Goddess Rising (45 page)

Sam held herself still, real still—like she was afraid if she moved or breathed, she’d come undone. So Wes gave her time to unthaw, cradling her against his chest as he felt her gently unwind and melt a little, reassured momentarily that it was okay to let go.

Growing up with a single mother, Wes learned at a young age that sometimes a woman just needed to be held. Sometimes she just needed that small, primal comfort before she could get back out there, or in Sam’s case—a moment’s respite before she went back to kicking ass and taking names. Wes realized he’d come up on what must be a rare moment for her, and for that fortuitous luck in timing, Wes felt lucky. Because he was the guy she was letting her barriers down with, and truth was, he felt like he was letting his barriers down with her too.

When Sam finally released a long, shaky breath, her hands tracing his arms with an uncertain flutter, Wes squeezed her into him, kissing her temple, so she knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

“You can tell me,” he murmured. “You can tell me anything, darlin’.”

Sam pressed her hot cheek against his shoulder, her arms suddenly tightening around his, like she needed them banded around her to keep it together. “I got kicked out of the Challenge,” she whispered, like she was afraid to say it aloud.

Wes tried to hide the ripple of shock that went through him. Bit his tongue as the words
Why?
and
How?
nearly shot out of his mouth.

“I’ve been walking around the past couple days, trying to act like it’s all right—like I’m not upset. I keep telling myself I’ve got next year and the year after that, but the fact is—” Sam shuddered, like she was trying to tamp down something powerful. “I’m torn up, Wes—” Her voice broke with emotion. “I’ve worked so goddamn hard to get here, and in one night, it’s over—and I know I shouldn’t be sitting here feeling sorry for myself but—” she stopped, squeezing her eyes shut.

“You’re sad. And you’re hurt,” he added. “It’s okay to be sad, Sammy. Anyone would be.”

“I fucked up,” she admitted quietly. “I let Alejandro bait me. I let him make me so mad, I lost my shit—Nearly broke his arm, I wanted to hurt him so bad—”

“Did he deserve it?” Wes asked.

She glanced at him sideways, surprised. “Well, yeah, but—”

“Sammy, he’s been taunting and harassing you from the get-go. I’d say he got what was coming to him,” Wes told her, confident. “And yeah, it sucks that you got kicked out because of it, but don’t you think it’s better that you stood up for yourself than let him get away with being a sonofabitch?”

“But I lost control—”

Wes lifted her off his chest gently, turning her so he could look into her dark, uncertain eyes. “You’re human, Sammy. You made a mistake, and now you’ll have to pay for it.” He ran a tender hand down her cheek. “You’re right to feel sad, darlin’. I know how bad you wanted to get onto that team.”

“You kind of caught me at my worst,” she admitted ruefully. “I’m kind of mid-wallow here.”

Wes laughed softly. “Good thing you got some company then.”

“Mr. Let-the-Good-Times-Roll wants to hang around for some depressing self-indulgence?” she teased. “Why do I feel like I’m about to get punked?”

Wes smiled at her. “Sounds like the only one getting punked is the idiot who thought he could make an enemy out of you and get away with it. Did Alejandro get kicked out of the Challenge too?”

Sam nodded, recounting what had happened as Wes got up to pour them both some more bourbon.

He went from feeling fury at Alejandro’s unconscionable offense, to shock and awe at Sam’s ability to take a guy down twice her size when most would have just taken getting tazed as a great reason to stay in fetal position for the duration. He was outrageously proud of her for standing up for herself, and in a strange, sordid way, he wondered if everything had actually worked out for the best. He felt more relieved about being muzzled by her father than he should have. Because now he wouldn’t have to report on her failure or cover the story of a success without her. Both options felt like acts of betrayal, now that he’d seen this side of her—the sliver of vulnerability in an otherwise remarkably courageous goddess of a girl.

Wes, in turn, told her about his conversation with Purcell and the decision to pair up with Miranda, careful to avoid any mention of her father’s late-night visit or the NDA he’d signed, his guilt a little assuaged given the circumstances.

