Health Care

“Mum, this is Sam,” I say, introducing the both of them. Mum is already in her pyjamas, but Sam shows no obvious sign that he’s noticed this. He holds her waist and kisses her on the cheek. She flutters slightly, and grins at me.

“Ooh, what a lovely hello,” she giggles, rubbing her cheek. I roll my eyes. Now I know where I get my awful schoolgirl attitude from. “Where are you kids off to tonight then?”

“Just into town,” I say. “Sam hasn’t been into Bristol for years.” I smile at him.

“Ooh, it’s going to be a late night then!” I wish she would stop saying “ooh”.

“Indeed,” Sam replies. “Luckily I booked tomorrow off work. I’ll just check into a hotel tonight.”

“A hotel?” Mum looks taken aback. She looks from Sam to me, then back to Sam. “Why, we do have a spare room, y’know. You’re more than welcome – is he welcome?” she directs her question to me.

“What, yes, of course,” I say, squeezing Sam’s hand. He tries to protest, out of politeness, but I know he doesn’t mean it. He gives it away by winking at me. Mum insists, until he ‘reluctantly’ agrees. I lead him upstairs as he drags his mini-suitcase behind him. Pushing open the door to the spare room, Sam whistles in appreciation.

“Wowie,” he says, looking around. “Much better than a hotel!” his voice is overly loud. I presume he is hoping my mum will hear. Laying his suitcase on the bed, he pulls me in close. “By the way,” he adds seductively. “I hope you won’t be leaving me in here by myself all night.” I stifle a dirty giggle. Oh God. I drink in his dark eyes.

“Only if you behave,” I tease. My conscience slaps her wrist and grins naughtily at me. My inner Super Bitch is sound asleep in her cave. I expect she will be hibernating for a while now. After Sam is unpacked, we returned to the lounge. Mum and Dad are eager to find out more about Sam. He answers their questions enthusiastically, and asks plenty of his own. I can tell they already adore him. He seems so much less uptight than Christopher was. Whether it was the softer tone of his voice, or his relaxed body language: Sam had draped one of his legs across his lap and was toying with the elastic on his sock, but they warmed to him instantly.

*

I am suddenly aware that daylight is starting to creep through the thin gap between the curtains. Dad never bothered to install a black-out blind as we rarely have guests over. We placed the standard double bed in the centre of the room purely because we just didn’t know what else to put there.

Shifting around slightly, I can feel one of Sam’s arms draped over my waist like deadweight. He is clearly fast asleep, the low rumble of his alcohol-snores becoming more apparent. My mouth tastes like sandpaper, a foul combination of stale vodka and syrupy fruit juices. I groan and shield the light from my eyes. They were sticky. My mascara had practically turned to superglue overnight.

Carefully as to not disturb him, I shuffle over onto my other side so I am facing Sam. His arm still hangs awkwardly across me. He is in nothing but his boxers, as one of his legs dangles over the edge of his bed. I lie: he’s also wearing his socks. I cringe slightly, grinning to myself. I am conscious of the fact that I am also only wearing panties. My bra, a specially designed ‘push up’ number had been digging into my sides all night. It was a relief to strip it off. Or, have Sam strip it off for you, my conscious reminds me. I raise my eyebrows, grinning at the familiar twinge in the lower area of my stomach as I remember the night before.

Peering across the carpet, I see a tangled mess of clothes. Sam’s silky shirt was a crumpled ball on the floor, as well as his jeans. I laugh to myself as my notice my heels are stood impeccably by the door. I obviously cared for them too much to simply throw them down. The bin is littered with wrappings from McDonald’s. It is tradition after all, I remind myself, thinking back to our first night on holiday.

My movements have clearly disturbed Sam, as he makes a groggy grumble through his throat and retracts his arm. He flips onto his front in an attempt to settle down, but it’s no use. Propping himself on his elbows, he yawns like Chewbacca and rubs his eyes. Blinking rapidly, he peers down at his watch. He takes a while to focus. I wonder if he has noticed that I’m awake. I lay on my side still, watching him closely. I drink in his stubble, his bed hair, the freckles dotted across his upper arms. Without saying a word, Sam groans loudly and in one fatal swoop, he bundles me in his arms and pulls me in close.

