Chapter 9: The Second Round
Sam rolled off her with a groan, landing on his back beside her. The ceiling swam above him, blurred at the edges. His lungs burned. His legs felt like they'd been through a leg-press competition.
Beside him, Zoe was laughing. Breathless, hiccupping little sounds that shook the mattress.
"What?" he managed.
"Nothing." She rolled onto her side to face him. Her hair was a disaster, red tangles sticking to her forehead and plastered against her neck. "You just—that face you made at the end. Like you were being exorcised."
"I was being exorcised. You're a demon."
"A sex demon."
"The worst kind."
She grinned and reached out, trailing her fingers down his chest. Her touch left a line of heat in its wake. Sam's skin prickled.
He watched her as she sat up, watched the way her breasts moved with the motion, the way her stomach muscles flexed. She crawled toward the edge of the bed and he tracked her movement with his eyes, unable to look away.
The condom. Right.
He sat up and peeled it off, tying the end in a knot. It took him a second to find the trash can—a sleek silver thing tucked beside the nightstand—and he tossed it, watching it disappear into the bin.
When he turned back, Zoe was crawling toward him.
Not toward the edge of the bed. Toward him.
Her hand found his thigh. Fingers trailed up the inside of his leg, feather-light, and Sam's breath caught in his throat.
"You're still hard," she murmured.
He looked down. She wasn't wrong. His cock was half-erect, twitching under her gaze, already stirring back to life.
"Yeah," he said, laughing, "because you're naked and you just came twice. What did you expect?"
She hummed, noncommittal, and wrapped her hand around him. Sam hissed through his teeth.
"Zoe—"
"Shh." She stroked him once, slow, root to tip. "I'm not done with you yet."
His brain short-circuited. "You're not—"
"Nope." She reached for the box of condoms on the nightstand, but Sam caught her wrist.
She looked at him, eyebrows raised.
"I want to taste you first," he said.
"You just did."
"No." He shook his head. "That was—I was trying to make you come. This time I want to taste you. Really taste you."
Zoe's cheeks flushed. Even after everything they'd just done, she still blushed. He loved that about her.
"Okay," she said, barely above a whisper.
Sam sat up against the headboard, propping pillows behind his back. He patted his chest. "Come here."
She crawled up his body, knees on either side of his head, and Sam gripped her hips and pulled her down.
The first swipe of his tongue made her gasp.
He took his time. There was no rush now, no desperate need to prove anything. Just the slick heat of her against his mouth, the way her thighs trembled on either side of his head, the sharp taste of her mixed with the latex from before.
"Sam," she breathed.
He hummed against her and she jerked. Her hands flew out, catching herself on the wall behind the headboard. The position gave him better access, let him get his tongue deeper, and he groaned at the way she rocked against his face.
"That's it," he murmured against her. "Use my mouth. Take what you need."
She did.
Her hips rolled in a slow rhythm at first, tentative, like she was still shy about it. He gripped her ass and pulled her harder against him, and something in her snapped. She started moving faster, grinding down on his face, her thighs squeezing his ears.
"Fuck," she gasped. "Fuck, Sam, your tongue—"
He buried his tongue inside her and curled it up, and her whole body shuddered.
Not enough.
He moved his focus to her clit, licking broad stripes over the swollen bundle of nerves, then suckling gently. Her nails scratched at the wall. A picture frame rattled somewhere to his left.
"I'm close," she warned. "I'm—oh god, I'm—"
She came with a wail, her body seizing, her hips grinding down on his face hard enough to hurt. Sam didn't stop. He kept licking, softer now, working her through the aftershocks.
She was still twitching when he kept going.
"Sam—Sam, stop—"
He didn't stop.
"Sam, I can't—I can't—"
He sucked her clit between his lips and flicked it with his tongue, and she screamed. Actually screamed. Her thighs clamped around his head like a vice and she came again, harder, her whole body shaking, and only when she shoved at his forehead with both hands did he finally pull back, gasping for air.
Zoe scrambled off him and collapsed onto the mattress, chest heaving. "You're a monster," she wheezed.
