Changing Teams Read online

  The awesomeness of his apartment didn’t end with the living room. The kitchen sported sunny yellow walls, light wood cabinets, and a big window over the sink that let in plenty of light. All of the appliances were stainless steel, and the granite countertops would have made materialistic people like my cousin Melody drool. Okay, maybe I’d drooled a bit when I first saw them. There was also the fact that the kitchen and living room alone were as big as my entire apartment, and Sam still had two entire bedrooms and full bathroom.

  The spare bedroom was mostly full of junk, with things like props and costumes from photo shoots past stacked against the walls, along with a few bookcases. I’d investigated the shelves, and found a respectable collection of horror and science fiction movies. He could seriously use some more reading material, though.

  As for Sam’s bedroom…well, I hadn’t been in there yet, except for that quick trip to find a tee shirt after I’d showered. I decided that gaining entry to his bedroom was my mission for the evening. A girl had to have goals, right?

  Once we were inside the apartment, Sam and I stood there staring, as if we didn’t quite know what to do with each other. I wondered if his thoughts were in his bedroom too. Eventually, I said, “You reminded me earlier that you’re a photographer.”

  “That I did.”

  “Show me some of your work?”

  He offered me one of those crooked smiles that went straight to my heart. “Have a seat. I’ll get my laptop.”

  I sat on the couch, and Sam joined me a moment later carrying his laptop in one hand, two bottles of beer in the other. After he powered up the laptop and opened a few folders, he angled the screen toward me. “Here are some landscapes,” he said.

  “These are great,” I said, scrolling through the images. My favorites were a series of shots featuring a small, oddly-shaped castle. “Was this taken in Europe?” I asked, indicating an image of the castle at sunset.

  “Nope, right here in the city at Central Park,” he explained. “That’s Belvedere Castle.”

  “Oh,” I mumbled, noticing the American flag waving from the castle’s turret.

  Sam clicked around his desktop, and called up another set of images. “These are of the abandoned hospital on North Brother Island. Typhoid Mary used to be a patient there.”

  I shuddered. “Isn’t that place condemned? How did you even get clearance to shoot there?”

  “Clearance?” he scoffed. “Art needs no clearance. I thought your horror movie-loving self would be into that sort of thing.”

  I smiled and clicked through a few more images. “Do you only do landscapes?” I asked.

  “Not hardly.” Sam opened a different folder, which was a series of nudes featuring a black man and white woman, the man’s dark skin a sharp contrast to the woman’s milky flesh. One of the images showed the man’s face in profile, and I recognized him.

  “Is that Michael?” I asked.

  “Sure is,” he affirmed. “You’re not the only artist that picks up modeling gigs to make ends meet.”

  “He really is beautiful,” I said, taking in the next image. “Who’s the girl?”

  “Her name is Starla. She used to be Michael’s neighbor, but she moved out to Colorado a year or so ago.”

  “Oh,” I said, wondering why anyone in their right mind would leave the city for a godforsaken place like Colorado. I advanced to the next image, only to squeal and hide my eyes. “Sam, he’s naked!”

  “Michael and Starla are naked in all of them,” Sam said with a wry smile.

  “Well, I couldn’t see Michael’s penis in the other shots,” I said. I peeked around my fingers so I could appreciate the image. Michael was lying on his back, his arms crossed and propping up his head as he stared into the lens, his sly smile telling the viewer he was unashamed. Starla was pressed against his side with her hand splayed across his abdomen, fingers tense and threatening to grab him. “I can’t believe you broke up with someone that gorgeous.”

  Sam shrugged. “What can I say, he wasn’t my type.”

  Sam and his ever elusive type. I clicked through the rest of the images, all of them showcasing Michael and Starla’s distinct complexions and near-perfect forms. “You did a great job with these,” I said. “They’re so sensual and erotic, but tasteful at the same time. Well, except for the cock shot.”

  There was the wry grin again. “Hey now, that cock shot’s my favorite.”

  I dropped my gaze, and stared at my fingers. “Do you still want to shoot me?”

