Uncommon Passion

by Anne Calhoun

  Slow and sweet and tender. Each slow stroke of his tongue against her clit, each pause while the heat pooled in her hot spots, drove her wild until she fell over the edge, into oblivion. When she opened her eyes, he was braced over her, shuddering.

  “Ben,” she whispered. “Please.”

  He smoothed a condom down his shaft, then positioned himself between her legs and pushed inside her. The electricity skittering along hypersensitive nerves as he took possession of her body forced a cry from her throat and tightened her muscles. He stayed like that, hard and heavy inside her, for an eternity without moving. Eons passed, then he lifted his head from her shoulder and kissed her. Decades after that he withdrew and stroked back in, then groaned. The sound echoed into the room like it had been torn from his chest by an implacable hand. Her arms, legs, sex, all tightened to draw him in, close, so close to her.

  Slow and sweet and tender, until hot desire and weeks of abstinence burned slowly to the ground. She wound around him like hot gold wire, welcoming every hard thrust, the force of his body against hers, hard planes to her soft curves. He braced an elbow above her shoulder to hold her in place. She gripped his lower back and closed her eyes against the onslaught.

  Love. This was the love she never expected to find with a man who wouldn’t care. They were making love for the first time, and the combination of emotion and pleasure shattered her. Sharp cries tore from her throat with each pulse of release. He held her to him, the move at once devastatingly protective and possessive.

  When he found his own release it was in the sheltering circle of her arms.

  • • •

  Much, much later, he lifted his head from her shoulder. As her fingers traced lazy swirls up his spine, he spoke. “I swore I’d never fail anyone like I failed Sam. And I haven’t. I’ve just failed people in other ways.” He lifted his head and peered into her eyes. “I’m sorry for what I made you feel. Made you do. I hurt you, and I’m sorry.”

  She smiled up into his face. “That was a lovely apology.”

  He ran his finger along the piping on the bedsheet. “I worked on it.”

  “I accept your apology,” she said formally.

  A slow, sweet smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I love you, Rachel.”

  “I love you, too, Ben.” Spurred by some wicked little demon inside, she added, “But maybe you shouldn’t fall in love with the first woman you make love to.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted in a grin. He brushed her hair back from her temple. “Maybe I made love to her because I’d already fallen in love.”

  • • •

  She slept the night through, waking the next morning to sunlight streaming through the cloth blinds and a warm, hard body next to her. She lifted her head to see Ben next to her, lying on his back, one arm tucked behind his head.

  “Good morning,” she said as she hitched close enough to temptation personified to rest her chin on his chest.

  “Good morning.” With his free hand he reached up to tuck her loose hair behind her ear. It slid forward almost immediately, grazing her jaw and covering one eye. A slight smile quirked the corners of his mouth as he tucked it away again. This time it stayed in place, so his fingers lingered on her jaw, her lips.

  She lifted her hand and flattened it against his. Her fingers were almost as long as his but his palm was much bigger. After a moment she wove her fingers into his, felt his warmth and strength seep through her skin, into her bones. She turned their wrists so she could kiss the back of his hand, then flicked her tongue against the sensitive skin between his fingers. When she finished, he turned her hand to his mouth and mirrored her movements. The sensation of warm lips and tongue tracing the veins in the back of her hand made her eyelids droop. After long moments where the air temperature in the room rose to meet the heat in her blood, he draped her arm over his shoulder and wrapped his arm around her waist to pull her across his body.

  His heart raced, she noticed at the back of her mind. He felt all the deeper emotions, desire, uncertainty, longing, anticipation, hope. Love. He loved, and let himself be loved.

  She lowered her mouth to his. It was slow and sweet and tender, the way he kissed her, brushing lip against lip, waiting until she touched the tip of her tongue to his lower lip before opening his mouth to claim hers. “I have to go home,” she murmured. “I can’t show up in the same clothes I wore last night.”

  He gave a half-amused, half-frustrated growl, but let her go. “I’ll drive you home and pick up the cake while you’re getting ready,” he said.

