What Will Be

Chapter 23

What Will Be – Chapter 23

"That was wonderfully sweet, but you didn't have to do that, you know."

Foyle deposited Sam on her feet and closed the door to their room behind him. He locked the door, leaving the key in it. He switched on another table light and noted that the heavy brocade curtains were already drawn.

"Well, I wanted to do it."

Sam, delighted with the gesture despite her slight misgivings, surveyed the beautiful high ceilinged room as she answered.

"We're trying not to attract attention as newlyweds and you carry me across the threshold. Supposing someone had seen us?"

Foyle's eyebrows went up as Sam, curious as ever, nosed behind closed doors.

"Well, I find myself not caring a jot. You're my wife, my pride, my joy. I don't mind who knows."

He watched Sam as she turned to him from the wardrobe she was investigating. She was pink again.

"That's lovely; I don't mind people knowing we're married, it's just..."

Her glance slid to the large four poster bed and back to him; her blush deepened.

Foyle crossed the room to take her hands in his.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think - ."

Sam slipped one hand free and touched his lips to hush him.

"Don't be sorry, I'm being silly. It was lovely, truly."

He accepted her apology with a nod and they looked at each other for a long moment.

Despite their dissembling, the sexual tension between them was building, but neither wanted to push too quickly and only one of them had done this before.

"Shall I..?"

"Do you...?"

They both spoke at the same time and they smiled with genuine amusement. Foyle nodded that Sam should go first.

She took a breath; Foyle could see her burgeoning anxiety and feel the tremor in her hand.

"I feel silly. We should have run away yesterday, then I wouldn't have worked myself up into such a lather."

Foyle felt some of his tension ease.

"We are in no hurry, we can do anything you like. I'm afraid it's too late to get a meal downstairs, but we can call room service, you can have a bath if you would like one, or we could go to bed. To sleep."

Sam looked crestfallen and he was momentarily at a loss as to the reason.

"You don't want to..?"

Her free hand waved vaguely in the direction of the bed.

He was cursing himself inside as he hastened to reassure her.

"Nothing could be further than the truth; I didn't want you to feel pressured. I would quite happily throw you on to the bed and join you, if that's what you desired."

"Throw? Really?"

Sam smiled with relief, quelling the urge to giggle at the image. She didn't want to sound like a child, but she was see-sawing back and forth between wanting to go on and mild fear of the unknown. The trembling was not entirely due to excitement this time. The interlude last week had helped tremendously, she knew something of the glittering prize at the end, but they still had to get there. They had shared many passionate kisses since their engagement, but in Sam's mind there was always the thought that Christopher would stop at a certain point, regardless of her feelings on the matter. This time they were not going to stop. At least, she hoped not, but just because she wanted to make love, it didn't mean that she was didn't also fret about it a little.

Foyle's voice was quiet.

"What do you desire?"

Her heartbeat fluttering like a bird, Sam took her courage in both hands.

"I think...that if you kissed me, just like you kissed me yesterday, that everything would be all right."

Foyle understood. Sam needed to be caught up in the moment, and he could appreciate her point of view.

"Very well, it would be my pleasure. But please say something if you feel we're going too fast, mmm?"

Sam nodded jerkily.

Foyle removed his jacket and hung it over the back of the desk chair. He undid his tie and slid it out from under his collar. Immediately he appeared to Sam to be so much more accessible. Less Mr Foyle, more Christopher. Her nervousness lessened considerably.

He returned to her side and slowly undid the buttons on the little jacket she was wearing. He gently slipped it down her arms, leaving Sam in a sleeveless light wool dress that had small buttons running from the sweetheart neckline to below her waist.

Foyle shook his head gently.

"So beautiful."

He ran his hands up her arms until he reached her shoulders, then leaned in slightly and caught a hint of her perfume. It was a light, delicate fragrance and it suited her.

"Your scent is lovely."

"Thank you."

We're being so polite. Where is the passion? Am I doing this wrong?

Christopher tipped her head up and kissed her, a proper lover's kiss, before his lips moved to her neck, just below her ear.

