Thursday 9:56 p.m.  The farm, main house

Russell didn't say one word on the entire flight back to the farm.  Mark had predicted the day was going to suck like a dead bitch from hell.  In reality, it had been far worse than either of them had anticipated.  Uglier than the bad press when he'd dated a very famous, very married, co-star.  Uglier than the rumors about his drinking and brawling, uglier than the lies they printed about him flinging racial slurs... just uglier in every way imaginable.  What made it worse was the way they'd wrapped up everything in sugary smiles and pretty words, but even then there'd been no mistaking the more sinister undertones. 

Oh, they worked it, they smiled and they cajoled, all the while pricking him with barbs and backhanded compliments-- questions that seemed innocent enough, but were designed to irritate and frustrate; to push him into exploding.  They were relentless.  They wanted him to bleed and he did.  Silently, privately, but he bled all the same. 

Thankfully, he'd had the photo shoot first, so at least the pictures were taken before his eyes turned cold and flat.  Mark hadn't seen anything like it in all the time they'd been together.  At first he played with them.  'Charmingly flippant' was what his publicist called it.  As the day progressed, they wore him down until he was no longer charming, just polite... and then not so much polite as icy and direct.  He took it all with a steely resolve Mark could only wonder at.  He was like some black hole, sucking it all in.  No resistance.  Giving them nothing to react to.  Nothing to use against him.  It was eerie.  He played the game right up until the very end, but what was one man against a mob?  Out manned, out gunned, and pushed far beyond the limits of his endurance, Russell simply shut down, retreating into himself, which Mark knew was far worse than any showing of his famous mercurial temper. 

There was no sign of that quicksilver temper now.  He seemed to be operating on some sort of inner autopilot that gave Mark the creeps.  He was withdrawn, not so much sullen as simply silent.  Drained.  Bled dry.  He was slumped in the seat with his eyes closed and his head resting on the cold glass of the helicopter's small round window.  Russell didn't look like a star.  There was no glitter, no sparkle.  He looked like he'd aged ten years and Mark imagined he probably felt worse.   

In truth, Russell was aware of each cut they'd inflicted.  He felt them all, felt like his life's blood was draining away from more wounds than he could possibly count.  It was taking everything he had to just keep himself together.  Intellectually, he knew that today was the worst of it.  The next time would be easier, and the time after that easier still-- and so on and so forth as time marched on.  He'd proved himself.  Shown them he wouldn't crack or falter.  He knew they wouldn't let him alone entirely, but now they'd only give him an occasional poke before they went off in search of easier prey to hound.  It wasn't much of a consolation, but it was better than nothing. 

Although the day had been beyond awful, it hadn't been without its bright spots.  He'd managed to steal nearly half an hour for himself early on.  Well, actually that wasn't entirely true.  He'd had Mark reschedule an early interview for later in the day.  He'd had to promise the fellow an additional five minutes of time, but Russell thought it was well worth the price as he slipped into a gallery known for showing a range of lesser known artists. 

He had done his homework.  Sam wasn't popular enough an artist to have her work collected by any of the larger more famous Sydney galleries-- but there were two smaller galleries in the city that had pieces of Sam's work displayed.  And the truth was he was curious.  He had the treasured sketch she'd done of him and Honey, and he'd seen glimpses of her work in progress from the paintings his mother had commissioned, but he knew there was a far cry between that and a finished gallery quality piece.

Russell liked art and color and though her work didn't encompass either of the styles he usually preferred, he found himself strangely moved by it.  Her paintings didn't have that timeless feel of the old masters, nor the innovativeness of the modern work he also occasionally collected, but it was oddly compelling.  Not quite so realistic as a photograph.  There were subtle exaggerations of color and form that made one feel the soul of the image she'd captured.

There were five paintings in all.  Russell stood in front of one, a beach scene titled 'Reunited'.  He swore he could feel the shifting sand under his feet and could taste the salty ocean brine on the back of his tongue.  It was disconcerting.  And then he noticed the little house on a cliff above the rock strewn beach and felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck as this strange feeling washed over him.