“Morning you,” he mumbles. His voice is hoarse and cracked. The music in the clubs was deafening. If your voice wasn’t broken from the yelling, your ears were almost certainly ringing. I give him no response, for my voice is barely more than rattled air escaping my throat, nuzzling into his arms instead. His hands run over my stomach, squeezing me in tightly. His nose is tangled up in my hair. My hair. Oh good grief, I hope he still has his beer goggles on. I start to wriggle; his fingers begin dancing their way around my waist.

“That tickles,” I giggle.

“Oh I’m sorry,” he says, stopping. “Maybe I’ll put my hands here instead,” and with that, he cups his hands around each of my breasts and gives them a playful squeeze.

“If you think that’s gonna stop you tickling me, then fine!” I say, poking my tongue him. He gasps in mock-shock and rests his head on my shoulder.

“That’s tricky,” he ponders. “Because now I don’t know what is more fun.” I scoff at him. “Actually,” he says thoughtfully. “I think I do.” His voice sounds darker now; it’s returned to its croaky whisper. He squeezes my breasts again, and again, but this time picks up a rhythm. It’s sensual. Sam has lost his playful charm, for now. He nuzzles further into my shoulder, stretching far enough to kiss my neck softly. He wraps his lips around my skin and begins to suck, lightly biting. It’s heavenly. I feel myself beginning to soften in his arms. I’m like butter.

*

There is a knock at the door.
“Sam, Sam, are you awake?” It’s my mother. Sam freezes. He’s on top of me. I feel the weight of his body clench.

“Yes,” he calls out sheepishly. “I’m awake. Er, is everything okay?” I pray I shut my bedroom door. I pray Mum thinks I’m still in my own bed. I glance at Sam’s watch. It’s half seven in the morning. Why is Mum awake? Don’t tell me our carnal morning love-making woke her up? I dread the thought.

“Okay, it’s just that – the boiler’s kicked in, so if you need a shower, feel free!” Mum was straining to be the perfect host. Maybe she wanted Sam to stay again some time. I wanted Sam to stay again. Once we hear her shuffle downstairs, Sam bites his lips and tries not to laugh.

“I’m really sorry,” I blush. “Maybe I should get back to my room.” I dread the thought of Mum finding my bed empty. I dread the thought of her, panicked, racing into Sam’s room to see if there was any possible chance he came home without me and in fact I’ve been abducted. That’s when she would see that no, I haven’t been kidnapped, in fact – I’m just here, with Sam’s penis inside me. Oh, hey Mum.

“Woah woah woah,” Sam breathes. He doesn’t let me move. “You don’t want to stop, do you?” I’m still pinned under his weight. I look into his eyes, his hungry eyes. Mine are obviously just as easy to read, as he lowers himself down and kisses my neck again. “I’m sorry, but I can’t believe I just had a conversation with your Mum while inside of you.” He starts to chuckle. I roll my eyes and give him a playful slap across the cheek. “Alright, mistress, you like it like that do you?” he hisses, jokingly. Oh Sam, you’re such a laugh. I start to melt all over again as he thrusts himself carefully into me, being sure to avoid making the bed creak.

After an agonisingly delightful length of time, his breathing catches in his chest. His weight presses down on me even more and he releases a stifled moan.

“That’s it, oh God,” he breathes. “I think, oh God, I think this is it. Oh, shit, shit, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come.” My God, it’s so hot that he’s vocal. I grip hold of his arms and tilt my hips upwards as he pumps his load inside of me. Collapsing onto my chest, sticky with sweat, I run my hands through his soft hair. He traces shapes along my arm and kisses my collarbone.

“Breakfast?” I ask brightly. Sam sighs, as though every inch of his being had been used in his reply. “Okay …” I correct myself. “Breakfast … in bed?” He nods fervently as I shift him off of my chest and lay his head down gently on the pillow. Leaning down to kiss his nose, I swing my legs off the edge of the bed and rummage around the floor for something to wear. Thankfully, as we clattered in last night, I’d planned my bedroom-swapping mission well and taken a pair of pyjamas into Sam’s room. Saves any naked dashes, I thought to myself, picturing Mum on the prowl.

Stepping into my shorts, I feel my groin tingle. I’m still sopping wet. The wicked grin on Sam’s face as he watches me pull on my clothes tells me he already knows this.

Dancing down to the kitchen, Mum is making a cup of tea. I keep my distance, praying she won’t smell the sex on me. I try not to look too happy. In fact, I squint my eyes in an attempt to look as hungover as possible.

“Good shag, sorry, good sleep?” she asks. My stomach drops.