoulders so I swing my hips, kneel up. It's awkward, though. Reluctantly, I move back, our lips part, and his face crinkles in disappointment.

'Terrible?' I ask, holding his eyes with mine.

'Not very good, no. Need more practice, probably.'

His hands pull at me again, so I climb onto him, him closing his legs together for me to fit myself over his lap. It stretches the skirt of my dress, so I raise it up my legs. He looks down at where my skin's been exposed over my thighs, lays one hand flat against it. A shiver runs up my spine, catches in my throat.

'I've always liked the colour of your skin, C.'

I look at his hand, pale and pink, lying on my darker skin.

'But I didn't know it would feel so good.'

I sigh. It's fascinating to see and hear this new side of Sam. It's sexy. He's sexy.

Huh.

He flexes his fingers, digging them into my thigh. Shivering again, I bend to his mouth, more firmly now. An intake of breath, his mouth pulls and pushes at mine, his tongue slipping inside, both his hands gripping me harder. I run my hands around the back of his neck. His hair's so short there it feels like soft sandpaper against my fingertips. He shudders; a humming noise bursts out of his mouth. I sit back.

'You seem to like that?'

His face has gone a bit pink.

'What happens if I kiss you there?' I ask, and as I press my lips to his nape, more muffled noises escape from him.

I inhale, loving his smell – his skin and sweat, mixed with the scents of whatever he washes himself with. He drops his head forwards onto my shoulder as though he can't do anything other than submit to the feel of my mouth, his hands unmoving, one trapped between us, still on my thigh, the other on the back of my shoulder. I kiss and lick at him, running my tongue along his skin; splay the fingers of one hand higher into his hair, scratching his scalp. His breathing quickens against my shoulder. I like the feeling of it, his hot breath chasing over my skin. It brings me out in goose bumps and I smile into Sam's neck, wondering if he can feel that as well, or if he's too wrapped up in his own sensations.

I don't think I've ever made a man respond like this before. I like it. A lot.

I briefly wonder when I'll have to confess to my lack of experience. Then wonder how many other girls have done this with Sam. And push both thoughts to the back of my mind.

Running my fingers over the top of his spine, down his neck and into his t-shirt, he bends further, willing me to explore more of him. I tug his hair with one hand, stroke and smooth his downy skin with the other. He groans, a noise I feel through his throat as much as hear.

'Sam,' I whisper.

He lifts his hips, sliding us down the seat a little way, dropping his hand from my shoulder to my waist, holding me in place then urging me closer. He's hard. I can feel him now, underneath me. I roll my hips over and around him. It feels really good. I'm already slippery in my knickers. I graze my mouth on his skin again, give him a gentle bite. He groans more loudly this time.

'Is this any good? Or still terrible?' I ask.

He lifts his head, looks into my face, and I see he's past joking. The expression in his eyes grabs at my heart.

'Cora –,'

His hand is on the back of my head, pushing me to him, his mouth open and hungry for me. Insistent.

We kiss and kiss.

He moves his hips, his cock hard between us; his hand on my thigh suddenly coming to life, moving up and underneath my dress. Slowly. But not tentative. Not now.

I tremble as his fingertips touch the edge of my knickers and maybe breathe some noises of my own into Sam's mouth. I've let boyfriends touch me there before. But I never really wanted them to. Not like now. I roll my hips more, pushing myself to him, moaning again when I feel him slide more of his hand onto me. Rotate more, his hand firmly inbetween my legs now, palm up, holding me, curling his fingers into me. It's electric. My hips buck out of my control and I gasp, jerking away from his mouth.

'Sorry –,' he starts to say.

'No. No, don't. It's me.'

I try to catch my breath. His hand relaxes underneath me and he starts to pull it away.

'No, Sam. It's ok. I was just taken by surprise.'

I watch his eyes, fascinated by how big his pupils have become.

I frown, 'The thing is – I don't have that much experience.'

He chews at the inside of his mouth.

'Oh?'

I close my eyes, overcome by the idea I'm here with Sam – my best friend Sam, the boy I grew up with and have until recently thought of as my big brother – feeling more turned on than ever before in my life. Pressing myself onto his hard cock, and loving it.

'Mmm.'

He runs his arm around my waist.

'It doesn't matter, Cora. Does it?'

He waits for me to say something, his hand stroking me. I'm having trouble thinking straight.

'Is this too weird?' He shifts under me. 'I mean, I've been thinking about this for a long time, but it's new for you. Maybe it's too –,'

'No. I mean yes. Yes, it's a bit weird. But no – that's not it.'

He squeezes my waist, and looks a bit less worried. I kiss him, lightly.

'I nearly came when you did that to me with your hand, Sam. I wasn't expecting it, that's all.'

His eyes pop wide open.

'Really?'

'Really.'

I kiss him again. It's getting to be a habit.

He kisses me back.

I definitely think we're getting the hang of it.

I tickle the back of his neck with my fingers and love it that it makes him laugh in my mouth. And start to pull at his t-shirt, thinking I want to find other places where he might be ticklish. He leans forward, watching me as I tug the shirt up his chest and over his head. I touch the gold cross around his neck, kiss the spot where it sits just below his collarbone; kiss all along his collarbone, to the right, then the left. He sits back, slipping us down to where we were before, fitting his cock inbetween my legs again, both his hands holding on to my bottom now.

I use my hands and mouth to find out where Sam's skin puckers, where his muscles twitch, and what makes his stomach ripple. The more his body responds the more I want to touch him. He's lifting his hips up into me, rhythmically, patiently. We're building up quite a bit of heat between us. It's heady. Full of promise. I raise myself upright again. Sam's dropped his head down onto the back of the sofa, his eyes closed, until he realises I've stopped working on his chest.

'What were you doing to my skin? It felt amazing.'

I smile at him.

'Not sure. Just trying to get to know you.'

'Wow. It was great. No girl's ever – I mean – you're the first to touch me like that.'

'Really?'

'Other girls have just seemed to want to get straight to it, if you know what I mean?'

I wrinkle my nose.

'That sounds ... a bit functional?'