Page 12 of The Reward of You

“Love you, Sam,” she murmurs against my mouth.

My heart stills. She can’t mean that beyond the heat of the moment, right? I mean, I know I love her, but the two sides of the equation aren’t that equal.

“I can see I’m going to have to repeat that a few thousand times before you believe me,” she comments dryly.

“Don’t hate that idea,” I grunt, before rolling us over.

8

I’m giddy with the weight of anxiety that’s been lifted from me now that Sam has well and thoroughly fucked me. Out of nowhere, I no longer fear looking like an ignorant fool because a man will judge me for a lack of proficiency. Sam won’t and he’s now the only person whose opinion matters in these things.

I know he thinks I just said the L word in the throes of passion. But I didn’t. He was the one orgasming at the time. I know what I said, and I meant it and it had nothing and everything to do with sex. Really, it’s about trust. Trusting him means everything to me. And the way he went about earning that trust? Well, my heart was the bonus gift.

Sam’s big hands slide slowly down my back like he can’t quite stop touching. It’s fine by me. I shift slightly, still feeling the stretch of his cock splitting me wide. I’m not ready to give that up either. Somewhere in there the blindfold came off so I eye whatever he was holding my limbs with in curiosity. I wonder if he’d let me do that to him?

I lift my head and give him an inquisitive look. He understands my silent question and chuckles. “Maybe. But probably not before our honeymoon. I don’t want you getting bored too early and changing your mind.”

I yawn happily and settle my head down on his chest. I know we can’t stay like this forever, but it sure would be nice. Sam drops a kiss on my nose and brings the covers up and over us. I guess he’s not in a hurry to break apart, either.

He wakes me in the morning with a kiss that I can feel to the soles of my feet. I don’t even have an instant to worry about morning breath. I try to pull him down to join me in the bed, but he resists. “Beautiful, the girls are downstairs waiting for pancakes. I’m only here to wake you up to join us.”

I pout at this disappointing news. “When did you get up? Or did you go back to your house last night?” I try to remember if I woke up in the night, but the last thing I remember was curling up on top of him.

Sam gives me a stern look. “No. You’ve got me addicted, beautiful, and I’m not going anywhere without you ever again. Now get your butt out of bed so I can fatten it with pancakes.”

I slide out of bed and turn around to stare at my rear. “Does it need fattening?” I ask, puzzled.

“No, baby,” Sam sighs as I once again go too literal for the rest of the world. “Every inch of you is perfect. And always will be.”

I stretch up on my tiptoes to kiss him. “I meant it when I said I love you, Sam.”

His chiseled cheekbones turn ever so slightly pink. I scurry into the bathroom with a smile and take my favorite calendar Sam down for the last time. I’ve got the real thing waiting for me downstairs. And I’ll bet he’ll be willing to hang out with me in the bathroom whenever I have the urge for a bubble bath.

At the breakfast table Bea is her usual bubbly self talking a mile a minute, mostly to nobody in particular. Sam is kind enough to respond to about one in every five questions and Bea is beaming with this level of acknowledgment. My usually morose teen has stopped fighting a grin, although she is trying to hide it behind a pancake. Her eyes give her delight away and when she notices me in the doorway she smirks.

I’m not sure why I’m the one blushing but I can feel the heat tinge my cheeks. Maybe it’s because Miranda is old enough to understand that Sam wasn’t curled up on the floor in a sleeping bag last night.

“Sorry, Bea. These are for your mom. She looks hungry,” Sam says quietly sliding a stack of steaming pancakes onto a plate before handing it to me. Bea doesn’t even bother to look disappointed.

“Mom? When is Sam moving in? His pancakes are better than yours.”

Sam winces slightly at that but the comparison doesn’t bother me in the slightest. “Maybe let’s give him a chance to get used to us in small doses.”

Bea nods dejectedly, but it’s Sam that objects. “I’m more of a rip the bandaid off fast kind of guy but it’s your space.”

“He can sleep in my room!” Bea announces quickly.

Sam tousles her hair gently. “Thanks, kid. But I’ve got my eye on your mom’s bed and I won’t settle for less.”

Amazingly Bea just nods in understanding and watches me carefully over a forkful of pancake dripping with syrup.

I’m supposed to tread carefully here, right? Or maybe a part of me still thinks this is all too good to be true. Basically, the ideal man living right next door and ready to move in tonight forever.

And Sam, being basically perfect, simply smiles at me gently and redirects Bea to discussing the relative merits of cartoons versus reading on a lazy Saturday morning.

Not that we ever get one of those. Before I can even formulate a plan for the day, Sam drops a kiss on my forehead.

“I have laundry of my own to do, so I’ll get out of your hair for a while. But you know where to find me.” He gives a jaunty salute and then he’s gone, leaving me frowning after him. Why didn’t he say something about when he’ll be back orwhento go to his house?

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