Sam gasped aloud.

My goodness, that's more like it. Electricity!

"Sam?"

"Oh, crikey yes, all good, carry on."

Oh bother; I sound like a sixth former.

Christopher's lips returned to her neck and she moved to let him, suddenly quite diverted from her anxiety. She barely noticed when he gathered her to him or when her own arms snaked around his waist, so caught up was she in the sensations he was creating. After several enjoyable minutes of light kisses and soft touches that both calmed and aroused her, Sam worried that he was holding back, as if afraid of hurting her, but she wanted more than that.

When Foyle felt the rapid pulse under his lips, he lifted his head to make sure Sam was still with him. It was all he could do to keep himself in check, but he knew that to rush her now would be a disaster. His gaze fell to her mouth as he pulled her closer and her lips parted as if to speak, though no words came out before he took her mouth with his own. Heat, like liquid fire, raced through his veins. Now she was in his arms he realised that he was fooling only himself if he thought that they could take this slowly. Without any protest from her he deepened the kiss, shamelessly taking all that she offered. He couldn't pull away; he deepened the kiss still more, his tongue delving to meet hers as she kissed him back without reservation. Sam arched against him, giving an involuntary moan deep in her throat that almost dissolved the last vestige of his control.

Foyle tore his mouth from hers while he still could. Her mewl of dismay gratified him beyond measure, as did the cloudy desire in her eyes. They stared at each other for a second or so, plastered together with no hope that she could mistake his arousal for anything other than what it was. Sam yielded first, tugging at handfuls of shirt and pulling the material free at Foyle's waist. With hands that shook slightly, he started on the frustratingly small buttons on Sam's dress. His task was made more difficult by the fact that Sam was trying to remove his shirt and kiss him at the same time.

Suddenly she pushed at his chest.

"Wait...hold on...just a second..."

Foyle looked up in mild dismay, a question in his eyes. Sam gave him a hold-that-thought smile but eased away briefly. Ignoring the buttons at her chest, she twisted slightly and opened the fine zip down the side of her dress. Without ceremony she grabbed the hem, pulled the dress off over her head and threw it towards the chair, leaving her standing in a pale peach silk camisole, knickers and nude stockings.

"Better?"

"Yep."

Having seen his expression, Sam didn't need the answer, but it reassured her – if she needed it – that he found her so desirable. Foyle made short work of his remaining clothes, leaving himself in the plain boxer shorts he favoured before he returned to Sam. The kiss was almost a consummation in itself, his thighs were hard against hers and his heart hammered in his chest.

To Sam, the feel of his mouth on hers, warm and urgent, hinted at leashed passion and secret pleasures to be shared when she was ready. His hands warmed her through the silk cami and the solid sureness of him against her leg made her shiver in anticipation.

"Cold?"

She shook her head. The time for consideration was past.

"Burning."

His voice was warm in her ear.

"Tell me what you want."

"You."

Sam felt bold enough now to move back towards the bed, pulling him by the hand. When her legs backed against the bed, she moved to take off her camisole, but Foyle stopped her.

"Please allow me..."

Happy to defer to him, she remained as still as she could - considering she wanted to run her hands over him - as he slid one shoulder strap down and then the other one. As he kissed the newly revealed skin the camisole was loose enough to fall to her waist. Only a little assistance from Foyle made it slip over her hips and fall to the floor, leaving her nearly nude. She moved to cover herself, but he took her hand.

"Please don't; you are so beautiful."

Foyle was pleased to see her relief. Her pert breasts were peaked as he took her back in his arms and kissed her again. Her arms wound round his neck as she eagerly followed his lead, no longer simply responding to him, but initiating too.

When the kisses were no longer enough, Sam went to remove her stockings and garter belt, but Foyle asked her to leave them. She seated herself on the edge of the bed and eagerly turned to him. She touched his shorts, but then hesitated and looked up at him. They hadn't gone this far before.

He offered her carte blanche, his voice rough with emotion.

"Anything you want to do."

