Perfectly Wrong (Elena & Sam Musical)

Chapter three

Spanish wine! Who the hell did Sam Martin think he was, sharing private information like that with someone he barely knew? What was wrong with him, aside from his obvious lack of judgment?

I was wandering through the aisles at Whole Foods, murmuring to myself, when I spotted him on the cover of a magazine. Sam’s smile could light up an entire town, and his jawline was ridiculously sharp. I overheard two teenage girls talking about how cute he was and how seductive his voice sounded, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Why was everyone so obsessed with him? He was just a pretty face with a thing for Spanish wine.

I ended up in the beverage section, and as I browsed, I noticed the Spanish wines. Even though I preferred Portuguese, I figured it couldn’t hurt to check them out. And yes, I threw two bottles of the Spanish ones into my cart. Deal with it.

Just as I was about to finish at the checkout, someone stepped up beside me, and I froze. I tried to get a glimpse out of the corner of my eye, but the guy was so tall I couldn’t see his face right away. But when his cologne hit me like a wave, I knew exactly who it was.

“That’s a good one,” he said, picking up one of the bottles I’d just bought. His voice was so close to my ear that shivers ran down my spine. “Not my favourite, but it’ll do.”

I closed my eyes briefly. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I’ve been waiting for some feedback on my song, which you never gave me.” Sam sounded a little frustrated. “So, I decided to come ask in person. Oh, let me help you.” He grabbed all the bags from my hands, and we walked out of the store. And let me tell you, we were lucky his fans didn’t spot him. I glanced up to offer a quick prayer of thanks, only to notice the dark clouds and feel the first few drops of rain.

“Perfect,” I muttered, as we started walking towards my place.

And wouldn’t you know it? Apparently, God didn’t think that was enough. There I was, standing next to a guy barely out of his teens, waiting for feedback on a song he’d written about us. And I had to admit, it was a good song. But apparently, that wasn’t enough, because just as we were halfway to my house, the rain came down hard, soaking us both. We tried to run, but it was pointless. By the time we made it inside, we looked like drowned rats. It was pathetic! I rushed to the kitchen, which was right next to the laundry room, forgetting for a second that I couldn’t just strip off my clothes with him standing right there.

When I turned to say something, the words slipped away. His white t-shirt was clinging to his chest, and... well, what a chest!

I couldn’t stop staring. His abs looked like they were carved out of stone, and I was pretty sure I’d break my hand if I punched him. The odd thing was, his arms weren’t huge—not like Noah’s. They were defined but still, well, normal. Water dripped from his hair down his face, and he looked like he was on the verge of laughing. In the end, it was me who started chuckling, though he didn’t need to know it was from nerves.

“We need to get out of these clothes,” he said, pulling off his t-shirt. “Where do you keep your towels?”

I couldn’t find my voice. Sam looked even better with just his black jeans on. A wave of emotions surged through me, and I felt like a fool. I wanted to touch him, to feel his skin against my hands, to kiss every inch of him. At the same time, I felt a sharp pang of guilt. He was so young and seemed so... innocent. Or at least that’s what I thought.

“Elena!” I jumped at the sound of my name. “Snap out of it, woman. We need towels. I don’t want to catch a cold after all that rain.”

He was too close, and his scent—different now, more him—filled the space between us. He smelled like hot summer days at the beach, the happiness of spring, and the warmth of a cozy winter night. He smelled like the good life, like safety and comfort. How could someone smell like... home? The air around us thickened with anticipation. I wasn’t sure when it started, but we were both barely breathing now, and with each step he took, the tension grew. Sam was nearly pressed against me. All I could see was his chest and the base of his wet neck. God help me, this was so wrong, but I wanted him. So. Fucking. Much.

And I didn’t even like him that much, to be honest. I’d barely known the guy—how could I possibly have feelings for him? This was purely physical, all about seduction. It was having someone pay attention to me after so long. It felt like a small victory, knowing how many younger women would give anything to be in my shoes. I thought about the girls in the store, talking about Sam like he was the last man on Earth. I won. After years of being treated like I didn’t matter by Noah, here I was, with a guy—desired by so many—breathing heavily because of me. It was unexpectedly empowering.

Desire filled the kitchen. He wanted it; I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. Sam Martin wanted me as much as I wanted him. I could see it in the way his hands clenched and released, the subtle flex of his biceps. I felt his fingers brush my skin as he slowly lifted my t-shirt.

“What are you doing?” I whispered, still too afraid to meet his gaze. Honestly, I was just as scared of my own reaction.

“Helping you out,” he replied softly, his hands steady as they stopped just beneath my breasts. It was bold and outrageous, something I should have stopped. Instead, I lifted my arms, letting him undress me. We were both just waiting for that final push.

“Sam, we can’t. We shouldn’t.”

“What?” His voice was teasing, sensual. “Take off our wet clothes after the rain?”

