Anything for You Ch. 09

I studied his expression. "Oh my God," I breathed, light dawning. "You were jealous?"

His scowl deepened. "Of course I was bloody jealous. Okay, it wasn't just the thought of Alice yelling at me that stopped me from making a move on you. I couldn't let myself feel that way about you back then—you were Paul's kid sister, for heaven's sake. It would've been too..." He hesitated. "It didn't feel like it was something I should do. Doesn't mean I wanted to see you with anyone else though—especially not a wanker like Tim." Then he smiled. "But Sam, you know I've always loved you. I told you, remember? Made quite a point of telling you, if I recall."

I felt the blush start somewhere in the middle of my stomach, the heat blossoming outwards until I felt hot all over. "But you called me 'Kiddo'," I muttered, no longer daring to meet his gaze, instead staring fixedly at the top of the bedpost behind him.

"What?" He gave a startled laugh.

"That's—that's why I wasn't sure." Oh God, did it have to be this difficult? No wonder I'd avoided talking about my feelings for so long. "That's why—why I ran."

"That's why you took off that night?" As I buried my face into his shoulder I could practically hear the cogs turning in Drew's brain. "You broke my favourite mug because I called you 'Kiddo'?"

"No. Yes—sort of!" My voice was muffled against his robe. "I thought maybe you meant you'd always loved me as a friend—like a sister."

"A sister? After what we did? You think I'd do that to my—"

"I kn-o-ow!" I wailed, squeezing my eyes tightly shut. "But you had another text from Angie and it said—it said..."

"You read another one?"

"I didn't mean to! I just wanted to check that I'd read the first one right—but then another one came and it was from her and..." I winced in shame. "I mean, I know now that it wasn't what it looked like, but I thought—I thought..."

I felt Drew's hand on the back of my head, his fingers tangling into my hair. "You know," he said eventually, "it's ironic. 'Cos you want to know what I spent the whole evening talking to Angie about—the whole bloody evening?" And grasping a handful of my hair, he none-too-gently tugged my head from his shoulder.

"You," he said, looking straight into my eyes. "How much I loved you, how much I wanted to be with you—but how you kept insisting things had to go back to the way they were. That we had to stay friends and nothing could change. And all the while," he raised his gaze briefly to the ceiling, "I kept picturing you with Marco Maretti, wondering what the hell he was doing. Whether he was trying to make a move on you. It was killing me."

I moistened my lips nervously. "He did try to kiss me."

"I know." To my astonishment, Drew grinned. "He told me." And as I stared he continued, "While we were in the car today. He picked me up from Marco Polo Airport earlier. The poor bloke's spent the whole day chauffeuring you and me around. And I take it all back, okay? He's actually a really good bloke. Spent fifteen minutes doing an 'Alice' on me though, telling me how if I ever hurt you, if I ever let you down, I'd have to answer to him. And frankly," Drew's grin became crooked, "I was a little bit scared by the end. I mean, the guy's Italian, his family's loaded. He's probably got links to the Mafia."

"Marco was in on it all? You mean..." I experienced another light bulb moment. "There wasn't a water leak at his house?"

Drew shook his head, still looking amused. "Nope. That was Roxy's idea. She was on a bit of a roll by then. She was the one who got us all organised, rang around, found me a flight. Marco's dead impressed by her, by the way. If she takes that internship, don't be too surprised if she doesn't ever come back."

Roxy's internship. It'd been a done deal even before Marco made me promise to take a holiday. Typical. "And Angie...?"

His eyes softened. "Angie's been a really good friend. She's really looking forward to meeting you again sometime. We've talked about me bringing you over for a while, but..." He smiled. "I didn't want to tell you I was learning to play the guitar. To start with, I wasn't sure if I'd ever be any good and I figured if no one else knew what I was doing I could pootle along at my own pace, no pressure. And then, when I realised I was getting better, I thought it'd be a laugh to surprise you one day. But of course by then, going round to see Angie was much more than going round for a lesson. We'd spend half an hour playing guitar—and an a hour and a half chatting."

"What about?"

"Everything. Anything." He caressed my cheek before adding, almost apologetically. "Paul."

Of course. I gazed at him helplessly, my vision blurring. All this time, all these years, he'd needed someone to talk to. But I hadn't been that someone because I couldn't be that someone. The realisation was crushing. "Drew..."