  She dressed while he showered. He drove her home, where she undressed, showered, then pulled on the white dress she’d worn to their first night at Artistary. She wound her hair into a loose, off-center bun, slipped a cardigan through the handles of her purse, and was waiting for him when he returned.

  “What will your parents think about me coming to a family party?” she asked as he opened the door and held out his hand to help her up into the seat.

  “They’ll love you,” Ben said. He dropped a soft kiss on her lips. “Don’t worry.”

  So many cars lined both sides of the street they had to park five houses down from Sam’s. When they started up the sidewalk to the front door, Jonathan barreled down the steps and hurled himself at Ben. He handed off the cake to Rachel and visibly braced for the impact of a hurricane-strength boy at full speed.

  “Hey, squirt,” he said.

  Jonathan locked his legs around Ben’s thigh and climbed up him like a fire pole. “Guess what!”

  “What?” Ben said with a grunt. Rachel grinned. He shot her a pained smile, shifted Jon to his hip, and set off up the front walk.

  “Gramma and Gramps brought me the police car Lego set. It’s got a cruiser and an ambulance and a SWAT truck.” He held it out, right in Ben’s face. Ben leaned back to take in the details and nearly missed the first step up to the front door.

  “The picture of athletic grace and poise. Good thing she’s carrying the cake,” Chris said as he held open the door. “Welcome, Rachel.”

  Ben tossed Chris a response Rachel couldn’t hear, because the interior of the house was a whirl of noise and laughter. Balloons hovered over lamps and the newel post to the banister. A Happy Birthday banner hung over the entrance to the dining room, where guests lingered over a spread rivaling a restaurant buffet.

  Mission one was to deliver the cake, so she turned for the kitchen and found Ben, Sam, and two people who could only be their parents behind the island. The boys had their mother’s blue eyes and brown hair, and their father’s squared-off jawline.

  Ben’s warm hands came to rest on her waist. “Mom, Dad. This is Rachel Hill.”

  She offered her hand, but Ben’s mother pulled her into a hug. “It’s so good to meet you.”

  His father followed propriety and shook her hand with a warm, callused grip. “Our pleasure, Miss Hill.”

  “Happy birthday, Mr. Harris,” she said.

  “It’s a very happy birthday,” he replied. She didn’t miss the glance at his sons, standing shoulder to shoulder in the kitchen.

  “Ben’s told us so much about you, but not how you met,” his mother said.

  She accepted a glass of iced tea from Sam as she looked at Ben. He lifted one eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Go ahead, his eyes said.

  Begin as you mean to go on, and all that. “I bought him at a bachelor auction.”

  Mrs. Harris’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  “I took one look at him and knew he was the man for me,” Rachel added, in case Ben’s mother was a romantic.

  Sam turned a laugh into a cough, and the smile broke free on Ben’s mouth.

  “Well, what a sweet story,” Mrs. Harris said, but the glance she gave her boys told Rachel their mother wasn’t fooled.

 
Ben held out his hand to Rachel. “Come meet the family,” he said.

  The next few hours were a whirl of names and faces and relationships, reminiscing over plates of food, a loud rendition of “Happy Birthday,” and cake and ice cream. Jonathan gave her a tour of the tree house; Chris gave her the latest on the adoption proceedings. As the sun set Ben left Jonathan playing with the Lego trucks in the dirt and joined Rachel on the swings.

  “It was a really nice party,” she said.

  “Sam does it up right,” Ben agreed, then nudged her sandaled foot with his boot. “Miss your dad?”

  “Yes,” she said. “But . . . the last three letters didn’t come back.”

  “Hopeful.”

  “I told him about you. I think he’d like you.” She shrugged at Ben’s raised eyebrows. “You’re very likable and I’m optimistic.”

  “A force of nature is what you are,” Ben said. “We won’t give up.”

  “No,” she said quietly. “We won’t.”

  His smile, soft and slow and sweet, promised her all the warmth and shelter she could want, along with all the independence she craved. She sighed with contentment. “I love you, Ben.”

  “I love you, too,” he said. “Come on. Let’s get seconds before Sam eats all the cake.”

  He draped his arm around her waist and led her through the deepening twilight, into the warmth and laughter inside.