Rubbing away the goose bumps that had suddenly erupted on his arms, he moved on to the next one, thinking it must just be his connection to Sam that was at the heart of his response to the painting.  Until it happened again.  Standing in front of a painting of an alpine meadow, a rush of memories rose like a tide; most predominately the time he spent filming Mystery Alaska.  It was as if he could smell the sage on the wind and feel the distinctive blurring that happened to the scenery as he sped across the black ice.

The idle thought that her paintings were like scratch-and-sniff stickers for the brain ran through his mind.  There was something else about the picture too.  Like looking at it he could hear a child's laughter and feel some weird sense of..... nostalgia-- was the closest word he could think of to describe the odd feeling.  The goose bumps returned when he saw the title.  'Are we there yet?'  A family vacation spot of hers?  Christ.  How the hell did she manage to capture that feeling in a scenic picture of nature?        

The other paintings were equally disturbing.  And then he realized he was glad there were no portraits among them.  How disconcerting it would be to see a person's soul staring a viewer so obviously in the face.  It made him think again of that quick little sketch she'd done of him and Honey.  Jesus.  He also couldn't help but wonder why she didn't paint portraits.  The sketch she'd given him suggested she was gifted enough to do with people what she did with places.  Maybe she just found it too invasive?  Or maybe the client did.  Maybe he'd ask her one of these days.

One thing was clear though, he now knew why it had been important she stay at the farm for weeks on end.  In the beginning, he hadn't understood that.  He did now.  How else could she capture the spirit and soul of a place if she didn't come to know it for herself first?  Something warm shifted inside of his chest as he realized Sam would be touched by the real heart of the farm in a way few people ever were.  She would know its soul, as he did.   

Mark appeared at his shoulder before he was ready to go.  Where had the minutes flown?  Russell frowned, aware his regimented schedule didn't allow for more time.  Not today.  Not most days, to tell the truth.  He left not soon after, but not before purchasing the painting of hers that he'd found himself drifting back in front of no matter how hard he tried to stay away. 

'Heartland' it was called.  The truth was he didn't really like it much; he bought it because of the way it made him feel when he looked at it.  Heartland.  Her home.  It felt lonely.  No- worse than lonely; some blend of sadness and longing.  Old pain.  Not heartland, he realised.  Heartache.  That one had Samantha's soul staring out of it and he simply couldn't stand the idea of strangers seeing such a private part of her. 

He made the necessary arrangements and then regretfully returned to the grindstone.  It was hardly pleasant but the morning passed quickly enough.  And to his surprise, it yielded one more bright spot. While ducking the tabloid photographers between appointments, he'd happened across an eclectic little jewelry store.  It was hardly Cartier, but something in the window drew his eye nonetheless.  Mark grumbled when he stopped to admire the unusual workmanship.  Russell just waved him off, chuckling to himself at the tag listing the price of the item that had caught his eye.  The last piece of jewelry he'd bought for a woman had cost him something in the neighborhood of a hundred thousand dollars.  The piece he fancied here was considerably less dear.  He'd actually spent more treating Mark and the rest of his cavalry to lunch that afternoon, which amused his well-honed sense of the absurd. 

Still, the real draw was imagining Sam's face when he slipped it into her hand.  He hadn't yet had the opportunity to see her dressed up, but she seemed to favor simple elegance over a more flashy style.  He wondered if she'd like it.  To be honest, the idea of it amused him.  Despite his excellent memory for detail, Russell couldn't recall a single piece of jewelry Sam had worn except for her 'traveling' ring.  And that was hardly indicative of her personal tastes.   

The more he thought about it, the more amused he became.  For years he'd been giving the women in his life elegantly extravagant gifts.  Even when he was broke, he'd still managed to scrounge up the blunt for impressive presents.  Chocolate.  Watches.  Jewelry.  Even a piano once.  He was a generous person by nature, but as his fame (and fortune) grew, a small part of him had been aware his lovers had come to expect luxurious gifts simply because they knew he had exquisite taste and a bank balance to match.  The real truth was his preference was to give gifts from the heart.  Sometimes they were expensive, and sometimes they were silly little things he knew they would enjoy.  He'd never been particularly motivated by money, even when he had none.  And it was especially true now that he had enough of it to last several lifetimes.      