  “If you’ll allow it.”

  “I will.”

  Sam’s hand was on the nape of my neck, then he touched his mouth to mine in one of his soft kisses that went through me like a hot knife through butter. “Thank you, darlin’,” he said against my lips. Then he closed the laptop and retreated into the bedroom, presumably to gather his equipment.

  “You kiss all your models?” I called after him.

  “I never kissed Starla,” he said, returning with camera in hand. Despite my current profession I don’t know that much about cameras or other photographic equipment, but that one looked awful expensive. “Now, where to pose you,” he murmured, looking around the apartment. “Ah.”

  Sam beckoned me into the kitchen, then he had me lean against the wooden table where we’d eaten breakfast that morning. “You have legs for days, baby,” he said, the camera clicking away. “Move to your left, and cross your ankles?”

  I did, and Sam smiled. After a few more shots, he searched in his cabinets and emerged with a brandy snifter. After pouring in a finger’s worth of cranberry juice, he handed it to me. “Hold it in your left hand, and stretch your right arm straight across your waist. Let the glass dangle. Yeah, just like that. God, you are so gorgeous.”

  I was used to photographers instructing me to turn this way and that, but when Sam said I was gorgeous it caught me off guard and I slipped. “Bet you say that to all the models,” I quipped, trying to recover.

  “I only say it to the gorgeous ones.” He grabbed one of the kitchen chairs and set it before me. “Sit backwards on the chair.”

  I did, my arms extended over the back and crossed at the wrists, aware that the position pushed my dress up to my waist and put the white hot pants I wore underneath on full display. I tossed my hair to the side, giving Sam my best sultry gaze as he snapped away. After he’d captured me from a few angles, he lowered the camera.

  “Do you trust me?” he asked.

  “I do,” I replied. Right then, I trusted Sam more than anyone else in my life.

  He nodded, formulating what he’d say next. “Will you pose for me without the dress?”

  The request intrigued more than shocked me. “I’m not wearing a bra.”

  He swallowed. “Is that a no?”

  “No, it’s not.” I stood, and turned my back to him. “Unzip me?”

  I heard him set his camera down on the counter, then I felt his hands trembling as he pulled down my zipper. Once I had stepped out of the dress and set it on the counter, I asked, “What about the boots?”

  “Leave them on for now.”

  I did, and resumed straddling the wooden chair. Sam looked at me for a moment, then he darted into his bathroom, emerging with a brush. He went to work on my hair, carefully smoothing down any flyaway strands. Having Sam tend to my hair was pure luxury, so much so I closed my eyes. Once he’d arranged my hair so it was hanging down either side of my neck and hiding my breasts, he grabbed his camera and sat on the floor in front of me.

  “Give me sexy, baby,” he said as he snapped away. “You’re the sexiest woman in the world. Show me. Show everyone.”

  Sam stood and moved back from me, presumably so he could fit the boots into the shot. I tossed my hair over my shoulders, baring my breasts. Behind the camera, Sam grinned. “That’s it, baby. Show me how hot you are.” After a few more clicks, he asked, “How do you feel about losing the boots and getting up on the table?”

  I unzipped one boot and then the o
ther, and extended my legs toward Sam. He reached forward and liberated my feet from first the right, then the left boot. Once that was done I hopped up on the table. “Lay on your belly,” Sam instructed. I did, and arranged my hair so it was falling past the edge of the table like a pale brown waterfall. He took a few shots, then said, “Hands and knees.”

  I did as instructed, rising up on my knees with my breasts in full view of the lens. After a few shots I rolled over and leaned back on my hands and stretched out the plane of my belly, my hair pooling on the table behind me. Sam took a final shot, then he put down his camera and stood between my legs.

  “I’m taking you to bed,” he rasped, his hands under my butt as he lifted me. I wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck, and let him take me.

  “Gonna take my picture there?” I whispered, my mouth against his ear. I felt his face stretch into a smile, then his hands were at my lower back as he unzipped my hot pants. Sam dropped me on his bed, then he retrieved his camera from the kitchen.