Emboldened, she ran her hand over the outside of the tented cotton, delighting when she heard his sucked-in breath. Careful not to catch him, she pulled the shorts down and looked, quite fascinated, at what was revealed. Without a word, Sam reached out and circled him with one hand, while taking the weight of his balls in the other. She indulged her curiosity, familiarising herself with this new aspect of Christopher, without realising quite what effect it was having on him. After a very long minute or two from his point of view, Foyle put a hand on her shoulder.

"I think you'd better stop for now, Sam."

She looked up at the strain in his voice and the penny dropped.

"Oh. Oh, of course. I'm sorry..."

Foyle couldn't prevent the smile that surfaced as he shook his head once.

"Don't be; it was all too good."

It suddenly dawned on Sam how much of lovemaking was a two way street. She had made him feel that good, it wasn't just about her. She felt powerful.

She wasn't scared or nervous any more.

She stood up again and kissed him, quickly and hard, then got under the covers. She discreetly wriggled out of her knickers and lay down just as he climbed in beside her.

Foyle sensed the shift in her attitude and smiled, unable to resist teasing her.

"Sure you don't want to go to sleep?"

Her tone was just as teasingly prim.

"Not just yet, thank you."

"Good."

Little more was said as kisses took the place of conversation, until Foyle pulled back the bedding. Propped on his left elbow, he covered one splendid breast with a hand and lowered his mouth to the other. Sam arched under him and gasped with unmistakable delight. Foyle kissed her with such hunger, such explosive warmth, that she was soon swept up on a wave of desire.

Very soon the attention of her husband's mouth and oh-so-clever fingers was not enough; Sam yearned for more. It was almost a relief when Foyle slid his hand down and across her hips to dip a finger lower. Sam's eyes opened wide with shock as her excitement spiralled even higher. It was only then that she realised that her husband was watching her, gauging her reaction, and adjusting to improve her pleasure. In that moment, she thought him the cleverest man in the whole world and she loved him dearly.

Sam gave herself up to the sheer delight of running her hands over his skin and tangling her fingers through the light covering of his chest hair. She couldn't seem to get him close enough to satisfy the demands her own body was making. Her belly tightened and her hips lifted of their own volition, following a primitive cadence all their own under his hand.

To her dismay the hand was withdrawn moments later, just as the most exquisite sensations were building. She opened dazed eyes, her pupils dilated with passion, and wondered why he had stopped, but it became clear when Foyle moved over her. She eagerly shifted to welcome him. Although his ragged breathing reflected the strain he was under, he stroked her most sensitive flesh again until she was writhing with need. With firm care he eased his body into hers, almost immediately breaching the slight resistance that made Sam gasp and tense under him. Sweat misted his brow as he fought the instinctive urge to thrust home and claim her, waiting instead until she relaxed again and lifted her hips to encourage him. He slid deeper into the welcoming warmth and couldn't help but groan aloud at the utter pleasure of being exactly where he was.

It hadn't taken Sam more than a few moments to get used to the intrusion. This was what she had unknowingly craved – the feel of him inside her, possessing her – it was beyond compare. She wanted it all - everything. Her arms came up around his neck as he braced himself over her, his bent arms either side of her. Their eyes met as he slowly withdrew and returned, pumping gently while she learned how to move with him. Encouraged by her sighs and gasps of pleasure, he claimed her, again and again, as his hips rocked against hers. He picked up the pace and Sam followed naturally, chasing the storm that gathered low in her belly. She clasped Foyle to her, clutching at whatever she could reach, pushing to meet his every thrust, climbing higher with every second. Heat coiled through her body, spreading from where they were joined and out to her limbs. She wanted to tell him what was happening, how that feeling was nearly upon her, but she was too caught up in it. The conflagration raged through her, tearing a path as it went, until suddenly she was teetering on the brink of ecstasy before another thrust plunged her into such intense pleasure that she wasn't certain she would remain conscious.

Foyle had been determined to see to Sam's satisfaction first, but he was barely holding back, the urge to come overwhelming. He gritted his teeth and tried not think about how incredible it was to be buried to the hilt in – God, no, think of something else – not of how warm and wet and luscious and tight – oh dear God, Sam!

