It's Always Been You

by Jessica Scott

  She stilled. “This is an attempt to get me naked.”

  “What else would it be?” he said, grinning. He kissed her again, slow. Lazy. But beneath the sensual glide, a hunger. “Please?”

  His hands on her hips guided her backward, past the kitchen and the uneaten pizza she’d ordered. Toward her bedroom and the unmade bed.

  “When is the last time you had a massage?” he asked, slipping his fingers over her spine.

  She trembled, her back spasming away from his teasing fingers. “It’s been a while.”

  “Yeah? What’s it going to take for me to get you to lie facedown on that bed?” he asked against her lips.

  “Naked?”

  “Completely naked.”

  “I’m not sure where you’re going with this. I was only kidding that time I said you could bend me over and have your way with me.”

  Ben laughed and hugged her close. She nuzzled his neck, enjoying the connection of skin on skin. Wanting more. A slow need unfurled inside her. A spark of heat.

  Ben took a step back and bent down to unlace his boots. He glanced up at her when she hadn’t moved. “Completely. Naked.”

  Still she didn’t move. Not when he kicked his own boots off and unbuckled his belt. Not when he slid the uniform pants down his narrow hips and revealed black boxer briefs.

  Not when he lifted his shirt over his head and stood in her bedroom wearing dog tags and a wicked smile.

  Her gaze dropped to his erection. “Is that for me?”

  He shook his head. “You’re not naked.”

  She hooked her thumbs into the waist of her yoga pants and slid them down over her hips.

  A thrill of power shot through her when his throat moved. “Christ you’re sexy,” he whispered.

  She stepped out of her pants, then reached for the tank top. She lifted it slowly, enjoying the power of making his gaze darken as she inched it higher, higher up her stomach.

  Her nipples tightened as the cotton brushed over them.

  The top fell to the floor, forgotten. Ben simply watched her for a long moment. He didn’t move but his gaze… his gaze was a caress. Despite the scars. He looked at her like she was a precious thing, whole and undamaged.

  He moistened his lips. “Lie down,” he whispered. “Facedown.”

  * * *

  The sheet was cold against her nipples but it warmed quickly from the heat of her body. Olivia stretched across her bed, the sheets rumpled at the bottom. She rested her cheek on the backs of her hands and closed her eyes.

  Every sense was aroused, keyed in to the sounds Ben made as he moved around her bedroom.

  He turned out the light but reappeared a moment later with a candle. She frowned, leaning up to look at him. “I’m not into candle wax,” she said.

  “Relax.” He set the candle on the nightstand. “I just want to be able to see you.”

  He still wore his underwear. The outline of his erection was heavy and thick beneath the cotton. He knelt on the edge of her bed, his knee near her thigh.

  The bed shifted again and warmth spread over her. His thighs framed hers where he knelt. She arched her hips toward his. He laughed quietly, then surprised her with a kiss above one buttock. “Not yet.”

  She made a throaty sound when his lips brushed her skin. He brushed her hair off her neck and back.

  She closed her eyes as the ache inside her intensified with each passing moment that he didn’t touch her. He shifted again and then both of his hands slid over her shoulders. His fingers were strong and warm, slipping over her skin. His thumbs pressed against the spot where her shoulders and her neck met.

  She groaned when he found a sore spot. Then closed her eyes and surrendered to his touch.

  * * *

  Ben was out of his mind. There was no way he’d be able to do this long enough to brush aside the terrible memories of the day. He’d meant it as a game.

  But then she’d lain on the bed and his blood had throbbed, hot and fierce in his veins. He ached to touch her. It was sweet, sweet torment to kneel over her, knowing he could do anything and she would let him.

  There was something beautiful about the way she arched her hips when he touched her. Lifting them ever so slightly off the mattress, a tiny offering.

  He traced the tip of his index finger down the centerline of her spine. Her gasp escaped before she could muffle it. His finger continued its easy glide down the center of her buttocks, stopping before he touched her most secret place.

