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Suddenly both of Sam's hands grab my backside, aligning me back over him. I know he's awoken when his breathing changes subtly, before he even opens his eyes.

They blink open quickly and I freeze, but his hands don't release my ass.

"What are you doing, baby girl?" Sam asks, his voice still hoarse with sleep.

"I was just—" I cut myself off.
I was just
what
?

Sam lets his gaze skate over the both of us, until he registers his missing jeans. He returns his gaze to mine and raises his eyebrows in question. I flood with mortification. But Sam must notice, because before it can suffocate me, he smiles.

"You were just thinking it isn't hard enough for me to keep it under control with you sleeping on me like that? You thought you'd add to the torture by removing my jeans?" It isn't just sleep coursing his voice, it's the lust I'd already known was there. He raises his eyebrows again, demanding some kind of answer. But I don't remember what the hell made me think it was okay to just remove my friend's pants. I can't follow my own logic from just a couple of minutes ago.

"You looked uncomfortable," I breathe timidly. Yep, that was my argument, but it sure doesn't sound very effective right now.

And then I feel Sam's thumbs sweep over my hip bones, reminding us both how I'm laying on him, where his hands are, and I swallow my gasp at the thrilling pleasure of feeling him pressed up against me in exactly the right way.

"You were right," he rasps. "This is definitely better." His smile fades just a little, as if his growing desire is heating the mirth right out of him, as if it's leaving room for little else.

"I had a good dream," I blurt tremulously. I don't know where this confession comes from. Maybe I'd meant it as an excuse for my wanton behavior, though I'm almost positive I hadn't even meant to say it out loud at all.

But Sam's expression tells me he understands immediately what kind of dream I had, and who was center stage. And he seems quite pleased with the fact. In fact, he seems downright thrilled, and under me I can feel his already impossibly massive arousal harden further.

I pray that he can't read what I'm thinking right on my face like he usually can. That he doesn't guess the wicked thoughts racing through my head. But the wry slant to that smile tells me I pray in vain.

"Tell me what you're thinking, right now," he commands.

I hesitate, biting my lip, and Sam releases one of my ass cheeks and takes hold of my chin, gently pulling my bottom lip from between my teeth.

"No, Ror. Don't think something up. Just tell me, right now, what you're thinking about."

I lick my lips instead of biting them this time, and Sam's eyelids grow heavier with lust. I realize he likes when I do this, though I've never done it intentionally. It's always his response that even lets me know I've done it.

"I was thinking... I never got to… taste you." His eyes widen with each phrase, as if in growing surprise at my words. Truthfully, he can't be more surprised than I am, but it doesn't stop me.

I swear I feel Sam's breath catch.

But this is something I've thought about a couple of times actually. It's been one of my biggest regrets from when we were together in Miami. It felt so incredible when he did it to me. Like nothing I had ever experienced. And I never did it to Robin. Not once. Maybe the boy didn't want that precious part of his body anywhere near my teeth, and if so, then he's just the slightest bit smarter than I've given him credit for.

But I
wanted
to do it with Sam. I
want
to do it with Sam. I want to make him feel that good, and honestly, I want to know what it's like. It's not something I ever thought girls
wanted
to do. I always assumed it was something they did just to please their guys. And I don't know where this desire to have him in my mouth comes from, but it's there nonetheless.

"Not helping, baby girl," he rasps out, his voice so like it was in my dream that it affects me tenfold. But he called me
baby girl
. Twice. He doesn't call me that. Not since Miami. And I don't know what it means that he's doing it now.

But I don't want to
help
. Not if helping means he puts his jeans back on and stops touching me. Anyway, he was the one who'd demanded I tell him my thoughts.

I can't be sure if I rock my hips purely unconsciously or if I do it on purpose.

"
Ror
." My name comes out as an admonishment and anxiety creeps in. I fear I've presumed too much. That just because he is physically attracted to me doesn't mean he actually wants me. After all, he can't control what his body does when he's asleep.

I look back down at his chest.
Not helping myself either.

"Sorry," I whisper too softly, but we're so close it doesn't matter. "I just… I've never done that before."

He lifts my chin, directing my gaze back to his. I'm surprised by the expression I find. He's not annoyed with me, he's… excited. His eyes are wide, but the clench of his jaw, the way he's breathing, it is pure hunger.

"Never?" he asks, and his husky tone confirms it.

He wants me. Just as bad as I want him. It isn't just his male anatomy. Not any more than my attraction to him is no more than any girl’s physical attraction to him. I was made for him, body and soul, and it's hard enough to give him up soul, but his body—it's right fucking
there
. Right where I desperately want it.
Need
it.

I shake my head in confirmation, and my tongue sweeps out to lick my bottom lip again. I don't notice myself do it, I only even realize I've done it when Sam's eyes dilate and then suddenly he's rolling us to the center of my bed, tucking me underneath him, and my thighs fall open to cradle his hips.

"You are
killing
me, baby girl. Do you have any idea how bad I want you right now?" he rasps.

I nod again. Yes. I do. Completely. Because I feel the same for him.

Slowly, as if giving me time to stop him, he leans down the two inches that separate us, and brushes his lips softly over mine, just the smallest taste. I don't move. It doesn't require me to. It was just the faintest of kisses, but I feel it everywhere. It affects me in ways I never imagined I
could
be affected, especially by just a barely-kiss. I'm not even comparing it to being kissed by Robin, or even the one kiss I shared with Cam. No one else exists right now. There's only Sam.