  “You know, I think I will take a few pictures.”

  Sam got on the bed and stood over me, a foot on either side of my hips as he immortalized the moment. I arched my back for him, enjoying the sight of the bulge in his jeans. I worked my hot pants lower, exposing the lacy pink thong I wore beneath.

  “Off,” Sam grunted. I slipped off the hot pants and tossed them into a corner. “That too,” he said, jerking his chin toward my thong.

  I wiggled out of my thong, then Sam grabbed it and flung it aside. Sam took one last picture of me lying naked in his bed, then he set his camera on his dresser and pulled his shirt over his head as he kicked off his boots. When he shoved down his jeans his cock sprang out; if anything, it seemed bigger than it had that night in my apartment. Then Sam was kneeling above me, taking me in his arms.

  “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said.

  “I don’t want you to stop,” I said, then I pulled him down and kissed him. He nibbled my lower lip before delving into my mouth, stroking his tongue against mine while his hand massaged my breast. I slid my hands down his back, feeling his smooth skin and hard muscles, my hands coming to rest on his butt. God, my hands on that butt was probably the closest I’d ever get to touching perfection.

  Eventually Sam broke our kiss, wending his way down my neck and to my breasts with his mouth. I cried out when he took one in his mouth, his callused hand kneading the other. He bit down on my nipple, then rolled the nub between his tongue and lips. I nearly died from pleasure.

  “Is this going to be like the last time?” I asked. “Just making out?”

  Sam kissed me between my breasts, then he moved back up my body until his face was directly above mine. “I want to do so much more than make out with you,” he murmured, then he pressed his forehead against mine and swore. “I don’t have any condoms. Well, I do, but they’re old.”

  “How old?” I asked. Did the age of the condom matter? Do condoms go bad? Honestly, I had no idea, further evidence of my epic dry spell.

  “Real old,” Sam replied. “Sorry, baby.”

  “It’s all right,” I said, leaving off how I hadn’t had sex for so long my hymen might have regrown. Okay, I knew that wasn’t possible, but it sure felt possible. As much as I wanted Sam in every way imaginable, I was okay with not going all the way just yet.

  “I know how you don’t think things counts unless there’s penetration,” Sam said, stroking his fingertips down my side, his hand coming to rest on my hip. “I just want to make you feel good, baby.”

  “Well, I’m right here,” I said, my fingers dancing across his chest. “Give it your best shot.”

  He rested his head on one of his hands, while the other stroked down my body, teasing my breasts, my belly, before coming to rest at the apex of my thighs. Sam nudged my legs apart, his fingers tormenting me with long, gentle strokes. Just when I thought I couldn’t take it any longer he slid a finger inside me. I gasped, shocked and startled and completely on board with this plan.

  “Is that too much?” he asked.

  “No,” I said, pressing my hips against his hand. “More.”

  Sam obliged and slipped a second finger inside, strumming me like I was a guitar. Did Sam even know how to play guitar? I bet he was a master at it. If I’d thought masturbating while Sam jerked off above me was hot, having Sam’s fingers inside me was nuclear. His free arm snaked around my shoulder, my breasts pressing against his chest as his hand moved faster. Then the room spun and I came hard, biting down on Sam’s shoulder as I moaned his name.

  “Was that good, darlin’?” Sam asked.

  “It was fucking awesome,” I breathed. “Sorry about your shoulder.”

  He shrugged. “It was worth it.” Sam withdrew his fingers and squeezed my hip. “So, did that count?”

  “You know it did.” I pushed him onto his back. “Time for you to have something that counts.”

  I threw a leg over his hips and kissed my way down his body, ignoring his protests as I took his cock in my mouth. His skin was hot and smooth, like superheated silk that I couldn’t get enough of. I sucked it just like Sam had sucked on my tongue, massaging him with my mouth as he writhed and clutched the sheets beneath me. He came even faster than I had, filling my mouth with salty liquid.