  She made a sexy sound deep in her throat and it might as well have been a fist around his cock. He leaned over her, tracing the path his finger had just taken with his tongue. Gently, barely touching her, he flicked his tongue down her spine, to the gentle part of her legs.

  He wanted to taste her. To feel her moist slick heat against his tongue as she came.

  But torturing her this way was infinitely more pleasurable. He nipped her buttock. Felt her breath catch in her throat. He smiled as he nipped her, tiny bites across her back, her shoulders. With each nip her body tensed, then released. She tried to part her thighs again.

  He kept her there, lying on her belly, her back exposed to him. Her body supple and warm beneath his touch.

  Moisture flecked her thighs each time she shifted. He was tormenting her, dragging out the promise of pleasure with each slide of his tongue, each gentle caress of his fingers.

  He slid his fingers down the length of her back, his thumbs tracing her spine, sliding further down, down, over her buttocks, his thumbs parting her. Opening her. Barely brushing against her aching, swollen core.

  He repeated his movements, each time coming closer to where she craved his touch. Each time denying her. Sliding his hands over her body, molding her hips. His thumbs flicked over the underside of her buttocks, the seam of her thighs. She arched a tiny bit, lifting.

  Her body was taut. Tense. Ben had never been so fucking aroused by just touching a lover this way. Soft caresses, denying them both. His thumbs danced closer to her wet heat, closer to the spot where he wanted badly to slide his fingers through. He wanted to feel her coat him, feel her slick heat envelop him, pull him deeper.

  His thumb brushed against the seam of her body. She jerked and cried out at the barest touch. He smiled and held her in place. “Shhh.” He pressed his lips to her buttock. Gentling her. Loving every minute reaction. She whimpered.

  He brushed his thumb over her seam once more. Slightly more pressure.

  His touch came away wet. So fucking wet.

  “Spread your thighs for me,” he whispered. “Just a little.”

  Her eyes were closed. Her lips parted. Her breath coming in tiny little gasps.

  He stroked her again, this time with his index finger, sliding the tip along her entire seam. He barely touched her. His finger was slick. Wet. Her body was soft. Swollen.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured.

  He slipped his finger through her again, increasing his pressure slightly.

  She fought to spread her thighs against his.

  “Ben.” His name, a plea on her lips. “Please.”

  “Please what?”

  “Touch me.” Her hips lifted from the sheet below her. He wanted her. Needed to tumble into the pleasure of sliding inside her.

  He wanted her like this. Just like this.

  He moved, lying against her, keeping his weight on his arms and his knees. Keeping her from spreading her legs any wider.

  He slipped one hand beneath her belly, lifting her hips slightly. Her back arched beneath his touch, her skin scorching his.

  * * *

  Olivia’s body was on fire. She’d never in her life imagined making love like this, her lover’s thighs outside of hers, her body trapped beneath his. But she didn’t feel vulnerable. She felt cherished. Erotic.

  And then he was there, pressing inside her body, her thighs clenched tight, her hips lifted. A gasp of pleasure slipped from her lips as he slid into her body, filling her.

  And then
he began to move. The friction of her thighs made it impossible for her to do anything but receive him, take the pleasure he offered with each stroke. She surrendered, arching beneath him and urging him deeper. Her lungs refused to cooperate. The pressure built and built until she crashed into the wave, riding it until Ben tightened and tensed and then wrapped his arms around her and held her close. Her back to his chest. His arms holding her.

  His palms folded over her heart.

  * * *

  His phone rang from someplace far away. Olivia sighed and stretched as he rolled over, searching for his phone in the pile of uniform on the floor by the bed.

  She wrapped her arms around his waist as he answered the call. “Yeah.”

  Sorren’s voice crashed through the haze of sleep. “Sir, we’ve got a problem.”

  Ben sat up, his blood pounding. “What kind of problem?”

  “The kind of problem that involves you and me at Escoberra’s house right now.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  They made it to the on-post housing area in record time. A small crowd was gathered outside. Several of the NCOs were keeping them from going inside. Sorren met Ben at the end of the driveway with Carmen and Hailey. He hadn’t been able to keep Olivia from driving him.