Though he could have bought the tiny jewelry store and everything in it several times over, his choice was hardly extravagant.  He had simply seen something unique that reminded him of Samantha's delicate whimsy and he'd made a decision with his usual impulsive style.  They moved on quickly, but not before he'd told Mark which piece he wanted and left directions for him to send someone back after it.   

Not surprisingly, the day had gotten steadily worse from that point on.  He'd rallied a bit when one of his minders had come up to him and slyly tucked the chosen gift in his coat pocket, but a good luck charm it was not, and it was soon forgotten as the day wore on endlessly.  By the time the lights of Coff's Harbor came into view, he was numb with exhaustion.  His head ached.  The noisy drone of the helicopter only seemed to make it worse.  He idly wondered how big a prick that made him to be so up his own arse that even a helicopter ride was an inconvenience. 

As the familiar hills and valleys of Nana Glen came into view, his thoughts turned back to his home, to his family and to Sam.  Although Russell remembered the gift now, he was too drained to lift his head from the window much less muster the effort needed suss through his pockets to find it. 

When they landed, he climbed out of the helicopter in silence, thankful Mark was there to drive them back.  If he'd been alone, he would simply have crawled into the back of the truck and gone to sleep right there, comfort be damned.  He was glad he hadn't asked Sam to come along.  He was even more glad when the warm lights of the main house glowed invitingly in the distance.  It moved him, as it always did.  Sometimes, when he'd been away for months on end, the sight of his home could give him an erection.  Tonight it simply felt like safe harbor.  Like he could drop his heavy burden at the door and just let it embrace him.      

He didn't remember walking inside.  Avoiding everyone, he made a beeline for his study.  Just a little longer and then he could rest....  He dropped heavily with a sigh.  The red chair seemed to swallow him up like the darkness and the blissful silence.  Finally.  Russell didn't go looking for Sam.  He didn't shrug off his coat or kick away his shoes.  He didn't even light up.  He was rooted.  And he was thankful that he had Mark to run interference for him.  He was a good mate, and one who respected his need for space.  Mark knew Russell well.  He'd taken some rough knocks today but a bit of time alone to get himself sorted and he'd be apples.  He just needed some privacy to unwind and time soak up the tranquility he so rarely found outside the boarders of the farm.

Hours passed.  The moon rose, spilling a soft light over the unmoving figure in the chair.  He was cold and tired.  He knew he should get up and go to bed but he couldn't be bothered to make the effort.  His eyes closed and he slumped deeper into the chair, burrowing into his heavy coat until a soft voice jarred his melancholy thoughts.

"Here."  Sam's voice was soft as she set a cup down beside him.

Russell felt an irrational surge of irritation and snapped at her in a low growl.  "If I'd wanted a drink, I'd have gotten it myself."  He knew he was being surly but he just couldn't seem to help himself.  The truth was it felt good to say what he was thinking after having to curb his responses all day long.  He knew better than anyone that alcohol was the last thing he needed when he felt like this.  He might be a stubborn bastard, but he was also smart enough to have learned from a goodly number of his many mistakes.

He heard Sam's soft noise of amusement.  "It's tea."

Tea?  His face heated a little at his petulance.  He'd always had a hard time letting his walls down after having to build them so high.  Just because he frequently dealt with rabid press didn't automatically make him immune to it.  His feelings could be hurt the same as any other man-- and he despised the invasion of his privacy they excused so cavalierly as 'just something that came along with his profession'.  It was a steep price to pay for doing what he loved.  He would have said too high, but it hadn't ever kept him from his passion.  Nothing had.  Not even love.  Maybe it was time to reorder his priorities? 

Wrapping his big cold hands around the steaming mug, Russell shivered as the hot cup in his hands made him aware of how cold the rest of his body actually was.  He took a sip and sighed as the hot tea started to warm him from the inside out.  He wanted to wrap his hands around Sam and feel her warmth seep into him the same way.  The soft look of concern in her eyes made his throat tight.  He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.           

