Authors: Kaylea Cross
Ben let her guide him into her and held her gaze as he slowly buried his length inside her, watching her reaction through the haze of his own pleasure. Her body hugged him so tight. “I love you.”
She gasped, her head kicking back into her pillow. Ben groaned and slid his hands beneath her hips, lifting her into his rhythm, kissing her urgently. She made a keening sound and locked her legs around him, begging for more. He shifted forward, changing the angle so he could rub against her clit while he kept his pace. Watching with hungry fascination, he reveled in the way she squeezed her eyes shut with a desperate moan, pumping beneath him, then broke apart in his arms.
Still moving inside her while the pulses of her release faded, Ben's heart lurched with tenderness when she opened her eyes to look at him. They were liquid with tears. She blinked them away, never taking her eyes off him as he rocked in and out. The intimacy was shattering; Sam's whole being wide open and defenseless to him, her loving gaze on him as the pleasure grew until he could barely breathe, muscles straining for release. Trembling, he let himself go with a hoarse shout and hung there, as vulnerable in her arms at that moment as she'd been in his. Lying in the cradle of her body afterward with her hands sifting through his hair and over his dampened skin was the sweetest thing he'd ever known. Tucking her securely beneath him, they dozed for a while.
Later, when he found the will to leave her warmth, he got up and pulled his jeans on, playing with the contents in the pocket for a moment before sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at her in awe. She was so beautiful. He'd never forget the way she looked then. Sated and relaxed, her brown eyes languorous from pleasure, rich auburn hair spilling over her creamy shoulders. Sam gave him a sleepy smile and stretched with a contended sigh, kissing his hand when he stroked her hair.
“Love you,” she murmured, reaching out to lay her palm against the side of his face.
Ben sighed and closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. No matter what happened from here, he was hers. Forever.
His fingers tightened around what was in his pocket. Slowly, he withdrew it. Opening his eyes, he watched her face as he held up the diamond ring so she could see it.
Sam pulled in a sharp breath and raised her shocked gaze to his face.
“I bought this the day Rhys came out of the coma,” he said, turning it over in his fingers, the gem sparkling like white fire in the light coming through the window beside her bed. “Even though I knew I'd probably lost you.”
“Ben— ”
“I know I'm not the easiest person to live with, but I'm hoping that won't put you off.” Her surprised smile had his heart knocking against his ribs. “And I know I can be a pain in the ass, but I'll always take care of you, make sure you're safe and happy.” He gulped down the lump in his throat. “I love you with everything in me, Samarra. I know it's too soon for a ring, but I want you to take it anyway. And when I've earned your trust back and you know in your heart how much I love you, give it back to me and I'll ask you properly.” Her stunned expression didn't ease his nerves any. “So... Will you take it?”
She stared at him for the longest time, as though trying to decide if he really meant it.
Ben had never meant anything more in his life.
And when his stomach burned hot enough to make him sweat, she finally sat up and took it from him. Sliding the ring onto a finger on her right hand, Sam wrapped her arms around him. “I will.”
Alexandria, Virginia
Sam pushed her apartment door open with her hip and hauled her suitcase over the threshold, setting it down to shut the door as quietly as possible. She was bone-tired after her drive home from New York, but it had been worth it to see Neveah, even though she hated to be apart from Ben, but he hadn't wanted to leave his brother. He went to the hospital every single day to cheer Rhys on and generally annoy the hell out of him in an effort to speed his recovery.
As for her cousin, Nev was defying the odds and coping well in the aftermath of her traumatic experience in Afghanistan. Not that Sam should have been surprised. She'd never met anyone tougher than her cousin. Once Nev made up her mind about something, that was that. She squared her shoulders, stuck her chin out and followed through. So far, it seemed like she was winning the battle of returning to normalcy. And if Sam wasn't mistaken, Nev seemed to have more than just a clinical interest in Rhys’ recovery. Wasn't
that
interesting?
