This, Sam thinks to himself as he wakes up with his face buried in the back of Maddie’s neck, is nice. Not sexy at the moment, but very cozy. He kisses the soft spot just near her shoulder in tribute to the comfort.
“Mph.” He smiles at the grouchy noise, kissing her again to taste her skin and running his free hand down her belly. She stiffens and squeezes her legs together when she realizes his intent. “SAM.” His name as a reproach – his least favorite sound. Backing off, he lets Maddie turn around and stab him with her gaze. “What the hell happened last night?”
For a moment, he worried that she wouldn’t remember. “Mike and Fi had a little scare with a bomb in DC. We started drinking to take our minds off of it and…”
“Oh…” Maddie grunts. Her eyes widens and he can see the memory in her expression. “I told you I…”
“…That no man’s ever made you come.” Maddie grimaces and Sam gives her his own sympathetic glance. “And no man has. Yet.”
She groans and reaches for the side table and her pack of Chesterfields. “What did I do to you?”
Sam smirks. “Things I didn’t know a girl like you could do to a guy. Where’d you learn that fancy thing you did with your tongue…”
She reaches out and shuts him up, a finger sealing his lips shut. “How many did we have last night?”
“Half the bottle of vodka.” Which is why Sam is nearly sober, he calls that ‘Sunday night’.
She moans and leans back against the bed. Sensing her discomfort, Sam makes a play for his boxer shorts. “I think I’ll go grab some breakfast.”
Her hand shoots out from under the covers, stopping him. “Sam…did you mean what you said?”
Sam cocks his head in her direction. “About making you come?”
“Right,” Maddie says. “That.”
The memories make his voice throaty. “Yeah. I’d love to make you come.”
“Why?” she wonders, sitting up, keeping the sheets folded to her breasts. “What would you get out of it?”
He shrugs. “It’s not about me. It’s about making you happy.” He runs a gently circle over her covered stomach with his open palm. He knows she’s given herself orgasms before, but in his opinion it’s not the same. “A girl like you shouldn’t go her whole life without knowing what it’s like when someone she likes makes her come. Besides, there’s nothing sexier than feeling a girl lose it and know you’re the reason why.”
“I’m not a girl anymore, Sam,” she says ruefully.
“And I’m not a boy. But there are some plusess to that…”
“Name one,” she says.
“Two words: refractory period.” He pulls back the covers, dodging Maddie’s swatting hand. “Go on and take a shower – I’ve gotta grab some stuff.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah – go ahead and pamper yourself – I’ll still be here when you’re done.”
Sam watches Maddie dig around on the floor for her bath robe, and once she finds it she manages to don it under the covers without flashing him an inch of flesh. He doesn’t leer or smirk or catcall as she retreats to her bathroom with great dignity; he really doesn’t want to insult her.
Taking quick advantage of the situation, Sam reaches over the side of the bed and grabs his wallet, fetching the case of blue pills he keeps in the secret bottom where he stores his condoms. Swishing down the Viagra with a mouthful of water from the kitchen sink, Sam starts collecting the supplies of his seduction; pillows to prop her up, glass of wine to help her relax, toast cut in the shape of a heart for breakfast, and – after some scrounging in the bedside table – a tube of KY. Stashing them all on the bed, he ducks into the hall bath and takes a hot shower, which is interrupted by a high-pitched yelp from Maddie’s room.
Instinct takes over, and without thinking he rushes back to the bedroom dripping wet, grabbing his gun from the living room table. But in the bedroom he only finds a dripping-wet and annoyed looking Maddie glares him down, shaking her head at his gun.
“We ran out of hot water, no thanks to you,” she growls, her face a mass of white foam and a towel wrapped around her neck over the ubiquitous robe.
“Sorry, Mad.” Carefully placing the gun on her side table, he reaches behind her for and steals the towel, wiping his body down, notices her watching and smirks. “C’mere,” he says, holding out his arms as he sits on the bed. “It’s your turn.”
Maddie gives him an apprehensive look, but gives in and settles herself between his legs, her back to him, allowing Sam to pat her face, neck, and hair dry. “Breakfast?” he offers her the toast, the wine, wishing he’d had more time in the kitchen. She eats while he dries her, empties plate and cup, though quite quickly the patting turns into a caress, and the tension starts to melt from Maddie’s shoulders. Sam begins to knead her muscles, kissing the side of her neck as he loosens her shoulders, her upper back, the tensile muscles in the middle of her back, and she discards the empty cups and plates. Maddie leans back against his chest with a grumbling sigh, turning her head toward his shoulder; Sam’s lips brush the tip of her nose and lips before settling in for a long, slow kiss. The sensuous tangle of his tongue and hers, and the tentative brush of her hand against his arm, encourage Sam to pull her flush against him, letting the towel drop to crush between them.
