state, thumping his erection with my pointer finger. I almost giggle when it jumps, springing back like a bobber. “Though, little might not be the right adjective.”
“Stop that.” He adjusts his towel so his goods are covered, but I don’t do the same. Instead, I let them all hang out. “Anyway, we have to get divorced. We can’t stay married.”
“We can and we will.”
He exhales deeply and closes his eyes, rubbing the headache I’m sure he has with his right hand. “Listen, Freedom, this isn’t going to happen. I don’t even remember the wedding, and that’s not the way to start a marriage. I think we need to get this taken care of right away.”
“Taken care of? I’m not a wart on the bottom of your foot. I’m you wife. Clearly you have a lot to learn about sweet talk, Sammy. Is that why your previous girlfriends only lasted a few months?”
He growls, the sound low and possessive. A memory flashes through my mind. Wet skin. Kissing. My hand wrapped around his…you know. His low growl. Shower sex. It was pretty much the best sex I’ve ever had, I’m certain, and I can only remember pieces.
“I’m not trying to sweet talk you, Freedom. I’m trying to be rational. We can’t stay married,” he exhales, his shoulders sagging a little.
“We can and we will. Come on, Sammy. Let’s get cleaned up and head downstairs for brunch. I’m starving,” I state, climbing off the bed and letting my full nakedness hang out. “I’m not sure if it’s from the booze or the bedroom Olympics.” I reach the doorway to the bathroom and glance over my shoulder. When I do, I find his eyes glued to my ass. “Of course, most of our Olympics didn’t happen in the bedroom.”
His eyes flare with something that looks a lot like desire right before they drop to take in my clothesless state. I hum a little tune, something deep and pulsing from the night before, as I shut the door, leaving it cracked just an inch or two for ventilation. I turn the water on as hot as I can stand it, ready to wash away the aches and pains associated with this hangover. Of course, as soon as I step under the stray, I moan in both pleasure and pain. The water practically scalds, but the jet spray on my neck is heavenly.
“Are you okay?” Samuel asks hesitantly from the doorway. He’s standing in the cracked door, staring at me through the glass shower enclosure. I can tell he’s trying to keep his eyes glued to my face, but he’s failing. I, being the super human I am, decide to toy with him just a little bit. Stepping forward, I press my girlies against the slowly steaming glass.
“What?” I ask, pretending I can’t hear him.
“Jesus, Freedom,” he groans, averting his eyes.
“You’re the one who’s lurking by the door like a voyeur,” I reply, running my hands over my wet hips.
“I heard you moan. I thought you were hurt,” he insists.
“I do have this ache…” I start, leaving my innuendo wide open like a door.
Samuel doesn’t kick it open though, ready to alleviate the sudden ache in my girly bits. Instead, he steps back and reaches for the knob. “I’ll let you shower,” he says, closing the door securely behind him.
He wants me. It’s written in his eyes and all over his face. Samuel is just having a hard time coming to terms with everything he’s feeling and what has transpired over the last twenty-four hours. I mean, traveling out of state by plane is kind of a big dealio for him. Throw in alcohol and waking up married, yeah, he’s sure to feel a little out of sorts in his uptight little world of his.
That’s why I’m going to help him.
I’m going to make him see our marriage isn’t one of inconvenience or a mistake.
Oh, no.
Our marriage is for life.
Chapter Seven
Samuel
I have to get out of this hotel room before it swallows me whole or I do something I’ll regret, like take a very naked Freedom against the tile wall in the shower.
Again, apparently.
I throw on my discarded pants, shove my arms into the wrinkled button-down, and head toward the door. Before I make my exit, I stop, considering all that’s transpired in the last half hour. I don’t know if we’re legally married or not, or what the hell happened or didn’t, but something has my feet halting at the door. Instead of making