"You loved it."
"I hated it."
"You screamed."
"That was a scream of rage."
"Sure it was."
She threw a pillow at his face. He caught it, laughing, and tossed it aside.
For a moment they just lay there, breathing, the city humming beyond the glass. Rain streaked the windows, blurring the lights into something soft and impressionistic.
Then Zoe rolled over and reached for the condom box again. This time, Sam let her.
Her hands were still shaking. She fumbled with the wrapper for a second before getting it open, and Sam watched her roll the latex down his length with something approaching reverence.
"Ready?" she asked.
He nodded.
She swung one leg over his hips and positioned herself above him. For a second she just hovered there, the head of his cock pressed against her entrance, and Sam's entire world narrowed to that single point of contact.
Then she sank down.
They both groaned. She was still tight despite everything, still hot and wet and gripping him like she never wanted to let go. Sam's hands found her thighs, steadying her.
"Fuck," she whispered. "You feel—"
"I know."
She started to move.
Slow at first. Rocking her hips in small circles, getting used to the angle. Sam leaned back against the headboard and watched her, watched the way her breasts swayed with every movement, the way her lips parted, the way her eyes fluttered shut.
Then she picked up the pace.
She rose up until only the tip remained inside her, then dropped down hard. The sound of their bodies meeting echoed through the room, wet and obscene. Sam's grip on her thighs tightened.
"That's it," he growled. "Fuck yourself on my cock."
She did.
Harder now. Faster. Her tits bounced with every thrust, her head thrown back, her moans filling the suite. Sam released her thighs and grabbed her ass instead, guiding her rhythm, pulling her down harder onto him.
She leaned back and braced her hands on his thighs—allowing him to see everything, the sight of his cock sliding in and out of her, glistening with her wetness, disappearing into her body over and over.
The visual punched him in the gut.
"Fuck, Zoe—"
She grinned, wild and breathless. "You like watching?"
"You have no idea."
She rode him harder, her hips slamming down onto his, and Sam felt the pressure building. Not yet. Not yet. He wasn't ready for this to end.
He grabbed her hips and stilled her.
"Wait," he said.
"What—"
"Turn around."
She blinked. Then understanding dawned, and she climbed off him, turned, and sank back down facing away from him.
Sam pulled her back against his chest, her back flush against his front, and wrapped his arms around her. One hand found her breast, the other slid down her stomach to her clit.
"Now," he said against her ear. "Ride me. But don't stop moving."
She did as she was told.
This angle was different. Deeper. Every time she rocked back, he filled her completely, hitting something inside her that made her cry out. His fingers worked her clit in tight circles and she was already so sensitive, so raw from her orgasm, that he could feel her climax building again.
"I'm gonna come," she panted. "Fuck, Sam, I'm gonna—"
"Come for me."
She did. Her body clenched around him like a fist, and the sensation nearly pushed Sam over the edge. He bit down on her shoulder, tasting sweat and skin, and held on.
But she wasn't done with him yet.
Before he could recover, she crawled off him and turned, pushing him back against the pillows. She grabbed the base of his cock and guided him back inside her, then started moving again, harder now, brutal and desperate.
"Zoe—" he groaned.
"You don't get to come until I say so."
"That's not—fuck—"
She rode him like she was trying to break him. Slamming down, grinding her hips, her nails raking across his chest. Sam grabbed her ass with both hands, helping her, lifting her, pulling her down onto him harder.
The bed creaked. The headboard slammed against the wall. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sam hoped the room next door was empty.
"Now," she ordered. "Come inside me. Now."
He did.
His hips bucked up and he buried himself as deep as he could, his release tearing through him with a violence that left him seeing white. A shout ripped from his throat, raw and guttural, and he emptied himself into the condom while Zoe kept moving, kept milking him, until he was oversensitive and twitching and had to push her off.
She collapsed beside him, both of them fighting for air.
The room smelled like sex and sweat and rose petals, the candles burned low, wax pooling on the saucers. Outside, the rain had stopped, and the city sparkled like it was showing off.
