Summary: Sam's an emotional person. How does she deal?
I think they'd worry if they knew. If they knew about her secret place in my arms, between my thighs, on my lips. I think they'd worry if they knew what it cost her to smile, to keep smiling. I think they'd worry if they knew what happened behind closed doors.
It's our ritual of sorts. After Cassie goes to sleep, Sam takes a shower and I remove my clothes and sit on the edge of our bed and brush my hair. She comes out, naked and wet, and kneels in front of me. The tears have already started, but she won't move again until I invite her. When I do she buries her head in my lap and cries, and sobs, and begs for absolution. I croon comforts and stroke her hair. Sometimes I know what she's talking about, mostly though she makes little sense to me. Just begs for forgiveness, for orders she followed, or questioned. For thoughts she had, for things she said, or for things she didn't say.
Poor Sam and her dysfunctional walls, they let everything in, but they don't allow more than a fraction of it to show. She won't allow herself release, so she looks to me for permission.
She cries and I comfort, and when it's over she gently spreads my knees as I lay back, and she coaxes me to orgasm, washing herself in my holy water. Then she climbs into bed and looks at me, waiting for me to be ready to exorcize her demons.
I lick her face. The taste of her tears and my juices fills my mouth. Then I move down, suckling at her breasts, healing her scars with kisses, making her soar. And when she comes down, it's straight into the depths of slumber. She never sleeps as peacefully as she does on those nights. I watch over her for a while before the sandman claims me as his own too.
I think they'd worry if they knew. If they knew how she makes me into a goddess. That in those few moments when she looks at me, naked, tears running down her face, she makes me into a divine being, the sole bestower of redemption or damnation. I think they'd worry if they knew exactly how much I loved it.