The night was quiet and still.  Sam sat at his feet and rested her head against his knee.  He stroked her long hair.  The motion was soothing to him, as was the feel of her shiny hair between his fingertips.  Her scent too, as it enveloped him.  It had the faint undertone of eucalyptus.  She'd had her sit in the sauna without him.  A hot stick of something burned in his breast.  Another night lost.  It suddenly felt as if everything was slipping away from him.  And for someone as impulsive as he was, that was dangerous ground.

Russell finished the tea but still felt a cold that even the hot drink couldn't remedy.  His fingers massaged her scalp as he teased her long hair around this thick fingers.  "Stay with me tonight."  His words were soft in the darkness but he still felt her tense against his legs and she lifted her head from his lap. 

There was a question in her wide dark eyes.  "Russell?"

"Just stay with me, Sam."  He caressed her cheek gently, more because he couldn't seem to let her go than because he was trying to put her at ease.  This wasn't about sex.  It was about need.  Human contact.  Intimacy.  Security.  He missed holding someone in the darkness.  He missed being held.  Their eyes met and he felt his walls fall away.  "I don't want to be alone tonight."  His words were soft and thick with emotion.  He needed to feel her arms around him.  He was too proud a man to beg, but his eyes conveyed his desperate need more eloquently than any words.

His soft admission made her heart ache.  That such a proud man would humble himself moved her deeply.  Tonight he needed someone else to be strong.  It was an extraordinary vulnerability for a man to reveal.  Especially a man like him.  Her answer was simply to take his hands in hers and gently pull him up from the chair.  She felt the shuddering sigh of relief leave his chest as he leaned heavily against her and wrapped his arm around her.  Sam hesitated at the study door, unsure where he wanted to pass the night.  Her room?  His?  Somewhere else?  There was certainly no lack of places.  In addition to the main house, there were several other buildings sprawled over the farm's expanse. 

Russell just smiled.  Sam was staying in the guest house.  Even if he hadn't been exhausted, he had no desire to leave the main house and venture out into the cold night air.  All of that was irrelevant, however.  There was only one bed he wanted her in.  His.  He knew that was pushing the edge of what she was comfortable with but he was beyond grateful she had agreed to his request.  And he could hear it in his voice as he whispered to her where to go.

Samantha was relieved when they made it to his room without running into anyone.  She was already uncomfortable enough with the idea of mixing work and romance.  The thought of the entire household finding out Russell had taken her to his bed didn't do much to lessen her unease and she heaved a sigh of relief when she heard the click of his bedroom door shutting behind them. 

He heard the soft sound and knew it for what it was.  "Go.... if you want.  S'alright, love..." he managed to get out, desperately hoping she wouldn't change her mind.  His hand was still grasping the doorknob.  She put her hand over his and tugged it gently away, replacing it with her own.  The action of the lock sliding home settled him and he simply stood there enjoying the sight of her in his private space.  Now that he was certain she'd stay, and having used the last of his strength to get her there, he just leaned back against the door tiredly, watching her. 

He could see her smiling in the darkness.  "I don't want to go."  Sam shrugged lightly.  What his family thought of her wasn't as important as making sure he had what he needed tonight.  If they were going to give this relationship a fair try they needed to put each other first even when it was scary or uncomfortable.  "You're first.  Not them.  You." 

Russell was overwhelmed by her words.  His mouth worked, but he couldn't seem to get anything coherent out.  Part of him felt like leaping with joy.  The other part of him felt like crying with relief at the precious gift of her. 

She withdrew from him slightly and took a moment to collect herself.  He had made no effort to take the lead or offer any sort of direction.  His lack of action sent a very clear message.  Sam felt a blush rise and she was glad the darkness hid it from him.  She was unused to taking the lead, especially with him.  He was always such a force to be reckoned with.  Without that driving them forward, Sam was uneasy.  The darkness hid that, too, but she knew it was for the best.  She didn't want him to see either of those things.  At the very least he needed the illusion of her unwavering strength.