Sam turned his head to look at her.
Her eyes were closed. There was a small smile on her face, sated and soft. A strand of hair was stuck to her cheek and he reached over to brush it away.
"Hey," he said.
She opened her eyes. "Hey."
"You okay?"
"I'm not sure I'll ever walk again." She paused. "Worth it."
Sam laughed, pulling her against him. She fit perfectly, her head tucked under his chin, her breath warm against his chest.
"I love you," she said quietly. It wasn't a question or a revelation. Just a fact.
"I love you too."
They lay there in the quiet, the city humming its lullaby outside the glass. Sam felt heavy and light at the same time, exhausted and exhilarated.
Zoe yawned. "What time is it?"
He checked his phone on the nightstand. "Almost midnight."
"Our checkout is at noon."
"That's twelve hours from now."
She was quiet for a moment, considering. Then she lifted her head and looked at him, eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Wanna go again?"
Sam laughed, pulling her on top of him. "You're going to kill me by morning."
"At least you'll die happy."
Sam's laugh rumbled through his chest, vibrating against her ear. "That's a bold promise for someone who just tapped out twice."
"Who said anything about tapping out?" Zoe pushed herself up on her elbows, hair falling in copper curtains around her face. "I'm just getting started."
She kissed him.
It wasn't gentle. There was nothing tentative left between them, no shyness, no hesitation. Her mouth claimed his like she'd been doing it for years, tongue sliding against his, teeth catching his bottom lip just hard enough to make him grunt.
When she pulled back, Sam's eyes had gone dark.
Something shifted in his expression. A flicker of hunger that she'd never seen before—not directed at her, not like this. He sat up, and the movement was fluid, deliberate, like a predator deciding it was done playing.
"Get on your stomach," he said.
Zoe's breath caught. His voice was different. Lower. Rougher. Like gravel dragged over silk.
"What?"
"You heard me." He reached for the box of condoms and tore one free. "On your stomach. Ass up. I want to look at you."
She moved before her brain caught up. Rolling onto her belly, pressing her face into the pillow, arching her back until her ass was raised and presented. The position made her feel exposed and vulnerable and so fucking turned on she could barely breathe.
Behind her, she heard the crinkle of foil. The wet sound of latex rolling over skin.
Sam's hand landed on her hip. His thumb traced the curve of her spine, slow and deliberate.
"You have no idea how long I've wanted to see you like this," he said.
"Six years?"
"Longer." His hand slid down to her ass and squeezed. "I've been dreaming about this since I was seventeen and you wore that tank top to my birthday party."
"That tank top barely covered anything."
"I know. That was the point."
She opened her mouth to fire back a retort, but the words died in her throat.
Sam pushed inside her.
The stretch was immediate and brutal and perfect. He wasn't gentle this time—no slow adjustment, no waiting for her to accommodate him. Just one long, relentless push until his hips were flush against her ass and she could feel every inch of him buried deep.
"Fuck," she gasped.
"Yeah." His voice was thick. "Fuck is right."
He pulled back—slow, dragging against her walls—and slammed back in.
Zoe cried out. The sound was high and startled, punched out of her lungs by the force of the thrust. Sam didn't pause. He set a rhythm immediately, hard and fast, each stroke driving her deeper into the mattress.
"God—" She fisted the sheets in both hands. "God, Sam, that's—"
"What?" He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back, his mouth at her ear. "Tell me what it is."
"It's—fuck—" She couldn't form a complete sentence. Every coherent thought scattered the moment he bottomed out inside her. "So deep. You're so deep—"
"Good."
He straightened up and grabbed her hips with both hands, fingers digging into the soft flesh, holding her in place while he fucked her. The room filled with the sound of skin against skin, wet and obscene and incredible.
"Your cock," she babbled. "Your fucking cock, Sam, it's so big—"
"You like it?"
"I love it. I love your cock—"
"Yeah?" His hips snapped forward and she screamed. "You love getting fucked like this?"
"Yes—fuck—yes—"
"You love being bent over and taken?"