Shaking his head, he gently touched the tip of one finger to my mouth. "You see, I still hadn't dealt with anything. Sure, I came home, started working in an office where people were sane and actually had lives outside work. I caught up with old friends, started socialising again, started going down the pub. But no one really mentioned Paul. And if his name did happen to come up someone would change the subject in three seconds flat. Usually me." He grimaced. "So stop looking at me like that, 'cos I didn't want to talk about him anymore than you did."

"But Angie did?"

"She made me." He pulled another face. "You see, what I didn't know at first is that she isn't just a music teacher. She's done quite a bit of counselling over the years and apparently it really worried her that I wouldn't talk about Paul. So she kept trying to get me to talk, always talking about him, telling me little anecdotes about the time he did this and the time he did that—until in the end, I yelled at her to back off. Which," he looked decidedly sheepish now, "was pretty embarrassing and left me feeling like I could bawl like a baby." And then he laughed. "Ah, sod it. I did bawl, okay?"

I bit my lower lip, perilously close to bawling myself. "Welcome to my world," I said, managing a smile.

He grinned, wiping a tear from my cheek with his fingers. "Oh no you don't, okay? That's not fair. You know how I feel about crying women in bathrobes. Now what am I supposed to do? Finish the story? Or," he jerked his head towards the bed, "should I just tie your hands to the bedposts with Roxy's tinsel and ravish you senseless?"

Oh God. As the image flashed into my head in glorious technicolor, everything south of my navel contracted. "Is—is there much more to tell?"

"Samantha Bloom!" His eyes widened in amusement. "The things I've still got to learn about you." He cupped my hot face in his hands. "And lucky me, I've got a whole week to start learning."

"A week?" I whispered, just as his lips were about to land on mine. "I told Marco three days!"

Drew smiled. "Doesn't matter what you told him. Marco and I agreed on a week. And then—but only if you want to, Marco says—you can start working for him. You don't have to. It's your decision. Though now I've had a chance to think about it, I actually think you should. Like you've said all along, it's a fantastic opportunity." His smile broadened. "Who knows, maybe you'll get snapped up by Salvani."

"But if I stay, I won't see you! You'll be in Stow Newton and I'll be here and—"

He silenced me with the gentlest of kisses. "Wanna bet? See," he kissed me again, laughing softly when I trembled, "I haven't taken any leave this year. I've even got a week in hand from last year. So I was thinking I could be here as much or as little as you want me to be. Every weekend, if you like. And if you end up staying more than three months..."

My eyes slid closed as he captured my mouth for a much longer kiss, his fingers drifting into my hair before falling to the collar of my robe to caress the bare skin beneath.

"...then I'll just have to learn Italian. Try international law. Or," his lips curved against mine, "I could forget law and we could buy a vineyard or something."

I gave a breathless laugh, opening my eyes again "Seriously, you'd do all that? Give up your job—for me?"

"Ah Sam, I've told you before." His hands explored further beneath my robe, easing the heavy towelling from my skin, pushing it from my shoulders until it abruptly fell to my elbows, leaving my top half bare. "I love you," he said with a smile, gazing at me with undisguised pleasure. "Always have, always will. I'd do anything for you."

And stooping slightly, he swept me off my feet then carried me over to the four-poster bed. But to my surprise, he didn't set me down, instead clambering on his knees with me into the middle of the mattress before collapsing backwards against the pillows. "What the hell are you doing?" I giggled as he yanked the sleeves of the robe from my arms then adjusted me across his lap.

"It's Christmas," he said grinning. "Well, nearly. And seeing as you're the best present I've ever had, I really ought to unwrap you slowly." He lowered his head to kiss me, his eyes darkening. "Although to be honest, I'm really not sure if I can. Because between you and me, it's going to be tough not to go mad and rip off the paper."

I gasped as he nudged my chin backwards, his lips blazing a trail of kisses across my neck, my collar bone, the soft rise of my breast. At the same time, I could feel his hand moving over my stomach, gradually edging beneath the robe still covering my lower half. "You—you could, you know," I breathed, letting out a shuddering cry as he gently bit my nipple. "I wouldn't mind if you—oh—did. Really."

"No?" I could feel his breath against my skin, hear the amusement in his voice. "Well, I s'pose I could always—" his fingers began working on the tie at my waist "—open the next one slowly. And say, the next one. And the one after..." He gave a sudden growl of frustration. "Jesus, Sam—what kind of knot is this?"