  When Sam came it was everything and yet nothing, as if I’d somehow transcended the physical and only wished for his happiness. I remembered how happy Sam had just made me and grinned. I know, it made even less sense than a straight girl going to bed with a gay man, but Sam made me feel good; no, I felt better than good. With him, I felt like I belonged.

  I kissed my way up Sam’s body, across his belly and his smooth chest, the return trip just as wonderful as the first. When I was at eye level with him, I propped myself up on an elbow and asked, “Did that count?”

  “God, did it ever.” Sam rolled me onto my back and kissed me hard. “I don’t ever want to let you out of this bed.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  ***

  The sound of running water woke me, and I realized I was alone in Sam’s bed. I deduced that the noise was the shower. I know, I’m like Sherlock. Remembering the fun we’d had the last time we showered together, I slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom. What I saw made my heart fall to the floor.

  Sam was standing under the spray with his back to me, shoulders hunched and shaking. He was crying.

  A hot tear slipped down my cheek; in my quest to prove that Sam was bi rather than gay, had I forced him to do something with a woman he never would have done otherwise? Was I a sick fuck like Ben?

  No, going to bed had been Sam’s idea, just like he’d been the one to crawl in bed with me back at my apartment. Whatever had upset him, it wasn’t me. I hoped.

  I stepped into the shower and wrapped my arms around Sam’s waist. “What’s wrong?” When he didn’t respond, I asked, “Is it what we did?”

  “No, baby, no,” he said, turning around and taking me in his arms. “Being with you was wonderful. Perfect.” He tightened his hold on me, and added, “I meant what I said. I never want to let you go.”

  My heart did a little somersault at that. “But you’re crying.”

  “I have these dreams sometimes. Nightmares really,” he admitted.

  “Do you have them often?”

  “Ever since I was a kid.” He pressed his face against my hair. “No matter how many times I have them, they always wreck me. I’m sorry I woke you, baby; I came in here so I wouldn’t disturb you.”

  “If you’re upset, I want you to disturb me.” I pressed my cheek against Sam’s chest, hot water streaming down my face as I felt his heart hammering away. “You had one last night, didn’t you? That was why you went running.” When he nodded, I backed up and placed a hand on either side of his face. “If this happens again, I don’t want you away running from me. I want you to roll over and wake me up. We can face these demons together.”

  Sam smiled, b
ut it didn’t reach his eyes. “What if you’re not there?”

  I smiled tightly, happy that he needed me but sad over the reason. “I told you, I’m not going anywhere.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Sam

  Thursday morning found me waking up with the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen lying next to me, and me grinning like a fool. Had I been smiling in my sleep? I supposed I had.

  A fella could get used to this.

  Since Britt was still asleep, I took the time to study her features. She looked younger without her makeup, more like a sweet, innocent angel than the woman who’d posed topless on my kitchen table. I glided my thumb across her cheek, then I rubbed it across her bottom lip, remembering the sight of those pink lips wrapped around my cock.

  On second thought, I don’t think I’d ever get used to life being this good.

  I tugged down the blanket, baring Britt to her waist. Britt’s breasts were just about the best looking things I’d ever seen, and I could easily while away the hours staring at them. However, the lack of coverings on Britt’s torso chilled her, and she stirred.

  “Sam?” she mumbled. “Why so cold?”

  “Sorry, baby,” I said, tucking the blanket up under her chin. “That better?”

  “Mm hm.”

  I took that as a yes, and pulled her flush against me. “What’s on your agenda today?”

  “Agenda?” she repeated, cracking an eyelid. “You make all the running around I do sound so formal.”

  “So you are awake,” I said, nuzzling her neck.

  “I was enjoying snuggles. Sue me.” She stretched her neck for more nuzzling, her long legs tangling with mine.

  “You know what I love about you?” I asked, rubbing my foot up and down her calf.

  “Only one thing?” she countered.

  “Maybe two or three things.” We laughed, then I said, “Your height. You’re so damn tall, with these legs that go on for miles.”