Just when he thought he was lost, Foyle felt Sam stiffen beneath him and her fingers dug into his back. The rippling caresses that stroked him so intimately were a welcome partner to her cries of ecstasy, but they ripped away any semblance of control and he exploded, spilling his seed deep inside her with a pleasure so profound it left him utterly drained.

Sam recovered – if that was the word – first. As she lay mostly covered by her husband she felt both energised and shattered. She felt as if she could achieve anything she wanted, but she also felt so marvellously replete, so warm and cherished that she didn't want to move at all. She didn't have enough words to describe it, but she wondered if she could ever come close to such an experience again. How could it possible to recreate such supreme pleasure more than once? She ran her hands up and down Foyle's spine, loving the hard warmth of his body, the way that his breath puffed against her neck, and how their hearts thundered in their chests. His solid presence was no longer just a dream that she might wake up from. Tears stung her eyes at the thought that she might have missed the chance to love this man so completely.

Foyle lifted his head and shifted further on to his left arm to relieve Sam from some of his weight.

After such a superlative climax, Foyle was momentarily lost for words, but his heart plunged in his chest at the sight of Sam's tears.

"Sam? What's wrong? Have I hurt you?"

The smile she gave him was incandescent; her tears vanished in an instant and she threw her arms around his waist.

"Good heavens, no! It was all utterly wonderful – better than wonderful, better than I could possibly imagine!"

Foyle was considerably relieved. He smiled down at Sam and then dropped a kiss on her lips.

"Thank goodness for that. You had me worried."

Sam shook her head.

"Happy tears, honest. Gosh."

She moved a hand to his neck and toyed with the little curls of hair. She had wanted to touch those curls a long time ago, but had never dared dream...

"Gosh?"

"Even last week didn't prepare me for that."

Foyle took a moment to bask in the afterglow, but he really should have known better.

Sam looked at him, her eyes shining.

"How soon can we do it again?"

Foyle huffed with amusement, not surprised by the question. It had been a concern for him that he wouldn't have the stamina of a younger man, but this was one of the times where experience would oust youth.

"Well, I might need a few minutes to be...ready...again, but you, my darling, have no such limits."

"What do you mean?"

Foyle kissed her before he slid down her body, offering tender salutations to her neck and throat, her breasts, her stomach and the sweet dip of her belly button before arriving at the delicate gold curls at the apex of her thighs.

Sam shivered with rising excitement and some curiosity, as he lowered his head.

"What are you doing...?"

She watched, mesmerised, as he took her in his mouth.

"Oh! That's...oh...oh, my...!"

The Present

Asleep, and deeply, something intruded into my consciousness and it woke me up. Mike wasn't in bed beside me.

"Mike?"

Something hit the floor at the end of the bed and to my very real horror, something grunted unintelligibly, and a silhouette appeared from the direction of the sound.

I scrabbled up the bed and screamed.

"Mike? Mike! Mike!"

The silhouette mumbled sleepily.

"Wha?"

My relief was profound that I wasn't about to be murdered, but I wondered what the hell was going on.

"What are you doing? You scared me half to death! This baby won't sleep for days with that shot of adrenaline."

I got out of bed and walked around to him. He seemed to still be mostly asleep. I remember he told me that he used to sleepwalk when he was little, so just in case he was now, I guided him back to bed and he obediently climbed back in, turned on his side and was out like a light.

What the frack?

My heart was still going like a trip hammer and I was wide awake. I walked back around to my side of the bed, and stubbed my toe on something.

"Lights one."

The lowest level of illumination gave me sufficient light to see some tools scattered on the floor, including the 'driver I'd just kicked. At first I didn't realise what it meant, but suddenly two and two made four. I sat down awkwardly on the floor beside the floorboard I'd repaired so long ago. The now-dull screw was halfway out of the hole – I was lucky I hadn't trod on it with a bare foot. After a moment's hesitation, I screwed it back down.

What the hell was Mike doing taking up this particular floorboard?


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