“You know what I mean.” My voice wavered. What was he doing to me?

“You want this, Elena. You want it as much as I do. Just say the word. You won’t regret it.”

I didn’t want to just say it—I wanted to scream to the world how much I wanted him! How much I needed Sam Martin right then and there.

Avoiding his eyes, I looked down. Oh my God. My breath hitched. He was more than ready. No question about it.

“It’s yours if you want it.” He traced his fingers down my arms, sending shivers through me.

And I did want it. Screw ethics and professional boundaries. I looked into his eyes, and within seconds we were kissing ferociously. Our tongues battled for dominance, our hands were everywhere. Sam unhooked my bra and began teasing my nipples. In response, I unbuttoned his jeans and freed him. I stroked him gently, and he groaned in approval.

His lips moved to my neck, leaving kisses and soft bites as he unzipped my pants. In one swift motion, he pushed everything to the floor, including my underwear.

“Turn around and bend over the counter,” he instructed.

I didn’t hesitate or resist. At that moment, I was his, and I turned as he guided, leaning over the counter with my elbows. With his knee, Sam spread my legs, trailing kisses and soft bites down my back.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured between kisses.

“Sam,” I breathed, the sound barely audible.

He let out a low chuckle. “What, Elena? All you have to do is ask.”

My body was on fire, every inch of me aching for him, but I was too overwhelmed to speak. His hand slid around my waist and down between my legs, making it impossible to think. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I registered the sound of a condom being opened and felt a surge of relief that at least one of us had remembered to be responsible, since I could barely remember my own name.

“Holy fuck,” I moaned. All those guitar lessons were definitely paying off. “For God’s sake, Sam!”

“As you wish.” Without another word, he filled me completely, and in that moment, I forgot every time I’d called him a kid or thought of him as innocent.

“Fuck,” I groaned as he moved slowly inside me. His grip on my hips tightened, and he picked up the pace. It hit me then—Sam Martin inside me was one of the most incredible feelings in the world.

“You’re amazing,” he repeated, his breath hot against the back of my neck. Every word, every touch was driving me to the brink.

“We shouldn’t... We can’t,” I whispered, a rare moment of clarity breaking through the haze, as my whole body trembled.

“Do you want me to stop?” He did, and I gasped at the sudden pause.

“No, please.”

Screw it. He could do whatever he wanted, and he knew it. And though I wished it would last forever, I reached my limit after a few more thrusts, shattering around him with an orgasm so sharp and intense, it felt otherworldly.

“Elena.” Sam’s voice broke as he whispered my name, holding me close as he followed me over the edge.

After a few moments, he stepped back, leaving me with an unexpected sense of emptiness.

“We need a shower,” he murmured softly in my ear.

Still dazed, I turned to face him. Sam looked even better now, with beads of sweat on his forehead mingling with the water still dripping from his hair. I reached up to stroke his perfect face, and we kissed, before heading to the bathroom to take a well-deserved shower.

The night before was a blur. As I walked out of my house, leaving Sam completely passed out, I tried to piece together everything that had happened. After we got home and had sex, we took a shower together. We started talking, but that led to a second round. Later, we made sandwiches and ate them while watching a movie, and I fell asleep on his chest. I woke up in my own bed, unsure how I’d ended up there.

I felt confused, guilty, embarrassed—but I couldn’t deny it: I was also happy and very satisfied. Beyond the fact that he was ten years younger, I had to remember that Sam was a client, and I was being paid to be around him. No matter how good it felt, it was wrong to take advantage of that situation.

Before leaving, I made us breakfast. Just something simple, but enough to give him the energy to get out of my house. I also left him a note saying I was heading to work and wished him a good week, hoping he’d get the hint not to come back.

“I have some ideas!” Vicky exclaimed as I walked into the office. “I just need to check with Design, but trust me—it’s going to be amazing! Oh, and they want us to incorporate flowers. Don’t ask.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be on my team if your ideas weren’t at least amazing, but flowers? How are we supposed to connect Sam Martin with flowers?” I laughed and paused by her desk to hear what she had in mind.

We spent hours discussing the project and the research on his fan base. The idea behind the tour was to show everyone that Sam wasn’t just the boy from the video platform. People needed to see that he’d grown up and was more than ready to take on the fame he was achieving—and deserved.

“The whole point is to make it look upscale. Everything from the merch to the stage design to the ticket printing needs to feel premium. Parents need to feel like they’re paying for an experience, not just a concert,” Peter was explaining when a knock interrupted him.

Lola, my assistant, poked her head into the office. “Mr. Martin is here, Lena. He wants to see you.”

What?

“Do we have anything scheduled?” Vicky flipped through her planner in a panic.

“No, it’s fine,” I said. “He’s probably here to share some ideas for the project. Lola, can you take him to the creative room? I’ll be there in a minute.” My assistant nodded and left, and everyone else looked at me, curious. “I spoke to him last week and asked him to bring any ideas he had for the tour. You know, if he thought of anything specific he wanted included. I’ll see what he has to say.”