It takes me a second to open my eyes, and when I do, Sam is staring down at me. He watches me for a short, everlasting moment, and I know my thoughts are written all over my face. After all, I'm only thinking one word:
yes
.

I will him to kiss me in earnest, I beg him with my eyes. I wish I had the nerve to just kiss him, but I used up all my confidence on that last confession. But Sam heeds my silent pleading, and finally his mouth crashes against mine. There's nothing soft or hesitant about the way his lips glide over mine, molding them, claiming them.

His hand cups my jaw, opening wide enough to brush his thumb over my cheek while thrusting his fingers into my hair, holding me in place. His kiss is hunger and desperation—longing and need, and his tongue traces the seem of my mouth begging me to let him in.

I do.

It's unfathomable, the power of his kiss. Yes, it spurs pleasure and arousal and an answering longing, but it's more than that. It's like some kind of homecoming—a salvation. I know, deep in my bones, that if there is such thing as soul mates, then Sam is that for me. That if the God Cam believed in is real, that he created Sam and me with the other in mind. That even just our mouths, the fit of our lips as they crash and slide against each other, were designed as perfect counterparts.

His tongue invades my mouth as if he knows with the same certainty that it belongs only to him. Right now, all of my doubts are obliterated by the glide of his tongue against mine, and though I can't know if he still returns my feelings, if he still harbors the love he professed barely a month ago, I do know that at least physically, his need for me is all-consuming. It's impossible to doubt, and I'm determined to leave no doubt with him that I need him just as badly.

My fingers find their way to his back, slipping under the hem of his tee shirt, exploring the lean muscle there. But the more my fingers touch his skin, the more skin they want, and soon my palms are pressing, almost scratching as I follow the lines of his shoulders. I become frustrated with the material hindering my movement, and I grab the bunched up cotton and tug it over his head.

As if on pure instinct, he moves to help me, and his mouth is back on mine, in mine, before I even have the chance to greedily take in his shirtless form. His hands find my midriff, and just like in my dream, he palms my side, his thumb teasing the sensitive skin of my stomach as it moves slowly upward.

"Sam," I breathe into his mouth, my libidinous voice breathy and unfamiliar.

But he stops, wrenching his mouth from mine, and my eyes reluctantly open. He's staring down at me, panting for breath, his heavy breathing mirroring my own. I'm so lost in him that it takes me a moment to notice that he's waiting for me. For some direction. I realize then that he might have thought I'd said his name to stop him, or to tell him something. But I'm quite sure that if he stops right now, I might actually die.

"Touch me," I plead, and his eyes fall closed.

My legs wrap around his waist, desperate to increase the pressure where his body aligns perfectly with my own, and he groans my favorite sound.

It's barely another split second before his mouth is back on mine, his palm kneading my breast over my bra, until pulls my shirt up over my head in one fluid movement.

My hands find their way into his hair, shorter now than the last time I'd touched it like this, but long enough for me to get a good grasp on it nonetheless.

Sam groans again when I tug lightly, and I remember how much he likes this, too. And then his mouth is gone from mine and he's pressing sweet kisses to my jaw and down my neck. His tongue comes out and he laps at my collarbone, and I throw my head back and moan when he makes his way to the swell of my cleavage.

But he continues downward, the soft-sandpaper stubble of his jaw brushing down my navel, and I realize then where he's headed.

I sit up abruptly under him and he lifts his head in question. I hold his jaw, wanting to feel that same sensation against my palm, and I push my hand back and forth and then up into his hair. His eyes close as he turns into my touch before he's planting wet, hard kisses on the skin of my palm.

I sigh shamelessly. I never knew intimacy could be like this. Not before Sam.

"It's my turn," I whisper, and I sit up further, pushing against his chest as I turn and roll, and I watch his expression carefully for his comprehension.

It comes the moment I have him on his back. I watch his eyes widen with that same excitement from just before, and I press my lips to that spot just below his ear.

I swallow my nerves as I drag my lips down his neck and muster all of my courage as I press my hand to his impressive arousal, sheathed only by thin, black cotton.

His breath hisses at his sharp inhale, and the sound drives me onward. I take my time tasting every inch of skin on his chest and abdomen, tracing the lines of muscle and sinew. I keep my hand on him, and I savor every flex and twitch as his body reacts to my attentions. I move to his side, to a better angle, and hook my index fingers into the waistband of his underwear, but his fingers lock around my wrist. I look up at him, and I know what he wants. He wants to make sure that
I'm
sure. And it melts me even more.

There's something about watching him from this vantage. Watching him watch me. There's something submissive about my position, and I revel in it. All the times I'd been forced to submit to Robin, I hadn't been given a choice. Now, the choice is all mine. Not only would Sam never pressure me to do anything I didn't want, but he gives me every opportunity to back out, and in this moment, when I know most guys would be only thinking about one singular thing, Sam is still thinking about
me
. About what
I
want, and it makes me want to give this to him even more.

I increase the pressure of my hands, silently answering his unspoken question,
yes, I'm sure,
and he releases my wrist.

I strip him hastily, and I swallow my gasp at seeing him naked again. It gets me every time. The sheer size of him. The perfection of his entire form. He's so incredibly turned on, and it's a heady feeling to have been the one to do that to him. It's a wonder he ever even fit inside me.

My body inexorably responds to the sight of him, wanting desperately to have him as close as possible—on me, in me.

I wrench my gaze from the new focal point of the entire room, and peek up at him. The heat in his glare nearly undoes me. It's as if just the attention of my gaze on him is driving him deeper towards ecstasy, and it fuels me. I wrap my fingers around him, and stroke him once. Twice.