“Miranda’s sharp as a tack,” Sam commented. “I thought her story sounded pretty damn good when she told us about it that night.”

“She’s a fantastic writer,” Wes admitted. “Honestly, if Purcell hadn’t paired us together, I wouldn’t have had a chance against her.”

“Makes sense that he pull together his two best talents,” Sam agreed, sipping her bourbon, legs tucked up underneath her on the sofa. “You’ll complement each other. Doubles your chances of winning those internship slots.”

Wes caught a lock of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. “Kind of like you and De Soto kicking everyone else’s asses for the rest of the year?”

Sam bit her lip. “Except for one pretty big thing—”

“What thing?”

Sam looked up at him, that rare uncertainty in her eyes again. “Alejandro and I can barely stand each other. But you and Miranda got a little more than a mutual admiration society going, don’t you?”

Wes caught the edge to the question, saw the hesitation and concern in her eyes before she glanced away. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, unexpectedly warmed. “You think I want Miranda more than I want you?” he asked, nuzzling her ear.

“I think it’s hard for any guy to say ‘no’ to a sure thing,” Sam replied, still not looking at him. “Especially if that sure thing is a redhead who could stop traffic. And Miranda’s a great girl.” She shrugged, like she was the obvious pick. “I could see why you’d be attracted to each other.”

Wes laughed softly—couldn’t help himself actually. He’d gotten an unexpected and undoubtedly rare treat tonight—a vulnerable
and
envious Samantha—sitting on his lap in nothing but barely-there cut-offs and a t-shirt that left little to the imagination.

“What’s so funny?” Sam asked, brow knitting.

He slanted her an amused smile. “Darlin’, if you think for one second I’d rather be anywhere in the world than here with you, then you’re outta your beautiful head.” He leaned forward and kissed her, hoping he was laying to rest to any doubts she might have in that wicked smart mind of hers. Every time Sam tried to finish the kiss, Wes pulled her a little closer, kissed her a little deeper, running with every little intimacy she allowed him. Her fingers curved over his shoulders, tangled with the hair at his nape. And when Wes finally leaned back to catch his breath, he searched her face for the lingering question mark and found none.

“The only person I want is you, Sammy,” he told her, heart on his sleeve. “You know that, right?”

Sam looked at him with those hellfire dark eyes of hers, and Wes saw the exact moment she decided to trust herself with him.

“Well, Wesley Elliott—” she murmured, lifting her hand to brush his cheek. “What are you waiting for?”

October—Tuesday, Late Night

Sam’s Apartment, Texas A&M

S A M A N T H A

W
es ran his
hands up her arms to her shoulders, and Sam felt the heat from his palms radiating through the soft material of her shirt, drawing a delighted little shiver from her. He smiled at her with that sexy
you-know-you-want-to
grin of his—the one she’d started falling for long before she’d ever been willing to admit it. But now there was something else in his amber eyes—something she couldn’t quite place, because she’d never been looked at like this before, and had nothing to compare it to.

Wes bypassed her mouth to savor the exposed curve of her neck, his mouth charting each dip and plane—thrilling the hell out of her. His warm, calloused hands drifted down to her shoulder blades, and he cupped them gently, urging her up to him. Then his lips were nudging aside the v-neck as he traced her clavicle with his teeth, drawing another shudder from her.

Wes took his sweet time—each nibble, each kiss, each warm and decadent taste happening with indecent slowness. And when his mouth finally grazed over the round, taunt end of her nipple through the thin material of her shirt, Sam tensed and arched, fingers gripping his head as her eyes popped open.

Dear God.

Her breath fractured and her head fell back as his hands went lower, following the curvature of her spine until he reached the edge of her shirt and lifted it up, the heat of his hands electrifying. Wes was like the King of Feelgood. So good, in fact, that Sam was eliciting groans of appreciation without even being aware of it. Wes pulled back, the skin across his cheeks tight and flushed as they stared at one another in the cool darkness of her living room.