  He wished Olivia was anywhere but here.

  “What’s the status?” Ben asked his first sergeant even as he embraced Carmen. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She pushed away from his embrace. “Just scared. Ben, he’s getting worse.” Tears tumbled down her face. “I just want my Jose back and I don’t know what to do. I called the police because he scared me.”

  “Where’s Heath?” he asked, looking around for Carmen’s son.

  “At a friend’s.”

  “Escoberra’s destroying the place,” Sorren said.

  Ben’s heart jammed in his throat.

  A gunshot cracked through the silence. Ben froze, his heart slamming against his ribs as he fought the ingrained reaction to hit the ground.

  His mouth went dry and panic and fear wrestled with rational thought for control.

  He breathed deeply, looking between Carmen and Sorren. “Where the fuck did he get the gun?” Ben snapped.

  Sorren folded his arms over his chest. “I have no idea,” he said roughly.

  Carmen held up her hands. “I don’t allow guns in my house,” she said. “I don’t know.” She squeezed Ben’s arm. “Please help him, Ben. Please?”

  Sorren looked over Ben’s shoulder. “Ma’am, you probably shouldn’t be here.”

  Ben turned to see Olivia next to him. “Any legal advice?” Ben asked, needing anything to distract himself from the shitstorm in the house.

  “He needs to be taken straight to the hospital,” she said quietly.

  “I don’t need to read him his rights?”

  Olivia shook her head. “Not right now. He’s a threat to himself and others. He needs to be contained.” She folded her arms over her chest. Ben wished he didn’t see how her hands shook. “Is there a reason why you’re not letting the police go in?”

  “Because I don’t want him to get shot by some private who’s played too much Call of Duty,” Ben said simply. “Do we have a key?” Ben asked.

  Sorren dangled it from one finger. “Already ahead of you, sir. You ready to do this?”

  Ben breathed deeply. “Oh sure, why not.” He looked at his first sergeant. Ben glanced at Olivia. He wanted to tell her to get back, to go somewhere else. He suddenly very much wanted to shield her from this side of the army.

  He didn’t want her to see him with blood on him. Or worse, bleeding.

  She was determined not to wear that combat patch until she earned one. He’d just as soon she did not earn it today.

  But he couldn’t say that in front of the entire housing area. She met his gaze and offered a short nod. Her eyes were anxious but she kept her silence.

  He walked toward the house, Sorren in step next to him. He stopped near the front door. “Well, here goes nothing. I’m really not in the mood to get stabbed, shot, or have any other holes poked in me,” he said dryly.

  “Not a good time for jokes, sir,” Sorren said.

  “When is it not a good time for jokes?” Ben said.

  “Sir, one more fucking joke and I’m going to stab you,” Sorren growled.

  Ben took a deep breath and they went up to the house. He pushed open the front door.

  “Escoberra?”

  The silence in the house was eerie. There were no pets, no noise from the TV.

  Just the silence of the damned. “Escoberra?” Carefully, they moved through each room.

  Sorren peered into the kitchen. “First floor is clear,” he murmured.

  “Escoberra, we’re coming upstairs, okay?” Ben tried to swallow but his mouth was dry. “Please don’t shoot me. I haven’t updated my insurance paperwork and all my money will go to my cat.”

  Sorren slapped him on the back of the head.

  A sound like a booted foot banged against the floor. “We’re coming up.”

  There was a fist-sized hole near the railing. The fallen plaster crunched under their feet on the stairs. A picture lay in a pile of broken glass and splintered wood.

  Ben held his breath as they went up the stairs.

  They found him in Hailey’s room.

  He was sitting on his daughter’s bed. One hand was streaked with rust-colored blood. Blood mingled with the pink patchwork on the comforter. His eyes were red and filled with tears. A bottle of tequila sat lopsided between his thighs. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he whispered.

  “Can I have the gun?” Ben asked quietly.

  Escoberra dropped it limply onto the bed.

  Ben cleared it and handed it to Sorren behind him.

