Ray.

~~~

The soft beep of the door echoed through the room as I stepped in from the corridor. Samantha glanced over, her curious eyes catching mine.

"My turn," I said with a grin, heading straight for the bathroom. The anticipation thrumming through me had me smiling wider than usual.

Inside, the shower was a welcome relief, the hot water washing away the sweat and exhaustion of the night. As I toweled off, I thought about Samantha waiting in the room. There was something about her tonight—the way she moved, the glances she gave me—that had me restless in the best way. I was so ready for tonight, I knew she was too.

I wanted her—needed her, who wouldn't? The night she confessed about her ex shook me, set doubts but the more I thought about it the more I realized she was always honest. I still had some doubts and knew she had an undeniable connection with him but I wanted to trust her words. I breathed out, anxiety slightly rising.

Ten minutes later, I emerged, a cloud of steam following me into the room. The scent of my shower gel lingered in the air, mingling with the faint coconut smell she wore. My chest was bare, a towel slung low on my hips, I caught her eye rooming my body, and a satisfying breath left my mouth as she set her phone on the bedside table and stood.

"I don't want to sound clingy," she began, tilting her head slightly, her tone light but probing. "But where did you go while I was in the shower?"

I smirked, raising a damp eyebrow. "I'll tell you later," I said, keeping my voice low.

Stepping closer, I reached for her face, brushing her cheek with my fingers before pulling her into a kiss. She didn't resist, her lips soft against mine. Her hand slid to the back of my neck, tugging me closer. I knew what that look in her eyes meant, and my heart raced as I untied her robe, revealing the smooth lines of her bare body beneath.

My heart raced as she moved backward, teasing my bottom lip with small nips until her thigh hit the edge of the bed. I blindly followed her, my hands eager but gentle, one slipping behind her head while the other explored her curves. Her shiver under my touch sent a jolt through me.

We tumbled onto the bed, her back against the cool sheets as I hovered above her. Propping myself on one elbow, I let my free hand wander, tracing the soft contours of her skin. I sucked her perky nipple into my mouth, and she responded by threading her fingers through my damp hair, her lips finding the curve of my neck. Her quiet moans were intoxicating, a melody I wanted to lose myself in.

Between kisses, I murmured, "We—should—lay down properly."

She nodded, her agreement soft but certain. She moved to the top of the bed, letting her robe fall away completely, the fabric pooling on the floor. My eyes lingered on her for a moment before I stood, pulling the towel from my waist and dropping it carelessly. The way she watched me, her cheeks flushed, sent heat rushing through my veins.

Climbing into bed, I slid under the covers beside her, turning to my left as she faced me on her right. I couldn't help but smile, running a hand along her cheek. "I've waited for this for so long," I admitted, my voice raw with honesty.

Her lips found mine again, soft and searching, our tongues brushing in a slow, deliberate rhythm. My hand roamed her body, eliciting a gasp as I brushed against her breast. Her trembling fingers traveled down my waist, and I hissed at her touch. She pumped my dick a few times, slowly and with trembling hands.

My hand slipped lower, through her stomach, and between her thighs, and she moaned, her breath hot against my mouth as our tongues continued to caress. I moved my fingers through her folds, finding her clitoris, earning another satisfying moan from her as I rubbed the bundle of nerves with my thumb.

My lips moved to her neck, my breath staggered as she gripped my dick harder, fastening her movement. I won't last long if she goes like this.

"Do—you have a—condom?" she asked like she was reading my mind.

I smiled, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. "Yeah," I said, sliding out of bed and heading to the bathroom, giving myself a small break. The silver packet was waiting where I'd left it, and I returned to find her watching me, anticipation clear in her eyes.

"Do you have a favorite position?" I asked as I rolled the condom on, unable to keep the grin off my face.

Her gaze lingered, playful and deliberate. "Sit down," she said, patting the head of the bed. She tossed the decorative pillows aside, making space.

I obeyed, settling against the headboard, watching her as she climbed on top of me, her movements deliberate but unhurried. My hands found her hips, guiding her as she slowly lowered herself on me. The warmth alongside goosebumps spread through me, and I took her stiff nipple between my teeth, rolling it, and sweeping my tongue over it.

Her rhythm was intoxicating, slow, and deliberate, her hips rolling back and forth until she fully adjusted to my size. Her flushed face was inches from mine, her blue eyes full of need. When she leaned in to kiss me, her pace quickened, and I couldn't hold back the groans escaping my throat.