Stifling a yawn, Sam unbuttoned her coat. In the light of the Tiffany hallway lamp Ben must have left on for her, her diamond engagement ring sparkled. She'd caved after a month and given it to him while they were at a sports bar watching a Red Sox game. She hadn't expected Ben to propose then and there, but he had. He'd done it like he did everything else— with passion and total disregard for how much it might embarrass her. Over her shocked protests, he'd gone straight down on one knee and popped the question in as loud a voice as he could manage, right in the middle of the seventh inning stretch. He hadn't cared at all about the crowd they'd attracted, and when she'd said yes, the whole place had erupted in cheers. The memory brought a smile to her face. So did the knowledge that Ben's ulcer had cleared up, and that she hadn't seen him pop a Tums since the day they got back together.
She checked her watch. After midnight, and the apartment was silent. Ben must be asleep, she thought, leaving the lamp on while she went through the foyer, the jewel-toned glass sprinkling color over the cream floor tiles. Sam set her keys on the entry hall table and toed off her pumps, then hung her coat in the closet before lugging her bag toward the kitchen.
Flipping on the row of pot lights above the range, she blinked while her eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. Her gaze instantly fell on the crystal cookie jar she kept on the black granite island. Fixed to the middle of its gleaming lid was a P-touch label, proclaiming
Cookie Jar
. She released her suitcase. Strange. Ben must have done it, but she couldn't fathom why. Since it bugged her to think of that sticky adhesive all over her good lead crystal, she got busy with scraping it off. When her fingernail didn't do the job, she opened the utensil drawer to—
Ben.
Each piece of silverware was labeled, too.
Salad fork. Dinner fork. Knife. Spoon
.
How... thorough of him.
She glanced around the white and stainless steel kitchen. Sure enough, more labels met her suspicious gaze.
Light switch. Sink. Refrigerator.
Her left eye twitched as she stared at the big Frigidaire.
He wouldn't...
That hope died a quick death when she wrenched the thing open. More labels.
Yogurt. Eggs. Cheese. Ben's beer. Girl food
on her container of salad greens.
“Ben,” she muttered, and slapped it shut. Talk about overkill.
What the hell had possessed him to waste her P-touch labels like that? So she liked to be organized. What was the big deal? She found more labels on her trip to the back of the apartment.
Hall light switch. Picture of weird-ass dude
, stuck to her Van Gogh print on the wall. Across the subject's forehead was
Step 1 in OCD recovery: Admit you have a problem
.
Oh, he was so in for it. She was going to have him scrape them all off and Windex the marks from the glass and stainless steel in the kitchen. Sam found more on the floor.
Floor tile
. Well, duh.
Accent tile
, on a black granite diamond. Then, above the light switch at the bedroom, helpfully labeled as
Bedroom light switch
, was the coup de grace.
OCD Helpline: 1-800-NT-FREAK
.
He was so dead. Her hand made contact with yet another label when she went to open the door. She glanced down. Stuck to the knob was
Gateway to sexual ecstasy. Must be 18 years or older to enter.
She damn near burst into giggles. It was all just so ridiculous. So Ben. His off-kilter sense of humor might drive her crazy, but it was one of the things she loved best about him. Everywhere they went, he was the life of the party. People loved him, and his completely extroverted personality was good for her, often dragging her out of her comfort zone. He made her studious, hum-drum life fun. An amazing feat.
Turning the stainless steel knob, she pushed the door open, and the first thing she noticed was he'd left the TV on his favorite sports highlight station. He'd muted it, but she had no idea how he slept with the light from the screen flickering all night. As for the Label King himself, he was stretched out on his back in their ebony-wood king-sized bed, his clean-shaven face turned away from her. He must have shaved for her before turning in for the night.
Sam's heart caught at the sight of him. He was so damned beautiful with his black hair tousled over his forehead like that, the creamy white sheets wadded around his waist so she had an amazing view of his sculpted chest and arms. In the glare of the TV, she spotted another label, this one displayed proudly across the pad of his left pec. She didn't dare guess what that one said. He looked so peaceful she almost hated to wake him. Almost. But he deserved to suffer some sleep deprivation after what he'd done.
