Together.

“I love you, Samantha, I love you!” He cried with total vulnerability, as if he had bared his most precious secrets to me and only me.

“Christos,” I sighed breathlessly, then began mumbling nearly unintelligibly as he pounded himself into me, “oh, Christos, I’m yours, my love is yours, for you, only for you…” I could barely form the words. But I knew he needed them, needed my reassurance and love in that moment. He needed me.

He needed us.

My heart swelled with love and empowerment. I held this man’s heart in my hands and I was determined to protect it forever, and heal all his wounds.

“Oh god,” Christos whispered, “I’m going to come, agápi mou, I’m going to come!!!!”

“Do it, Christos, come inside me. Now. Do it.”

Violent, building, mounting. Growing, swollen, expanding. Contracting, tight, wet ecstasy took us both.

I was afraid he was going to break something, but then he sunk himself into me all the way to the bottom and roared. But he didn’t stop. His body rocked and shook traumatically even though he was all the way in. He was trying to drill deeper and deeper, as if his entire being was rocketing into mine through his manhood.

That sense of completion finally shattered me over the edge and quaked my world.

I screamed release.

I was falling from an infinite height, every cell in my body crying out as the acceleration overtook my mind for the last time, blinding my senses, blanking out my awareness of all things beyond the boundaries of his body and mine.

My soul ignited, and I was gone.

Christos went with me.

We went together.

To us.

SAMANTHA

We laid together on my bed, cradled in each other’s arms.

“I think I lost my virginity,” I snickered.

“Yep. After that, no one’s ever going to find it,” he chuckled. “So, was your pageant a success?”

“You mean my V-Card pageant?”

“Yeah.”

“The Queen of England has never attended such a sensational soirée.”

As I laid in Christos’ arms, basking in the afterglow of our love-making, my wonderful mood sank into dark waters. Was it a hormonal thing? I didn’t know. Maybe it was normal to worry about losing something great after it came into your life. Either way, I couldn’t explain it. But the feelings were there.

Slowly, my amorphous worry solidified into tangible panic. I knew the sensation well.

Bitch. Slut. Whore…

Not that again.

Emo. Goth. Suicide Watch…

Where was all this coming from? Wasn’t all that crap behind me now? I’d finally come clean to the whole world about Taylor Lamberth. Why was it still bothering me? Was it residual guilt, or something more ominous?

I shivered with sadness and uncertainty.

“Is something wrong, agápi mou?” Christos asked softly.

“I don’t know…” I cried.

Go, you dumb broad…

Christos kissed the top of my head and pulled me more tightly against his warm body. “I’m here, Samantha. You’re safe. Nothing can hurt you. I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you too. But I have this bad feeling like, like nothing has changed since I left D.C. Like I’m still the same lonely girl with no place to turn for love and support.”

You made me miss the light, stupid bitch…

Christos smiled. “I’m right here, agápi mou. I am your love and support.”

“But, I’m afraid it’s all going to come crashing down around my head. Like college is going to somehow go away, and I’m going to lose Madison, Romeo, and Kamiko. Worst of all, I feel like I’m going to lose you.”

Get off the road, slut…

Christos shook his head. “That’s crazy, agápi mou. I would never let that happen. I love you more than anything in life.”

“I know, but…I don’t know. I just feel worried.” Silent tears were flowing now. I sniffled and smeared them from my face. I began sobbing softly.

Don’t back talk me, whore…

Christos stroked my temple, gently smoothing my hair while kissing the crown of my head. “Shhh, agápi mou. I’m right here.”

“Promise me you’re not going anywhere?” I pleaded.

Move it, skank…

“I promise,” Christos said solemnly.

I eased further into his loving embrace, my back warmed by his solid front. Enfolded against him like this, I felt shielded from all the terrible things the world might throw at both of us, like his powerful arms would defend me from all forces that might try to tear us apart. Nothing could come between us.

So why was I still worried?

I’m talking to you, pinhead…

No answer came as I drifted off into deep, dreamless sleep.

CHRISTOS

THREE MONTHS EARLIER…

In the morning, a couple of deputies led me out of the crowded inmate dorms at the downtown jail and shackled me in the hallway while I leaned my face against the cold cement wall. When I was chained, the deputies walked me through a bunch of security doors and hallways that slowly transformed from bulletproof and cement to painted sheetrock and carpeting.

At the end of a new hallway, a third deputy opened a door into the side of a dark, oak-paneled court room.

Russell Merriweather stood ramrod straight, waiting for me behind the defendant’s table. He was a dark-skinned African-American man in his mid-40s wearing a perfectly fitted athletic-cut suit. He was even taller than I was, although not quite as built. He struck an imposing figure anywhere he went.

The deputies hovered on either side of me like I was Public Enemy Number One.

“Give the young man some breathing room, if you please, deputies,” Russell commanded.

Both deputies stood stoically behind me. Neither of them moved an inch.

Ignoring them ignoring him, Russell reached forward and pulled me into his chest. He embraced me affectionately and clapped me on the back. Whispering in my ear, he said, “What kind of trouble you got your ass in this time, boy?”

I couldn’t stop a huge grin from drawing out my dimples.

Russell pulled away and looked me in the eye. “Stow it,” he murmured. “Game face from here on out. Got it?”

I nodded solemnly, and reeled my smile back in.

“Keep your mouth shut, and I’ll do the talking, feel me?” he ordered quietly.

Russell pulled out a chair for me. I would’ve done it myself, but it was embarrassingly awkward with my wrists chained to the belt around my waist.

I leaned toward him and said quietly, “Such a gentleman.”

“I know how to treat a bitch,” he whispered in my ear before sitting down next to me. His face remained blank and rock calm. Only his words belied his good humor and confidence. “If you’re lucky, I’ll buy you dessert. Now shut the fuck up.”

The judge had not yet entered the courtroom, but the judge’s assistant was already sitting at one of the tiered sub-desks surrounding the judge’s palatial bench.

A moment later, a door opened at the back of the courtroom.

“The Court will now come to order,” the uniformed bailiff said. “All rise for the Honorable Geraldine Moody, presiding.”

The judge walked in, her black robes billowing around her like a dark ghost. She was not what I expected. Normally, when it came to judges, I imagined some kind of stern, cranky Judge Judy grandmother-type, or an aging tough guy who fancies himself the law of the land, Old West style with six guns holstered beneath his robes. The woman in front of me was a graceful beauty. Older, but still radiant. Long blonde hair fell to her shoulders and careful makeup enhanced her features. She sat down primly on the edge of her chair, scooting up to the desk, looking like the fucking Pope on high.

Had this been any other situation, I would’ve flirted things to my advantage. One look at Mizz Moody, and I decided to hold my charm in check.