“Samantha,” he breathed so softly, she almost didn’t hear it.

She ran her hands up his face, loving the faint feel of his bristles, the light she saw in his eyes even in the dimness.

“I think I may just be the luckiest guy in the world right now,” he admitted, resting his forehead against hers.

“You’re about to be,” she whispered back, smiling. “Take me to bed, Wesley Elliott.”

His answering smile was like touching fire to tinder. Wes swept her up and carried her down the short hall to her bedroom so fast, her head spun. He laid her across the cool sheets of her bed, his mouth hot and urgent as he snapped open the button to her cut-offs.

“
Definitely
the luckiest,” he said emphatically as Sam sat up to pull off her t-shirt, while she helped him wiggle her out of her shorts. Wes sucked in a tight breath as he looked her over. “Holy shit, you’re beautiful,” he breathed. “It’s a crime for you to be hiding this ridiculous hotness behind all that camo.”

Sam laughed behind her hand, feeling alternately shy and completely delighted that he liked what he saw. And then it was her turn to catch her breath as he stripped off his shirt and unbuckled his belt. Wes was beautiful all over, his chest powerfully and emphatically defined with whipcord musculature, his tanned skin dusted lightly with tawny hair. Wes looked like the best gift she’d ever gotten. He was easily the most delicious and tantalizing guy she’d ever seen.

And he was hers.
Another little thrill shot right through her—a shiver of ecstasy to come. Wes watched as Sam slid to her knees on the bed, taking over the task of undressing him.

“I am never going to forget this moment,” he told her, expression fervent, his golden eyes bright.

And neither was she.

Sam realized as she touched him that her first time was going to be so much more than sex. She was letting Wes close to her in a way she’d never let anyone before, and the enormity of the risk she was about to take made her hands shake a little as she finished undressing him.

Wes pushed her back against the bed, his hands running down her thighs until they hooked around her knees. He smiled at her as he pulled her toward him to the edge of the bed, dragging her panties down her legs in one swift movement.

Suddenly anxious, Sam shifted up to her elbows. “Wes—”

“Lie back, darlin’,” he whispered, eyes lit with passion, his fingers tender as he opened her. “Let me love you.”

And then his mouth was on her, and Sam nearly shot up with the instant zing of
holy-shit-that’s-good
pleasure. Wes pinned her down, manacling her legs around his warm shoulders as he suckled and tantalized her with the silky flick of his tongue.

“Oh,
God
—”

Sam couldn’t verbalize how unbelievably good it felt, how the sensations flowed and surged, carrying her over in a wave of pleasure so intense, she cried out involuntarily as Wes went on and on—

Yes!
YES YES was all she could think, mindless as she thrashed back, her body tense like quiver. Wes lifted his head, replacing his mouth with his fingers, first one, then another, his thumb skating gently over her clit, until she felt the quiver release, and she vaulted into the first voluptuous kicks of her climax. His movements were deep and sure, breaching her in a way she’d never experienced, not even on her own. Wes watched closely as she squirmed, a high burnish on his cheeks as he grazed her g-spot, prolonging the pleasure. Sam wasn’t sure if she wanted more or needed less, feeling half-crazed, her hips undulating as her slick inner muscles clenched of their own volition.

“Wes,
please
—
please
I need—”

He joined her on the bed, tugging her toward him as he kissed her with all the pent-up passion she’d seen in his eyes, as he watched her come, his mouth insistent, his taste rich. It was stunningly erotic to taste herself on him, salty and a little sweet. At some point, Wes pulled a condom from his jeans’ pocket, leaning back just long enough to slide it on with practiced ease.

“You sure about this, Sammy?” he asked her, smoothing her hair back gently as he leaned over her on one arm, cradled between her legs.

Samantha nodded, dazed. She flattened her palm against the flexing muscles of his back, unconsciously urging him closer as he opened her up to him, tilting her hips up so he could push inside of her.