Something easier said than done.  Not only was she on unfamiliar ground emotionally, she was also on his turf.  It would have been easier to pull this off in her own room, bolstered by the familiar surroundings.  She took a look around, partly out of curiosity and partly out of necessity.  The darkness hid most of the details from her, but she could see enough.  A cork floor.  Walls painted a chocolaty brown, making the space seem darker and more cozy.  The bed was enormous, crafted from some dark satiny wood that contrasted with the mounds of soft creamy bedding.  Hints of gold and orange and rust scattered around the room in creative ways-- candles, artwork, antiques, rugs-- gave it a distinctive personality. 

Sam's artistic eye was intrigued.  Instead of accenting with rich bold red as one might expect, there were punches of deep watery cobalt.  It was unexpected.  And pleasing to the eye.  Apt too, she supposed.  He was a harbor boy, after all.  The marriage of warm land and cool sea met in his eclectic style.  

It wasn't at all what she'd imagined.  And yet somehow, still so very him.  The bed was unmade and there were clothes on the floor.  A guitar sat in a cradle in one corner and there was a scattering of paperwork, music and lyrics and God knows what else-- spread across a nearby tabletop.  Lord, and the books.... everywhere.  Great stacks of them piled up haphazardly.  Not so many it overwhelmed the room with clutter, but certainly enough to speak of his great love of the written word. 

It was a room that could have belonged to any man, though Sam suspected some of the antiques were probably worth more than she made in a year.  Like the rest of the house, there was no excessive opulence, no obvious signs of his considerable wealth.  In fact, there were some things that were remarkably ordinary.  Most notably an ugly misshapen ashtray proudly displayed on his dresser.  No doubt from one of his many godchildren.  It made her smile. 

Russell simply watched her take in his space, noting in that particular way he had where her eyes stopped and lingered as they swept over the room and finally came back to rest on him, full of warmth and concern.  She kissed him softly and then moved to push the heavy coat from his shoulders.  "Sam--"

A fingertip on his lips silenced him.  He was struck again by her grace and his small nod of acquiescence sent her hands back to the intimate task of undressing him.  He liked how she touched him.  It was neither utilitarian nor purposefully arousing, but on the whole something softer.  Sensuous without being overtly sexual. 

Draping his coat over the chaise where he often lost himself for hours sprawled out in comfort reading or listening to music, she returned and gently caressed his stubble-roughened cheek before bending to remove his shoes.  Sam swallowed a laugh.  Both his socks were black, but they weren't a matched pair.  One had a yellow-gold toe.  The other was cherry-red.  Some fashion maven he was!  But he was a typical man.  He probably hadn't even noticed.  She could just hear him.  'Black is black!  I don't give a stuff... '                        

But that wasn't all her mind was dwelling on.  She was kneeling before him.  Awareness of the suggestive position crackled between them but the only acknowledgement was a slight flush on her cheeks and the minute twitching of his fingers as he imagined sliding them into the dark fall of her hair and caressing her nape while he held her mouth to his cock.  Her blush deepened as she reached for his belt, noting with a bit of private amusement it was one notch wider than the telltale wear mark.  He'd embraced his fallowness the same way he did everything else of importance.  With gusto. 

He still hadn't moved a muscle, content to remain passive while she tended to him.  As her fingers worked at his belt she thought to herself how absurd it was to feel shy with him.  She'd certainly seen him in less.  Most notably when he took that icy dunking in his underwear, to say nothing of all those nights in the sauna when he'd worn no more than a towel and a smile....  but the real truth was that this was different.  It had never been her hand stripping away his layers one by one; removing the natural armor people wear to shield their vulnerabilities from the world.  There seemed a certain symbolism in that act that neither of them wanted to examine too closely.  For all the comfort it gave them in the moment, the reality of what it could mean was more than either of them was ready to address.   

His bulky sweater came off easily and was added to the growing pile.  He had on a light dress shirt underneath.  That made her smile.  He was a man of many layers.  Figuratively as well as literally.  Peeling them away one by one had been a fantasy of hers for a long time.  Her deft fingers made short work of the buttons and she inhaled his fragrance slowly as it became stronger the closer she got to his bare skin.  Holding the shirt to her face, she breathed in his spicy male scent before setting it aside.  While she enjoyed the smell of his soap and the sophisticated tang of his cologne, his natural scent appealed to her on a more primal level.  It was more pungent than usual but not unpleasant as if he'd been working the cows all day under the hot sun.  It was simply the scent of a tired man at the end of a grueling day.  And Sam couldn't get enough of it. 