"I love it—" Her voice cracked. "I fucking love it, don't stop, don't ever stop—"
He didn't stop.
He shifted his angle slightly, adjusting his grip on her hips, and suddenly he was hitting something different. Something that made white spots dance in her vision. Zoe's back arched impossibly higher, her toes curling in her knee socks.
"There," she gasped. "Right there, right there—"
"Found it."
He hammered that spot over and over, ruthless and precise, and Zoe lost the ability to speak anything resembling English. Drool pooled on the pillow beneath her cheek. Her fingers twisted in the sheets until her knuckles went white.
"Pound me," she heard herself say. "Pound me—"
Sam drove into her harder.
"Pound me—" The words were raw, desperate, scraped out of her throat. "Pound me poundmepoundme—"
She was begging. She'd never begged for anything in her life, but she was begging now, chanting the words like a prayer, her voice as rough as Sam's hands on her hips. The headboard slammed into the wall with every thrust. The candles on the nightstand flickered from the impact.
This wasn't the shy boy she'd known since high school. This wasn't the Sam who blushed when she made dirty jokes, who looked away when she caught him staring. This was someone else entirely—someone who fucked like he'd been holding back for years and had finally been given permission to let go.
She loved it.
"Please," she gasped. "Please, Sam, I need—"
"Need what?"
"To come. Please, I need to come—"
"Then come."
Her body obeyed before her brain could process the command. The orgasm ripped through her like lightning, electric and devastating, clenching around Sam's cock with a force that made him groan. She screamed into the pillow, the sound muffled but no less primal.
Sam fucked her through it. Never slowing, never faltering, driving into her while she shook and sobbed and came apart at the seams.
When she finally went limp, he stopped.
But only for a second.
"I'm not done with you," he said.
Before she could respond, he'd pulled out. She whimpered at the loss, the sudden emptiness. Then his hands were on her hips, flipping her onto her back, and the pillow she'd been gripping went flying.
He pushed her legs apart and climbed between them.
"Again," he said. "I want to see your face this time."
He entered her in one smooth movement.
Zoe's mouth fell open in a silent scream.
The prone position, the way her body was trapped between him and the mattress, the way he could get so much deeper—she'd never felt anything like it. Sam's weight pressed her down, his hips grinding against hers, the angle allowing him to hit spots she didn't know existed.
"Tell me," he demanded. "Tell me how it feels."
"I can't—"
"Tell me."
"Overwhelming—" She clawed at his back, nails raking down his shoulder blades. "It's overwhelming, you're so deep, you're so fucking deep—"
"You want me to stop?"
"No!" The word came out as a shriek. "Don't stop, don't you dare stop—"
"Good girl."
She should have hated being called that. Should have felt patronized or objectified. Instead, the words sent a fresh wave of heat through her core, and she clenched around him involuntarily.
Sam noticed.
"You like that," he said. It wasn't a question.
"Shut up."
"You like being my good girl."
"I—" He thrust harder and her sentence died. "Fuck—"
"Say it."
"I'm your good girl—" The words tumbled out before she could stop them. "I'm your good girl, Sam, I'm yours—"
"That's right."
"All yours—"
"Say my name."
"Sam—"
"Louder."
"SAM—"
He fucked her harder. The bed was making an ungodly noise now, the headboard cracking against the wall with every thrust. She could hear muffled thumping from the room next door but she couldn't bring herself to care.
"How many times have you thought about this?" he asked. "How many times have you touched yourself thinking about me?"
"Too many—"
"How many?"
"I don't know—" He hit that spot again and she nearly folded in half. "A hundred. Thousands. Every night—"
"Every night?"
"Every night for six years. I've wanted you for six years—"
"Good." His voice was ragged now, his control slipping. "Because I've wanted you for six too. Every night. Every single night."
"You—"
"I've thought about bending you over and fucking you senseless for six years, Zoe. I've thought about the noises you'd make. The way you'd look with my cock inside you."
"Fuck—"
"I've thought about making you scream."