"A reef knot? Maybe a granny or something? I don't know-o-o..." I shrieked as he lifted me again, pitching me around until I was half-sitting, half-lying between his outstretched legs, my right arm still up around his neck. "It's your fault it's so tight!" I squeaked, watching him use both hands to grapple with the problem now. "You're the one who made me jump. You're the one who hid behind the curtains and then told me you'd seen me prancing about with no clothes on. You're the one who..."

But the words died on my lips as, having worked the knot loose at last, he promptly swept my gown wide open and peered down over my shoulder. "Well... I have to say, this looks lovely." He grinned as I rolled my eyes at him. "How did you know exactly what I wanted?"

I sniggered, my snigger turning into a sob when he promptly kissed me, thoroughly and deeply, his tongue on a mission to explore every part of my mouth. As the seconds passed, the warm hands that had settled first on the tops of my thighs smoothed upwards, worshipping my hips then my waist, sweeping back over my belly before rising slowly. Much too slowly. I moaned into his mouth when he finally palmed my breasts.

"Aw," he sighed happily, catching the ridiculously sensitive peaks between his fingers and making me whimper even more. "God, I love all the little noises you make." And as if to prove it, he kissed me again, swallowing my helpless cries as he traced feather light circles around my nipples with the pads of his thumbs.

"Drew, stop it!" I begged, half-laughing, half-gasping for breath when he eventually let me up for air. "My turn, please? I can't even touch you like this. Let me touch you. This isn't fair!"

"Are you kidding?" I could hear the outraged amusement in his voice, one hand leaving my breasts now and snaking downwards. "Do you have any idea of the view I've got from up here? How beautiful you are? God..." It was Drew's turn to moan. "I've never been more turned on."

Given I could feel the evidence of his arousal through the thickness of two bathrobes, I didn't doubt it. "But that's not the point! I want to—" Then I stopped, noticing his fingers were now skirting beneath my navel, taking a lazy zigzag path down my abdomen. "Oh no..."

"Oh yes," he corrected, his breath warm against my ear. The fact I could both see and feel what he was doing was almost too much to bear, his touch teasing but deliberate. I could hardly breathe by the time his hand ventured lower to toy with the edge of my curls. And when at last, his fingers sank gently into the folds beneath, I arched into his hand.

"Drew!" I yelped as he started to stroke me, the crackling evidence of my slickness plain to hear. "Oh God—o-oh—slowly! Please..."

"Whoa." He laughed the word, kissing my temple. "And I thought I was turned on. You seem to have made a bit of a puddle down here."

"Bast-ar-ar-ard!"

As I groaned he laughed again, the movement of his middle and index fingers leisurely but unrelenting as he turned his hand, encouraging my thighs to part wider. And then, as if he considered that wasn't stimulation enough, the hand over my left breast began moving again, his thumb firmly strumming my nipple.

"Oh," I breathed, the pressure already building between my legs, a familiar wash of heat radiating from my very core, making me ache with need. "Drew, don't. Please..."

Nudging my face to his, he kissed me again. "Gorgeous," he gave me a rueful smile, "I'm not going to last two minutes once I'm inside you. Not this time. So just relax and let me—"

"No!" I pleaded, willing him to understand. "Please, I want you inside me—now!"

Still stroking me, still caressing me incessantly, Drew shook his head. "I'm serious. I might only last a minute. Thirty seconds even."

"I don't care!" I wailed, terrifyingly close to the brink. "I need to feel you inside me when I—when I..." I trailed off, unexpectedly embarrassed to say the word. "Oh God. Please!"

His smile widened. "When you what?"

"Drew!" Grabbing the nearest thing I could find for leverage—which happened to be his left calf—I yanked myself free from his arms, toppling forwards on to the bed. When I lifted my head, I could hear him laughing and when I looked up, I gasped. Because in the mirrored doors of the wardrobe I saw myself on my hands and knees, stark naked, my bottom raised in the air. And as I stared, I watched Drew toss aside the bathrobe I'd left in my wake then make short work of discarding his own.

"You want me inside you when you what?" he demanded, now equally naked, making eye contact via the mirror. He crawled up behind me, making me squeal as he moved between my legs, his heavy erection pressing against me. "Say it," he urged my reflection, reaching under me to cup my breasts and smiling when I moaned. "Say it and I'll make it happen."

"Oh God, you feel huge," I mumbled, suddenly rather scared. "Maybe—maybe this isn't..." I drew in a shaky breath as one of his hands found its way beneath me again, his fingers gliding easily through the wetness. "Please..."