She nuzzled his throat softly while sliding his belt from his slacks and casually tossed it aside while she tugged his tank from his pants and pulled it over his head.  She straightened his cross and stepped back to observe him, barefoot and shirtless.  Even in repose he exuded a virile masculinity that made her feel small and feminine in contrast.  He still hadn't moved or spoken, but he was watching her closely enough to see the tremble in her hands as she touched him.  Lips.  Chin.  Cross.  Sliding her hand down... down...

She felt the rasp of hair and the warm golden smoothness of his skin as her fingers bumped his waistband and slid behind it for purchase to grasp the button.  Sam shivered slightly as her fingertips brushed against his underwear.  The fabric felt smooth and silky.  A smile flitted across her expressive face as she wondered if he'd had that old adage drilled into his head, too.... wear nice underwear when you leave the house... you never know... you could wind up at the hospital and it would never do for them to see such a ratty pair....  Mothers!    

If he wondered at her smile, he didn't ask.  He didn't speak at all.  He didn't encourage her.  And he didn't stop her either.  He simply.... watched.... waiting to see what she would do.  They were both adults.  He wasn't pressuring her.  She could walk away at any time but he was more interested in what would happen if she stayed.  He hadn't expected to be tended to with such gentle care and it felt good enough to make his eyes glitter with a moist sheen. 

Sam didn't look away from his gaze as she slowly lowered the zipper and opened his pants.  Lowering them with equal care, she put them with the rest of his clothes.  Coins jingled softly in his pocket as she draped them over the chaise.  A handful of change poured to the floor with a muffled plinking.  Neither of them noticed. 

Standing in front of him fully dressed while he was almost nude was as frightening as it was empowering-- but everything moves in its own time and for them, the time was right to share that intimacy.  Not sex.  Revelation.  A knowing.  Her hands were soft as she cupped the heavy droop of his genitals through the dark silk, learning the weight and feel of his most private flesh.  Her hands were softer still as they removed the last of his clothing until he stood nude before her.  Unashamed.  He touched himself with thick fingers, a careless rearranging that made his penis jounce against his weighty, lightly-furred scrotum.  His fingertips scratched into the golden brown thicket of hair and he sighed luxuriously as he drew his hand away revealing himself fully.

Sam's breath caught.  He was beautiful.  And big.  Even unaroused he was thick and long.  The soft pink tip protruded slightly from his foreskin.  Sam had never seen an uncut penis in the flesh before.  Russell smiled at the inquisitive little furrow in her forehead.  And then he shivered slightly as her curiosity got the better of her and she brushed her thumb over the groove in the tip and feathered her fingers over his head experimentally.

With a soft chuckle, he closed his hand over hers and showed her the motion.  "It works like this." He helped her skin it back before rolling it forward once more.  "Now you see it... now you don't."  Though it was intimate and erotic, there was almost a childlike sense of innocence about it.  A pureness.  But it was an adult curiosity and his open display of his body and her interest in it was a part of their sexual dance.  A sensual give and take as they opened themselves to each other.

Leaning heavily on the door, Russell let his hand fall away and felt the pleasurable sensation of her hand copy the motion he'd shown her, this time without his guidance.  The sight of it excited him and he felt himself grow in her fingers.  Not a full erection, just a pleasant fullness.  He was too exhausted for anything short of sexual gymnastics to prime him for sex tonight.  But it felt good, a blend of sensuality and comfort. 

Her hand fell away and for a long moment, they simply looked at each other across the small distance separating them.  And then Sam took a step back and brushed her fingertips over her collarbone in a little nervous gesture that drew his eye.  He looked at her.  Really looked at her for the first time tonight.  She was dressed for bed.  Slippers.  A zippered sweatshirt and flannel pajama bottoms.  It amused him and he couldn't help but smile at her.  She'd teased him about his flannel often enough and she wore the stuff to bed?  He was going to enjoy turning that one back on her later. 

