Page 80 of Beyond the Fame

Still, neither of us speaks.

It’s not until we’re out of the shower and he’s drying me off that I finally ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he says almost immediately.

I consider trying to force him to talk, but I worry he’s mentally preparing himself to end things.

No. He wouldn’t do that. Would he?

The real reason I don’t push him is because of the progress he’s making with his fear of putting himself out there. He no longer retreats to a shell of a man when faced with an onslaught of emotions, and we have been drowning in emotions for the past couple of days.

We both care for each other and it’s not something either of us is used to experiencing.

So, while he may be quiet and refuse to talk about what’s bothering him, I let him work it all out in his head. If I force him, he may never feel comfortable talking to me.

Once clean and dry, he leads me out of the massive bathroom into his room.

“I want to make love to you,” he whispers against my lips and sinks me down onto the bed.

We've had a lot of sex over the past few days, and this, by far, is the best he’s given me. It’s raw, sensual, patient.

He doesn’t give me control. He doesn’t take control either. It's just the two of us, surrendering ourselves to one another.

After seeing stars and experiencing the most mind-blowing orgasm of my life, we cuddle. He wraps his burly arms around me, and my cheek rests against his chest. He rubs his thumb back and forth over one of the scars underneath my breast. Scars he’s yet to ask me about.

I can feel his heartbeat thudding frantically, and I'm not sure if it’s from the sex we just had or his nerves.

“Are you okay?”

He kisses my neck, then inhales deeply. “Yes.”

“Jensen, we should talk about what happens when we leave here.”

He tucks his finger underneath my chin and turns my head to look at him. “I know.” He slants his mouth over mine and kisses me with such desperation. “Tomorrow, okay? I just want to hold you tonight.”

Before I can argue, his lips return to mine and suddenly I'm okay with waiting until tomorrow.

I wake to an empty bed, cozy beneath soft blankets tucked to my neck, which I’m guessing Jensen did when he left. My stomach dips with worry that he’s gone. That he didn’t just leave the bed but left the resort. Left me. But I spot his suitcase and belongings still strung across the floor at the foot of the bed.

I get up and use the restroom, then put on a robe. I find Jensen at the table in the dining nook next to the kitchen, wearing a black t-shirt and black boxer briefs. He must have woken up in the middle of the night to take out his contacts, because he has his black-rimmed glasses on.

He looks like a sexy professor sitting in front of his laptop, a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Hey,” I say, my voice hoarse from sleep and sex.

“Good morning, Ami. How’d you sleep?”

“Amazing.” I glance at the clock on the TV in the living room. 9 a.m. “Why are you up so early?”

“I got thirsty and came out here to get water. Then I saw your laptop, and it was open to your manuscript.”

Wait. That’s not his laptop, it’s mine.

“Oh.” I perk up, my back straight and shoulders back. He’s reading my book? No other person has set eyes on that book yet. Not even my agent.

My stomach twists with nerves, tangling with anger that he helped himself to my personal laptop.

“I see you’re getting pissed, but I swear I was going to just close it because you didn’t have it plugged in and it was about to die. Actually, did you turn off the screen saver and sleep mode? You should really turn all that back on, so it’ll save power when you’re not actively using it—”

---