I gipped her ass firmer as she rode me, moans and wet kisses spread through the room, all doubts leaving my mind. My stomach tightened as she switched her movements, her hands gripping my shoulders firmly as she glided up and slowly down, repeating movements in slow motion. Her pussy was tight around my dick, her movements slowed down, the loose hair clinging to her flushed face.

I lifted her, swiftly changing our position and laying on top of her. Her hips gripped me tight as she placed her mouth on mine. My muscles tensed as I rolled my hips into her, her approving moans fastening my moves. Her boobs lulling with the rhythm of my thrust right there in my eyesight took away all strength I have to hold on longer.

I kneeled, rolling her legs onto my thighs lifting her ass in the air, and gripping her bent legs, thrusting deeper. My thrusts were deeper and faster each time.

"Ray," she screamed out as the head of my dick hit her G-Spot.

Her pussy clenching around my length, the sounds she made making me crazy. Her hand reached between us and I watched as she rubbed her clit, the sight fully taking me over the edge as my stomach tightened. My thrusts became erratic, and deeper if that was even possible.

A surge of warmth spread through my lower stomach, and my knees started to tingle, I took her in—the view of her. Her head raised, her lips parted making those erotic sounds, and her face flushed with the desire I had never seen before. Her boobs swayed up and down, with the last hard thrusts I managed to make.

My dick twitched, as a groan left my mouth and my movements slowed down. I let go of her legs, and crashed my lips with hers, riding the last reminisces of our orgasm with slow, lazy thrusts and unhurried passionate kisses.

When it was over, time seemed to restart. I slid off her, lying on my back, her chest rising and falling as we both tried to catch our breath. I shifted on my side, watching her with a half-smile.

She lifted her head, her voice teasing. "You went for condoms, didn't you?"

I chuckled, "Yeah," I admitted.

She shifted to her side, and I held out my arm. She nestled against me, her head resting on my chest. Her fingers traced the ink on my skin, each line and curve a story she seemed intent on memorizing.

The silence was warm, and comforting, as we both calmed. I kissed her forehead, letting my lips linger. "So worth the wait," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Her laugh was soft, reassuring. She pressed a kiss to my chest. "Indeed," she said, her voice steady and full of conviction. She kissed me softly, a touch that said everything was fine. "How many condoms did you buy, by the way?" she teased, her lips brushing mine.

I laughed, sliding my hands to her bare waist. "Enough," I replied, my voice light but playful.

We didn't fall asleep until around three in the morning. Samantha had drifted off first, lying on her side facing me, her hair tousled and covering her face.

I woke up first, propped up on my elbow, watching her. Something about the peaceful rise and fall of her breath held me captive like I couldn't tear my eyes away.

"What are you doing?" she mumbled, her voice hoarse and scratchy from sleep as she cracked one eye open to look at me.

"Watching you sleep," I admitted with a grin, brushing the hair away from her cheek and letting my fingers trail there for a moment.

She groaned softly. "It's creepy, Ray," she said, closing her eyes again.

"No, it's romantic. Sweet, even," I defended, running my thumb across her cheekbone.

Samantha arched one brow without opening her eyes. "In movies, maybe. In real life, it's just creepy." She rolled over, facing the window now, light seeping through the slats of the shutters. "What time is it?" she muttered, propping herself up slightly on the pillow.

"Around nine," I whispered, leaning closer and wrapping my arm around her waist. My nose found her hair, the scent of coconut washing over me. I chuckled softly. "I always hated the coconut smell, but now, I think I'm obsessed."

She sighed. "We should get ready if we want to see Paris properly." She started to sit up, but I tightened my hold around her, pinning her to my bare chest.

"One more hour?" I murmured, my lips brushing the curve of her neck.

She twisted in my arms to face me, her movements constrained by how snugly I'd wrapped her up. "You promised me touristy stuff," she said, a mischievous smirk tugging at her lips.

I groaned dramatically, loosening my grip. "Alright, alright," I relented, dragging myself out of bed and heading to the bathroom.

While I was in the bathroom, I could hear the faint chime of her phone. When I returned, toweling my damp hair, she looked distracted, her thumb gliding across the screen.

"You said we needed to get ready," I teased, flashing her a grin. "But here you are, sprawled naked in bed. Tempting me to stay."

"I'm going, I'm going," she sighed, sliding out of bed and heading off to get ready.

By the time we stepped out of the hotel, the tender Parisian morning wrapped around us. I'd planned the day meticulously. I'd been to France before, but seeing the city with Sam brought a fresh excitement like the world was painted in brighter colors.