“I can go with you.” Matt moved to follow, but I stopped him at the door.

“No need. I’ll just take some notes on what he says. Help Peter with the paper samples so we can figure out if it’s a good budget choice. And we need to find that key visual piece, Matt—the one that represents the entire tour!”

Before he could respond, I left and closed the door behind me.

My heart was racing, and not in a good way.

“Hey!” Sam stood up as I walked in, a huge smile spreading across his face.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, closing the curtains to block the view from the hallway.

“Well, since you didn’t leave me a phone number, I had to come by to tell you that last night was incredible.”

Oh, God. Sam was a sweet guy—still a bit like a teenager, but sweet.

“Look, you can’t just show up at my office unless we have a scheduled meeting.”

He looked puzzled. “Why not? I mean, after last night…”

“Sam, you know that shouldn’t have happened. It was a mistake.”

“Oh.” He sounded genuinely hurt.

“I know. I’m sorry.” And I was. It had been a great night, but the circumstances weren’t ideal. He didn’t say anything else, and the silence between us was awkward. “Can we talk about this later? I’m in the middle of brainstorming with my team, and they’re waiting for me. Plus, they’re already suspicious about you showing up unexpectedly.”

“Can I come to your place later?”

“Okay,” I agreed without thinking. Damn it.

“See you at seven then!” he said cheerfully, walking out without looking back.

The doorbell rang at exactly 7 p.m. I blame the British and their descendants for this relentless punctuality. I was still brushing my hair and had planned to blow-dry it before he arrived. I rushed to the door and swung it open. There he was, leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, wearing a black shirt that somehow made him look even hotter.

I stepped aside to let him in. He didn’t seem particularly happy, but he wasn’t exactly angry either. I, on the other hand, was losing my mind over the whole situation. Honestly, I didn’t want to break his heart, but some tough decisions had to be made.

“So,” he began, “what’s going on?”

“First things first: do you want a drink?” I was definitely going to need alcohol for this conversation. “I’ve got Spanish wine.”

“Oh, so now I’m old enough for wine, am I?” Sam chuckled at my reaction and followed me to the kitchen. I poured two glasses and sat next to him at the island. “You’re killing me, Lena.”

I was taking a sip when he called me that for the first time. The shock of hearing that nickname from him, though we’d been close before, almost made me spit the wine back into the glass. Being called Lena wasn’t usually a big deal, but coming from him, it sent shivers through my entire body. Those four letters, spoken in his smooth voice, were dangerous to my sanity.

“Right, you’re right. Let’s just get this over with.” Saying I was nervous would be an understatement. I was shaking from head to toe. “Sam, we work together. We’re in the middle of a project that’s going to take months, and we can’t get involved. It’s not professional, and if Jeremy finds out, he’ll pull my team from your release. Not to mention, you’re too young for me.” I knew that last reason sounded flimsy. Age was just a number, but deep down, it felt wrong to be involved with an eighteen-year-old when I was almost thirty.

“I hope you really believe that, because I know you had a good time,” he said before taking a generous sip of his wine. “It felt like we connected.”

“It’s true, but look around, Sam. We started off on the wrong foot, and there’s no clear way forward. I can’t see a happy ending for us.”

The wine was quickly making its way through my system, calming me down. Sam, however, seemed to be processing my words. “Maybe you’re right.” He gently tapped my nose with his finger, making me blink. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves.”

“What?”

He got up from his stool and stood behind me, his hands expertly massaging my shoulders.

“We can keep this between us. Just you and me, in our own bubble, enjoying the time we have.” He knew exactly what he was doing. The massage was a calculated move, trying to get me to agree with his ridiculous proposal. “Once the tour’s over, you’ll move on to a new project, and we’ll go our separate ways.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant by “separate ways,” but his strong hands seemed to cast some sort of spell over me. I leaned back against his chest and closed my eyes. His hands moved from my shoulders to the base of my neck, sending shivers through my entire body.

“Do you know the advantage of being older than you?” I asked.

“No idea.”

“I know all your tricks, Mr. Martin.” I stood up from the stool. “You’re not going to win me over with just one massage.”

He flashed that dazzling smile, all white teeth and the dimple in his chin. Something inside me melted.

“Maybe I should try harder to win you over then.” He stepped closer, his eyes locked on mine. “Yes or no, Lena?”

Many different responses ran through my mind:

1. Get the hell out of my house.

2. You’re insane, and I’m calling the cops to report a threat to my mental health.

3. Why don’t you find a girl your own age to pester?

But instead, I jumped on him, grabbing him by the neck and kissing him hard. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I get rid of him?

The next thing I knew, we were tangled up on my couch, moaning and murmuring, our clothes strewn everywhere, our bodies slick with sweat, having one of the best nights of my life.