Deliberately letting the knob go it released with a click. Ben came instantly awake, lids snapping open, gaze focusing on her with unnerving speed. He was always like that, zero to sixty in the blink of an eye. In everything he did. Ben only had two speeds— stop and go. And usually, it was all green lights. Especially when it came to her.
Her heart sped as his jade eyes met hers and that trademark slow smile spread across his wickedly handsome face.
“Hey,” he said in a sleepy rumble and stretched his arms over his head, his body arching and flexing like a contented panther. And every bit as sensual.
“Hey yourself,” she replied, coming toward him. “Have fun decorating while I was gone?”
His smile widened, revealing even white teeth in the light from the TV. His eyes were positively dancing with mischief. “You noticed.”
Sam snorted. “Why do I get the feeling I no longer have any label tape in my P-touch?”
“Don't know.” He displayed more of himself with the lazy grace that was such a part of his sensual nature. The sheets barely covered his groin now. “How's Nev?”
God, he was temptation personified. “Good. She sends her love. How's Rhys?”
“Relentless and rigid as ever. He's upped his rehab sessions to five hours a day instead of three.” Ben cocked his head. “You gonna come over here and give me a real hello? It's been four days, you know.”
His eyes said he knew damned well she wouldn't be able to stay ticked off or keep her distance. Wouldn't surprise her if he knew just how revved up her body was becoming simply by looking at him. “You gonna make it worth my while?” she countered.
“Don't I always?”
She laughed. God, he was arrogant. When she was within arm's reach, she finally made out what the label on his chest said.
YOUR MAN
. “Very nice.”
She traced it with a fingertip, and his pec rippled beneath her touch. She wasn't the only one affected. It was always like this between them. Ben might seem relaxed and languorous on the surface, but he wanted her every bit as badly as she wanted him. Sam gave him a slow smile of her own. “I like this one. I think we should keep it, unlike all the others which you're going to scrape off first thing in the morning.”
“By myself?”
She grinned at the alarm in his voice. “I'll supervise.”
The gleam in his eyes turned wicked. “Sure. If you have the strength to move when you wake up.”
He sat up, a glorious display of fluid male power and slid his arms around her. His hands threaded through her hair as he brought her down for his kiss, full of leashed heat and yet so tender it made her breath shorten.
“Missed you.”
She burrowed in tight. “I missed you more.”
“Not possible. I got so bored I had to resort to using your P-touch like I was fricking Martha Stewart just to amuse myself.”
She giggled, she couldn't help herself. “God, you are such an idiot.”
Ben nuzzled the side of her throat, drawing a shiver out of her. “I know. Strip those clothes off and slide under the sheets with me so I can make it up to you.”
She pressed a kiss to the label stamped over his heart. “I think I might.”
He pulled her down and settled her full length on top of him, then kissed her some more until her thoughts scattered. When he pulled back and swept the hair away from her face, that devilish gleam was still in his eyes.
“What?” she whispered with a smile.
“Got one more label you might be interested in.”
Oh, she could just imagine. “Yeah? Where's that?”
“It's a surprise.” He surged upward with his hips, pressing the hard ridge of his erection into her stomach.
The teasing yet loving expression on his face filled her heart to overflowing. She was so lucky to have him in her life. Ben was the rock to steady herself on when she needed it, her unflinching protector who chased the shadows away, and the man who made her laugh and drove her crazy by turns.
She wouldn't have changed him for the world.
Rubbing against him, already bursting with the need to have him inside her, she played along. “What's it say? Give me a hint.”
His boyish grin melted her before he raised his head to whisper against her ear. His warm breath brushed over her skin, sending a delicious ripple of pleasure down to between her thighs. “It's the name of a famous clock in London.”
Sam burst out laughing.
Kaylea Cross has dreamed of being an author since she was a child. A Registered Massage Therapist, this mother of two is an avid gardener, artist, Civil War buff, belly dancer and former national level softball pitcher.
She lives near Vancouver, B.C. with her husband and energetic little boys.