His amusement was short lived, however, when without hesitation or teasing, she unzipped the sweatshirt and let it drop.  His nostrils flared briefly.  The thin singlet she had on underneath it left little to the imagination.  He could see the shape and shadow of her nipples even in the wan light.  Sam was nervous and more than a little scared but the feeling of rightness drove her onward despite her reservations.  Her fingers grasped the hem and she tugged it slowly higher, up over her head and then off.  His eyes followed it as it revealed first her flat toned little belly and then her ribcage and finally her breasts... until she stood before him in nothing but her low slung pajama bottoms.   

Russell swallowed hard, but remained leaning with his back against the door, watching her bare herself to him.  She caught up the long mass of her dark hair and pulled it back giving him an unobstructed view of her breasts.  They were small, high and firm with coral colored nipples that stood out erect.  He was as much moved by the act as by the creamy skin it had revealed.  There was no artifice in it.  No effort to entice or arouse.  She was simply revealing herself to him.  By her own hand, which was a hundred times more powerful than if he'd undressed her himself.  It felt like an offering.  

Sam watched him watch her.  She observed the path his eyes took.  How they broke from her warm gaze to linger on the fullness of her mouth.  His fingers twitched and then his eyes dropped lower, looking pointedly at her breasts without shame before they drifted down and then back up, catching on the slow pulse beating in the hollow of her throat and then finally meeting hers again.  She stepped out of her slippers.  The cork floor felt warm under her bare feet.  Radiant heating? 

The stray thought flashed fleetingly in her mind but was soon chased away as he shifted his weight, standing now.  No longer leaning on the door.  Waiting.  Anticipating.  Watching her small white hands skim over her body, drifting lower to push down the pajama bottoms.  They pooled soundlessly at her feet.  She was naked beneath.

He drew in a deep breath and looked upon her with curiosity, as she had.  Not embarrassed to let her see his interest as she openly displayed her body for him.  This time his eyes didn't chase upwards to catch hers.  They stayed on the dark thatch of hair between her legs.  Sam felt a curious urge to get on her back and open her legs, to reveal herself as crudely and as honestly as he had done for her. 

But then he was reaching out his hand.  Touching her.  Not at all afraid to be direct.  He brushed her silky curls with his fingertips before slipping his hand between her legs to cup her cunt in his warm palm.  It was only then, when the soft hidden petals of her sex were resting against his weathered palm, that his gaze drifted upwards to lock with hers.  His eyes glowed.  It wasn't arousal she saw there.  It was possession, pure and simple.  Stark.  Unforgiving.  Animal.  He might not be making love to her, but it was a claiming nonetheless.  She was his.  He didn't have to say the words for her to hear them plainly.

From now on, this is mine.   

Russell withdrew his hand and they stood there, breathless like two wild things.  Not out of control, but deeply enthralled in the raw candor of the moment as they revealed their vulnerabilities and spoke that secret silent language of two people who know with certainty they will become lovers.  A recognition.  A sense of 'for the future'... an awakening of new intimacy that was not just sexual but also about the private needs of their hearts.  A build up of trust.  He could wait.  She could cast away propriety.  

Slowly, with a controlled deliberate motion, he brought his hand to his face and waited until he was sure she was watching before he inhaled the trace of her most intimate scent that remained on his skin.  His eyes closed and Sam watched raptly as his great frame shuddered.  His wide chest rose and fell.  Once.  Twice.  And then, when he'd learned her scent, his eyes flicked open, burning into hers.  And he licked his palm. 

Sam's knees turned to water.  How could he do that?  He hadn't pushed.  He wasn't even touching her... but as she watched the flat of his tongue rasp over his palm, she felt the long slow lick between her legs as surely as if he was making love to her with his beautiful mouth.  But he did nothing.  Just dropped his hand and walked to the bed before climbing in and reclining back.  Watching.  Seeing what she'd do.  He cocked his head and his tongue peeped out between his lips.  Sam wondered what he was thinking.  Somewhere in her subconscious, she recognised that though he'd asked her to stay with him tonight, he'd also given her multiple chances to walk away.  He'd also given her multiple chances to take responsibility for her own decisions; a frightening prospect for a woman with so little experience with men. 