  Escoberra reached for a tiny white rabbit. Blood streaked its pilled fur. The tequila sloshed but didn’t spill. “I got this for Hailey the day I adopted her.” He looked up at Ben. “I put my little girl in the hospital.”

  Ben knelt on the edge of the bed. “This isn’t going to help.” He motioned to Escoberra’s bleeding hand.

  “I can’t control it. It’s like there’s someone else running my body.” He lifted the bottle to his lips, his hands shaking violently. There was a soft pop as he lowered it. “I can’t keep doing this to them.”

  Ben moved slowly, easing the pillowcase off one of the pillows. He folded it into a long strip and reached for Escoberra’s bleeding hand. The big NCO didn’t fight him as he wrapped the injury, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. Ben’s hands shook as he wrapped the wound.

  “I think we need to head to the hospital,” Ben said quietly. He reached for the tequila. Only then did Escoberra react, his good hand tightening on the neck of the bottle. “Come on, man. Let me take this. Let me get you checked out.”

  Escoberra’s eyes were flat and dull when he looked up at him. “My career is pretty much fucked now, isn’t it?”

  Ben shook his head, fighting to speak past the lump in his throat. “One of the benefits of being in command. I get to make that decision.” He reached up, squeezing his shoulder. “And I think the first order of business is to get you checked out.”

  “I’m a little bit drunk.” Escoberra’s eyes were glassy. Looked like that last shot of tequila had sent him over the edge.

  “We’ll help you out,” Ben said. His stomach flipped beneath his ribs, filled with betrayal, fear.

  But he shoved it down. He needed the rational part of his brain.

  He could fall apart later.

  “No cops?”

  “No cops,” Sorren said behind him.

  Escoberra slid to the edge of the bed, swaying hard. He was a big man but between the two of them, they managed to get him down the stairs and outside.

  Carmen pulled away from her daughter and rushed up, throwing her arms around his neck. Escoberra lowered his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

  Ben reached out
, gripping Carmen’s shoulder gently. “We’re going to take him to the hospital.”

  “I’ve got him, sir,” Sorren said.

  A chubby military police officer walked up. “Are you the commander?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Ben said.

  “You got this, sir?”

  Ben nodded. “Yeah, we’ll take care of it.”

  Ben and Sorren got Escoberra into the cab of Sorren’s truck. Carmen and Hailey followed them in their car and slowly, the crowd dispersed, leaving Ben standing there, feeling useless and empty and angry.

  And wrong. He’d been wrong. He’d placed his faith in a man who had let him down.

  He needed… he just needed a few fucking minutes to pull himself back together.

  He stood at the edge of the corner lot in the military housing unit and tried not to fall apart.

  He should follow them to the hospital. He should get cleaned up and get the blood off his hands. Twisted, violent memories collided, coated in bright fucking blood red.

  “Hey LT, you okay?”

  “My guts hurt.”

  “No shit, Sherlock. You almost had a zipper self-installed.”

  Ben tried to lift his head.

  “Lay down and stay fucking still.”

  He looked up at Escoberra. “What the hell are you doing to me?” he asked.

  “Trying to keep your spleen from falling out,” Escoberra said. “Now hold still. The MEDEVAC is on the ground.”

  Ben looked down at his hands. They were covered with blood. His heart slammed against his ribs. And then his hands started shaking again as the adrenaline rolled off him in waves, leaving him barely upright.

  There were a million things he should be doing just then. A dozen other places he needed to be.

  Instead, he stood, unable to move. Unable to stop his racing thoughts. His mind kept replaying the incident over and over and over in his head.

  He bunched his hands into fists, breathing deeply, trying to get everything under control and failing badly.

  There was movement out of the corner of his eye.

  Olivia.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  He was bruised. He was bloody.

  He was shattered.

  She looked into his eyes and did not see the man she’d come to know looking back at her. This man looked like Ben but in his bleak gaze, she did not see any trace of the man who laughed with her during sex. Or who’d struggled so much to hold on to his soul while executing the toughest of duties.