He watched me. Watched me watch myself, the way my eyes widened with each deft stroke, the way my lips parted. "Tell me what you want."

"Drew!" Pretty soon, it was going to be impossible to tell him anything. "Please. Oh, please..."

He looked amused, the hand holding my breast gliding around to my waist as the movement of his other hand quickened, bringing me frighteningly close to the point of no return. "Come on, use your words."

"In me!" I cried, rocking my hips in frustration now. "I want you in me when I come, okay? I want you-oo-oh!"

His hand abruptly sliding beneath me, he found my opening and was there, hot and blunt against me. And with his fingers spreading me wide, he pushed hard, making me sob with relief as he pressed inside me, opening me wider still, the intense stretching sensation almost overwhelming. "Dear God," he groaned. "I'd forgotten how good you feel!"

Remembering the mirror, I looked up to see his eyes hooded, his face contorting as he pulsed against me. But as he slid further and further in, it became increasingly difficult to keep watching, my own eyes closing on each mini thrust. "You're going so deep. So deep," I gasped incredulously. "There can't be—you can't...? Fuck!"

Drew answered my unfinished question with one last, sustained surge forward, filling me so utterly it felt as though his whole body had merged with mine, his arms coming around me when he stilled at last, holding me to him. "Incredible," he groaned, sounding hoarse. "God help me... Sam, I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you, I swear."

"Make what up to me?" I realised I was trembling, my knees wobbling, making him move inside me despite his best efforts to hold me in place. But then I lifted my head and saw his expression in the mirror, saw the pure, undiluted desire there and I knew. "I don't care. I love you," I said, holding his gaze, watching his eyes darken abruptly. "I love you. I want you. I want this..."

I hissed as he grasped my hips and pulled back, the dragging sensation of his flesh leaving mine almost painful, tortuously slow. Then I wailed, Drew impaling me in one glorious thrust, groaning with me as he drove in to the hilt, juddering against me before withdrawing and doing it all again. And again. And again, each pass making me shiver with pleasure, occasionally touching an exquisitely sensitive part of me that throbbed every time he found it. Craving more, I pushed into him, meeting his thrusts, angling my hips in an attempt to have him stroke that same place, learning by and by that if I leaned backwards against him... Oh yes. A little more—yes...

"Sam." I felt rather than heard Drew laugh my name, his laboured breath warm against my ear.

My ear? Disorientated, I opened my eyes only to gasp as I saw our reflection. Somehow—I couldn't for the life of me figure out how—I was no longer on my hands and knees, but kneeling over his lap, facing outwards. "How did—how did you do that? Oh!" I groaned when he pulled me closer, his hands circling my waist as he plunged deep. "That feels so good..."

"Me?" Still thrusting, still hitting that wonderful spot, he kissed my temple. "It was you. I couldn't have stopped you if I wanted to. Not that I wanted to. You've got to admit," he nodded towards the mirror, "this looks pretty hot."

It did. Positively pornographic in fact, a lurid scene framed by mahogany bedposts and the burgundy and gold finery of the drapes and canopy around us. Me, my still-damp hair wild, my cheeks flushed, my rosy-peaked breasts heaving as my body gyrated over his. Drew, his face a picture of concentration as he drove in and out of me, his hands roaming my skin, investigating my every curve and hollow.

"But I read about this," I gasped, startled. "This—this was number ten."

His brows lifted in amusement. "What the hell have you been reading?"

"I can't watch." I closed my eyes, almost frightened of the ache building between my thighs, of the way that place inside me seemed to be swelling now with every thrust. "Oh God, I'm going to come anyway!"

"That's the idea. Hey..." His voice softened. "Look at me." He brushed a kiss into my hair when I didn't respond, tilting my head back against his shoulder. "Not in the mirror. Right here."

I opened my eyes to find him smiling at me. "Drew..."

"No more mirror." He kissed me tenderly, one hand working over my lower tummy again, wandering downwards. "Just you and me now."

"Drew."

His mouth captured mine as warmth swirled through my womb, Drew thrusting faster now, his fingers relentless. I gasped at the increase in pressure. Then, time seeming to stand still, every muscle of my body tautening, the pressure turned into impossible pleasure. Shuddering as the ferocious wave hit, I sobbed helplessly, my orgasm roaring through me like fire. And suddenly, it was Drew who was violently shaking, shouting my name as he plunged deep inside me.