Those who restrain desire, do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained.  He wasn't just giving her the chance to cast away her inhibitions and embrace her unrestrained desire.  He was making her own that choice every step of the way.  Samantha found it oddly reassuring, for all its newness.  Though he had submitted himself utterly to her care, even passive he was still the one ultimately in control.  And that was so very Russell.      

Precious seconds ticked away.  They were still watching each other in the moonlight.  Sam had the urge to paint him.  He was beautiful in repose; resting on one side, his head propped in his hand and his dusky genitals drooping plumply on one thick thigh. 

"The dunny's through that door if you need it."  He waved his hand in the direction of the far side of the room.  "My toothbrush is in the cupboard.  Use it if you like."  He didn't even want to think about how disturbingly easy it had been to make that offer.  He idly wondered if she'd like his personal things.  And he wondered what hers were like.  What telling things were strewn about in her private spaces?  

"Thanks.  I might later."  Though the conversation was light and breezy, the silent language between them was anything but banal.  

Samantha held his eyes and very deliberately picked up the fine lawn dress shirt that smelled so strongly of his musky scent from where she'd draped over the chaise earlier.  Warmth bloomed hotly in his chest as he watched her put it on.  Not to cover herself.  To wrap herself in him.  To mark herself with his scent.  Approval and pleasure showed openly on his face.  Pleasure showed on hers. 

He opened his arms in invitation.

She came to him.

They snuggled in together under the heavy down comforter.  She drew him into her embrace and he rested his head on her chest.  She hadn't bothered to button the shirt and the skin of her breast was warm and soft under his cheek.  Comforting.  Intimate and sexual without any feeling of urgency.  It wasn't foreplay.  Or maybe it wasn't immediate foreplay.  Sometimes he thought every exchange since they met had been foreplay of some kind or another.

Samantha touched him softly.  Soothingly.  Rubbing his back gently as he settled.  His body was heavy and warm where it covered hers.  And he squirmed a bit like a big kid as he got comfortable, reaching a hand between them, between his legs, to make sure his cock fit snugly against the warm soft skin of her hip as he slid a leg over hers and closed his eyes.  He all but collapsed against her, melting into her embrace, safe and secure. 

That was what he'd needed.  Not a mind numbing orgasm.  A safe harbor.  His fingers brushed her soft skin absently but they soon stilled as the soothing rhythmic rocking lulled him.  He felt relaxed.  Dreamy. 

Her cool fingers brushed a lock of his hair back from his face and he heard her whisper, "How was your day?"

He felt like grunting in response.  It came out as a long deep sigh instead.  "Bad."  Hard.  Painful.  Intrusive.  He didn't want to talk about it.  "Next time I go out, it'll be better," was all he would say.  But it was enough that someone had asked.  And cared about the answer.

Sam just shushed him, rocking him softly, and in time he gave a great shuddering sigh and slumped against her as if all of the coiled tension in him had drained away with it.  They lay tangled together in silence for some time.  Russell drifted closer and closer to sleep while Sam kept watch over him.  She knew he wasn't all the way out yet.  She could feel him murmuring against her breasts from time to time.  Maybe he was telling her heart his secrets.  She didn't ask.  But she wondered if it was whispering back.

Disarmed by her gentle care of him and by the steady sound of her heartbeat, the last of the walls he'd built around his battered old heart came crumbling down and the thought came to him that when he opened his mouth, it was entirely possible he was going to scare her again.  When he spoke, his voice was thick with exhaustion and soft with that dreamy quality of a man moments from sleep.  "I love you, Sam."

Wind buffeted the house and somewhere outside a dog barked.  Silly thing.  Didn't it know better?  The rest of the world seemed to have known to stand still.  For a moment Sam was unable to speak, moved to a profound silence by his humble admission.  Brushing away her tears, her heart answered in kind, but he never heard her murmur the words back to him.  He was already lost to the easy peace of sleep.