Page 39 of Beyond the Fame

“Fuck, yes, Jensen,” she yells before I spread her legs back apart.

“Tell me I'm yours,” I say and plunge a finger inside her.

“You’re mine.” She pants as I pump slowly.

My mouth returns to her clit. By the time I'm adding a second finger, she’s close to coming again. Her walls pulse and suck around my digits as I thrust them in and out, over and over.

She needs more, so I curl the tip of my middle finger to find that spot. The moment I graze it, I drag my teeth over her clit. She screams and explodes with another orgasm. Her thighs squeeze my head again, burying my face deeper as she rides her release. When her body finally lowers down to the bed, she lets out a shaky breath before spreading her legs to free me.

I crawl up her body, placing soft kisses along her stomach, then between her breasts, and up her throat. I pause, not sure if she wants me to kiss her while my beard is covered in her release.

To my surprise, she crashes her lips to mine, letting out a quiet hum as she tastes herself on them. She nips my bottom lip, and I grind my hard dick against her still swollen pussy.

She reaches down for it again.

“No,” I laugh and jump up from the bed.

“Why not?”

“Because tonight isn’t about me.”

I’ve spent four years fighting my attraction to Rebecca. She’s the first woman I’ve wanted to take my time with and prioritize her pleasure over my own. I plan to spend these next few days losing ourselves to each other and catching up on what we’ve been missing.

Plus, as much as I want my dick in her mouth, she can barely keep her eyes open. I can see she’s had a long day and we both have an even longer one tomorrow. I’m going to need her energized for what I have planned tomorrow night.

I hold out my hand, and she scowls at it.

“Come on. I’m going to clean you up.”

Her eyes widen, it was fast, but I caught it. Despite her confusion, and her wariness of me not letting her go down on me, she places her hand in mine. I walk us to the oversized bathroom and start the water in the jacuzzi.

Rebecca stands there watching it fill but turns her focus on me once I start stripping.

I unbutton my short-sleeve shirt and shed it off my body, tossing it to the marbled floor. My shorts follow. Rebecca’s blue eyes widen at the sight of my dick straining against my black boxer briefs.

When I wrench them down, my erection springs free, pointing directly at her. She steps forward and I hold my breath, expecting her to wrap her fingers around it.

She doesn’t. Instead, she places her palms on my chest and runs them up and down my pecks, over my arms, then around to my back before resting on my love handles.

She presses light kisses along my chest—gentle, tiny kisses that make my heart thunder behind my rib cage. I let out a shuddering breath.

“Are you okay?” she asks, tilting back. Her brows pinch with concern.

“Yes,” I nearly whisper.

I don’t tell her I never let women touch me so intimately. How I never let them explore my body the same way I give such detailed attention to theirs. I don’t tell her that the last time I had sex was over a year ago.

I'm nervous.

Rebecca’s fingertips skim along the ink on my chest (dark storm clouds with lightning strikes placed throughout, which I got at the beginning of Mylan’s downfall when I was deep in my own depression). On my left arm, I have a nature half-sleeve: trees, a mountain, a river, birds.

It’s the full sleeve on my right arm that piques her interest. “What is this from?” Her touch hovers over a scene from my favorite movie.

“Seriously?”

She laughs. “Yes, seriously.”

“Star Wars.”

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