When he releases her, the tempo of Maddie’s breathing has grown ragged and uneven with arousal, but Sam refuses to hurry along the progress. “Why don’t you take off the robe and lie down?” He hands her a pillow and she – clearly having been through this before – removes the robe and relaxes, nude, against the bed, the pillow supporting her hips. Sam winces; he’s broken the spell, made a cardinal mistake. But he’ll win her back.
Scooting up the bed to sit at Maddie’s left, Sam bends over her head and gently kisses her again, repeatedly, nipping kisses that make her neck bow and her lips part, her hands tangle in the salt and pepper of Sam’s hair. He runs his hands over her sides, leaning on his right elbow to better use his left hand, caressing her neck, shoulders, and finally breasts.
Soft, Sam thinks, as he shifts his weight onto his knees, wincing as he puts pressure on an old bullet wound, his knee going between her legs, pressing into the pillow. It’s been a long time since he’s touched a woman his own age, remembered the gentle give of experienced flesh. He massages both breasts in turn, cupping her face with his right hand and coaxing her into a stronger kiss, then pulling away and dotting her face all over with tiny pecks. Maddie lurches upward to kiss him again, but she collides with his chin as Sam descends, kissing her shoulders, her collarbone, and finally, her breasts.
His tongue flicks out, tasting the tips, inhaling the perfume of sweat and floral bath gel as he teases her. The pale pink nipples erect as he teases her, drawing a gasp from Maddie, then a groan. “Aww, Sam,” she remarks, for the first but not the last time that morning. He kisses a circle around each areola before sucking the tip, even, rhythmic pulls that makes Madeline’s breath sound choppy in his ears. She clasps the sides of his head and pulls him closer.
Sam smiles around her nipple – vibrating the tip, he pulls away and switches breasts, making her cry out. When he next looks up, he sees her head tossed back on the pillow, feels the hot brush of her sex against his stomach as her hips rock against the air.
Frank Westen must have been the laziest bastard in the world, Sam decides as his hand quests down her stomach, between her legs, where she is not quite wet enough to be touched. He lingers at her breasts for a few moments more, and another dip of the fingers tell him she’s a little more wet, but he’s going to need a bit of lube to enter her.
Reaching for the KY, his mouth follows the trail down between her legs. On impulse, he kisses around the white floss between her legs, then over the soft divide between them.
“Sam?” Maddie asks, drawing his eyes back to her flushed face. “Whatt’re you doing?”
“Getting you off,” he drawls, opening the tube and slicking his fingers quickly. Maddie raises a brow. “No one’s ever kissed you like this?” She shakes her head. “Not even Virgil?” he winces as her nails dig into his scalp.
“Don’t bring up Virgil when we’re in this bed.” Virgil had left her for a stewardess several months before and it temporarily broken her heart; it was just one of those flings, Sam had said, comforting her with booze and a pitying ear. She changes the subject to avoid it. “No, Sam, no one’s tried to do this for me.” Sam pauses, waiting for her permission. Finally, she shrugs. “If this doesn’t work,” she says, breathless, “don’t blame me.” In that moment, he curses Frank Westen’s selfishness, the callousness of teenaged boys all over Minneapolis, even the overly-determined doggedness of his old Navy pal; a tenderness washes over Sam, and he realized just how important his vow to her is.
“It’ll work, Mad. Just gimmie a little more time.”
Sam’s approach is gentle, nuzzling her open, flicking his tongue over the softness of her sex. He feels Maddie’s thighs quiver and part, her breathing hitch – his right hand goes to her breast, the left, daubed lightly with the KY, parts her lips. Only the tip of his tongue tease the pale pink inner lips to reveal the soft pink center of it all. He’s going slow, using a tempo that might be considered lazy but is, he hopes, beguiling. His tongue dips in and out of her entrance and Maddie gasps, her thighs falling completely open; her wetness isn’t as plentiful as it might have been years ago, but it’s definite, tasting sharply of her, the bittersweet tang of arousal. Maddie lets out a surprised groan and clutches Sam's head.
The sensation of that touch sends Sam into a euphoric state. There was nothing in the world better than being wanted, after all – he redoubles of efforts, replacing his tongue with his index finger and pursuing her clit.
It takes him a bit of doing, and no wonder – his fiery Maddie has a small clit, well-guarded by the folds of her sex. If he hadn’t been looking for Sam would have missed it by a mile. Locking eyes with her, he lowers his head and flicks the tip of his tongue across it.
“Oh God,” she replies as Sam’s tongue traced the soft, dusky folds of her sex – his careful preparation have made her dewy, though not creamy. He can work with that - can taste her now, feel the long trek up the hill begin.