"Sam—"
"I've thought about coming inside you so deep you'd feel it for days."
She came again.
The orgasm was harder than any that had come before—violent, overwhelming, her entire body convulsing around him. Sam buried himself to the hilt and held, his hips grinding in tiny circles while she writhed beneath him.
And then he kept going.
"One more," he said.
"I can't—"
"One more." He pulled out and flipped her again, onto her belly, grabbing her hips and hauling her back up onto her knees. "I'm not done."
"Sam, please—"
"I said one more."
He pushed inside her again and she screamed.
She'd lost count of how many times they'd done this. Three condoms? Four? He'd been on top, behind, now he was behind again but faster, filthier, his dirty words spilling into her ear while he fucked her like a machine.
"Take it," he grunted. "Take all of it. Every inch."
"I'm taking it—"
"You feel that? Feel how deep I am?"
"Yes—"
"Feel how hard I am?"
"Yes—"
"That's what you do to me. That's what you've always done to me."
Her feet were kicking with every thrust. Her knee socks had slid down around her ankles, the white cotton ruined. She didn't care. She couldn't care. She was nothing but sensation and need and the overwhelming desire to be filled.
"Come for me," Sam ordered. "Last time. Come with me."
She did.
They came together—her body clamping down around his as his hips stuttered and lost their rhythm, pushing through his own release with a groan that sounded like it was ripped from somewhere deep inside him. Between the two of them they practically screamed down the wall, the headboard relentless.
When it was over, Sam collapsed onto her, both of them slick and shaking and utterly destroyed.
They lay there for a long time. The bed had gone quiet. The city kept glowing outside the windows, indifferent to the cataclysm that had just occurred within these four walls.
Finally, Sam rolled off her. The condom was dealt with, discarded into the trash with the others.
"Three," he said, his voice hoarse.
"What?" She was barely capable of speech.
"This time. We used three."
"Oh." She laughed, but the sound was weak and cracked. "That's a personal record."
"Me too."
She turned her head to look at him. His chest was heaving, sweat glistening on his skin, hair plastered to his forehead. He looked as wrecked as she felt, and somehow that made her feel better. "You okay?"
"I think I pulled something."
"Where?"
"Everything. Everywhere."
She laughed again, a little stronger this time. "You're the one who said we'd go again."
"I didn't know it would be like that." He turned to face her. His eyes were soft now, the darkness gone. "I didn't know you could be like that."
"I didn't know I could be like that."
Silence stretched between them, comfortable and warm.
"Six years," she said eventually.
"Six years."
"I can't believe we wasted all that time."
Sam reached over and pulled her against him. She went willingly, molding herself to his side, her head on his chest.
"I don't think we wasted it," he said. "I think we were just... waiting."
"For what?"
"For this." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "For the right moment."
She looked up at him. His face was all soft angles and warm eyes in the dim candlelight. She loved him. She'd always loved him.
"I love you," she said.
"I know. You screamed it about five minutes ago."
"That was during sex."
"Does that make it less true?"
"No." She smiled. "It makes it more true."
He kissed her properly then—gentle, this time, nothing like the brutal taking from before. A kiss that was more of a promise than anything else.
When they broke apart, Zoe glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Almost two in the morning.
"We have ten hours until checkout," she said.
"Yeah."
"What do you want to do with them?"
Sam's grin was slow and wicked. "I have some ideas."
"Like what?"
"Like how about we rest for a little while. Let the feeling come back into my legs. Then maybe round four."
"Round four?"
"Or thirty."
Zoe laughed, burrowing deeper into his arms. Outside, the city flickered and hummed, a million lights burning in the dark. Inside, the candles had burned themselves out, leaving only the glow of the skyline to paint shadows across the room.
She closed her eyes. She felt his breathing steady underneath her cheek. She felt his hands, gentle now, stroking lazy patterns down her back.
She wasn't sure what tomorrow brought. She didn't care. Whatever came next, whatever challenges or complications or inconvenient interruptions waited for them, they'd face it as something new.
Not just friends anymore. Not just people with crushes.
Together.