...here . . . that's the only word I could use to describe it. My hands were absolutely everywhere. Not that Sam was any exception—she pressed so close against me, I could almost feel her heart beat from under her flesh. She was so close, and I only wanted her closer. I only wanted more of her.
"More?" she whispered. I didn't realize I'd said that aloud.
I hardly had time to nod as she backed me up into the bedroom.
It was then I suddenly became aware of everything—how blue her eyes were, how crooked her fingers were, how soft her bare skin felt. She ripped off her shirt without hesitation, her top hitting the wall as she snatched the buckle of my pants. A part of me (the only part of me left with any degree of reason) kept eating at me. This is wrong. This is so wrong. You're stripping Sam Puckett.
Well, to be entirely fair to my logical side—she was also stripping me.
Clothes were everywhere. On my dresser, in heaps on the floor, hanging off my lamp. My fingers traveled up and down her spine as she toyed with me, lying me flat on my back and reaching for me. I stared up at the ceiling, feeling the crevices in her back. Her lips moved back to mine. She was right on top of me. It was so quick, and in that split second, the reality of what was going on came crashing down on me. I moved inside of her body, and I could only choke out one though...