Our first stop was the Musée de la Vie Romantique, tucked away in a quiet street. The charm of the place was undeniable—the garden path leading to the entrance, the ivy creeping up the walls, the scent of old wood and history hanging in the air. On the first floor, we marveled at George Sand's memorabilia, her life, and letters offering glimpses into a passionate world. Upstairs, the Romantic canvases and sculptures cast a spell, their beauty undeniable.

Samantha lingered by a painting of two lovers beneath a blooming tree. "What do you think they're saying to each other?" she asked, her voice soft.

"Probably something like, 'One more hour?'" I quipped, nudging her side.

She laughed, shaking her head. "You're impossible."

We skipped the Musée National Gustave Moreau—there wasn't enough time—and headed instead to the Église de la Sainte-Trinité. Neither of us was particularly religious, but the sheer grandeur of the church made it impossible not to pause and admire.

The stained glass windows threw sharp flakes of color across the marble floors, and the dome above seemed to stretch infinitely into the heavens. Chandeliers swung gently from the high ceilings, their light casting shadows that danced against the intricate carvings on the walls.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, her voice reverent.

"It's almost as beautiful as you," I replied, earning myself an eye roll and a small shove.

We walked hand in hand through the streets, past other churches and architectural marvels, until finally, we arrived at the Eiffel Tower. Even after all these years and countless postcards, the sight still took my breath away.

The sun was beginning to dip, casting long hues of gold and amber. The Pont Alexandre III bridge, the Champ de Mars, and the Parc de la Tour Eiffel all framed the iconic tower perfectly, making it feel like we'd stepped into a dream.

Sam pulled out her phone to snap a photo. "Hold still," she said, aiming the camera at me.

"Only if you're in it," I countered, grabbing her waist and pulling her into the frame.

She laughed, leaning into me as the camera clicked. Paris was magical, but with her by my side, it felt like something out of a fairytale.

We spent a couple of hours at a cafe near the Eiffel Tower, sharing a late lunch. The place had the kind of charm only Paris could pull off—worn wooden tables, the smell of freshly baked bread, and the faint hum of French chatter weaving through the air. Samantha took countless photos, some candid and some posed, always laughing when she caught me mid-bite or with an awkward smile. Most of those pictures would be just for us, private memories of a trip that already felt too short.

Even though the city begged to be explored further, we had to take a cab back to the hotel. Lyon was our next stop, and the five-hour drive loomed over us. Purple Rain had a soundcheck to catch, and I didn't want to keep the guys waiting.

By the time we left Paris and arrived in Lyon, my mind had already shifted gears to the evening's rehearsal. The moment the bus stopped, the guys and I headed straight to the venue, leaving Sam behind. She mentioned needing to call her mom—a conversation I knew weighed on her more than she let on.

Sam stayed back in the bunk we shared on the tour bus. It wasn't much, but we made it our own, using the upper bed to store our stuff. I could picture her curled up there, phone in hand, rehearsing what she wanted to say. As much as I hated leaving her alone, I understood she needed this moment.

Rehearsal was straightforward, the usual hum of guitars and the thrum of drums filling the space as we fine-tuned the setlist. Still, my mind kept wandering back to her. By the time I returned to the bus, the guys were joking around, but Sam wasn't in sight.

"Where's Sam?" I asked Louis, who was leaning against the bus door, scrolling through his phone.

"Think she went out to take a call," he replied without looking up.

I frowned, stepping inside. Her absence felt like a weight in the air. I grabbed a bottle of water and leaned against the tiny kitchenette, staring at my phone. I wanted to text her but didn't want to interrupt if she was still on the line.

Fifteen minutes later, she climbed back onto the bus, her face a mix of frustration and something I couldn't quite place. I caught her eye. "Everything okay?"

She hesitated before nodding. "Yeah, just a lot of catching up with my mom. You know how it is."

I didn't push, even though I could tell she wasn't telling me everything. Instead, I gave her a soft smile. "Want to come to the show tonight? Or are you staying back to brood?"

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "I'll come. Someone has to keep you in check."

The venue was smaller than usual and more intimate. A packed bar with dim lighting, buzzing energy, and a sea of bodies swaying to the music. Sam stayed near the bar, sipping on some rum concoction she seemed to favor. I caught glimpses of her between songs—her quiet smile, the way she tapped her fingers against her glass in rhythm with the music. She didn't dance, but she was there, and that was enough.

After the show, we piled back onto the bus, exhaustion settling over all of us like a heavy blanket. In the early morning hours, the bus roared to life, pulling us out of France and into Belgium. I lay beside Sam in the bunk, her warmth pressed against me as the hum of the engine filled the silence.