“Mm hmph,” Sam replies, his tongue circling her clit before flicking across it again. Maddie’s thighs spasm, her breath breaking, her hips arching up from the pillow. It takes concentration to bring her to the brink, focused effort that few men are willing to give a woman. But Sam wants this so badly for her that her pleasure becomes a part of his, and he writhes against the blankets, semi-hard.
Minutes pass, the rhythm steady, broken only by their harsh panting. Sam waits, dripping anticipation, for the telltale signs of Maddie’s orgasm. He can feel her grow tense around his fingers, feel her clit plump against his lips, the combination of her excitement and the KY making his exits and entrances slippery and easy. Her breathing grows harsh – she drips sweat for him. When her thigh clenches in the grip of his right hand, when her back arches, when she shakes, Sam takes her clit between his lips and sucks, firmly, just once.
Maddie promptly goes up in flames for him, her hips bucking against his touch and her lips parted, her features drawn down into a scowl and her nipples hard on the silky looseness of her breasts. She squeezes his fingers within her, once, twice, then in endless waves of relief.
“God Sam,” she gasps out at the peak of her lust. “God. SAM! FUCK!”
And Sam grins like a fool as she rides it out on his hand, on his wriggling tongue. He pulls away, his lips and cheeks shiny with the combined sheen of their lust. “Do it again, Mad,” he says, and lowers his head.
“Oh no,” she croaks, “oh, I can’t Sam…Sam!” But he lowers his head and she rakes her nails through his hair, and he makes her do it two more times, once with his fingers teasing her clit.
She grabs him by the hair, flushed, trembling in his grip. “Inside,” she demands.
He stares up at her, hazy-minded from the lust, drowned in the taste of her. “But I can…”
“FUCK ME. NOW!” Sam’s eyebrow reached for the ceiling at her salty language as he scrambles between her legs. His cock is rock hard from the joy of tasting her and the surge of Viagra-aided blood, and it nearly quivers away from her touch as she reaches down to position him. Sam’s cock knows its mark, the sweet caress of her against him, and they grunt simultaneously at his entrance.
“Hard,” she murmurs, throwing a leg around his hips.
“Soft,” he replies, pulling slowly back, dragging his cock along her inner walls. But two can play this game, and Maddie squeezes him with her inner muscles every time he hits bottom, making Sam bite his lip and mentally recite the stats of every wide receiver the Lions have had since 1978.
He keeps the rhythm even for a long while, but the joy of the moment, the lust he’d been harboring for twenty-four hours and the love he’d felt for her for months take a severe toll on his staying power. Sam stares straight at Maddie as he increases the ferocity of the rhythm, pinning her to the bed with his eyes, then the pressure of his mouth at her lips. He feels her moaning his name against his lips, but he can’t say anything in response as he pulls back and slams his hips into hers, his cock pounding into her regularly again and again.
She trails last night's lipstick across his shoulder, her white teeth biting his flesh as she calls out again. Sam corkscrews his hips but she’s exhausted after three orgasms and there won't be a miracle this morning. Maddie knows. She squeezes him unmercifully and he gasps.
“Maddie, don’t! I’ll…”
“Yes,” she breathes out, squeezing him within her.
His body speeds but he has to ask her. “Is that what you want?”
She nods her head frantically. “I love it, you’re…” she’s so flustered that she laughs, the words eluding her, and buries her face in his neck. “Son of a bitch, you’ve got me,” she laughs. And laughing, sweating, his arms wrapped around her, Sam finally comes.
For minutes, he’s a large, sweaty lump weighing her down against the quilt, and she holds him to her breast, running a hand down his sweat-slicked back. Then she’s shoving him away, complaining about suffocation, and Sam rolls obediently to his back, her arm coming to rest over his torso.
“Want a cigarette?”
Maddie shakes her head. “I’m too tired to smoke,” she declares, burying her face against his neck.
Sam grins. He’s damn good and knows it, but every little bit of confirmation is good for the soul. “Not bad for an old washed up fool.”
“You’re not washed up.” Maddie yawns and tucks her head into the space between the pillow and his neck. It’s quiet and she’s nearly asleep when Sam remembers the question he partially answered.
“The best thing,” he says, in a serious, lecturing tone, “about being older is being able to cuddle up to a pretty girl without worrying you’ll come on her thighs.”
The joke gets just the reaction he’d been hoping for, and she buries a laugh in his shoulder. Sam pecks the top of her permed head and settles in. It’s just as comfortable as it was the night before. “Take a nap. Mike’s not expecting me for a few hours.”
Maddie’s body has already begun to obey Sam’s request. When he’s quite sure she’s asleep, he confesses the truth that’s been biting at his heels for the past few hours. “I love you, Mad.”
“That’s good,” she replies, and falls asleep.