Page 88 of A Love That Broke Us
God, I love him.
My throat constricts, thick with emotion, as my orgasm rises—gathering low and deep, a slow burn spreading like wildfire. The heat intensifies with every stroke, and I close my eyes, bracing for the climax that’s about to take me over.
He slides his fingers lower, pushing them inside me as his thumb takes over. The pressure builds, pooling in the center of my thighs. My orgasm sends white-hot sparks shooting through my limbs, my hips tensing as I tighten around him, unraveling completely.
Gasps and moans echo softly around us as his fingers slow, and I sink back into him, melting—liquid and weightless in his arms.
His lips brush against my ear. “I love you so fucking much, Alley.”
He draws his fingers from me and tightens his hold. His forearmsflex around me, strong and steady. There’s something about the way he’s holding me—like he’s scared to let go.
Like he’s afraid of losing me.
“God, I love you.” His voice cracks, rough and unsteady, and something heavy settles in the air between us—an undercurrent of fear I don’t understand. It radiates off him, strong and suffocating, and I’ve never felt anything like it from him before.
I shift, turning just enough to see his face. The sorrow in his eyes, the quiet glisten on his cheeks. My heart lurches. His love for me is unmistakable, but it’s tangled up in something else. Something I can’t name. And it shakes me to my core.
“Hey,” I whisper, turning to fully face him.
I kiss him softly, and he kisses me back, deep and lingering, drawing my lips into his. My fingers drift beneath the water, gliding down his torso until I reach his cock. I wrap my hand around the base and slowly stroke him.
His hands catch my wrist, gently stopping me.
He shakes his head. “No,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper. “Not tonight, baby. Just you.”
His hand cups the back of my head, and he crashes his mouth to mine, kissing me with a desperation that’s hot as hell—and terrifying at the same time.
He stands abruptly, water streaming down his body, and steps out of the tub. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he walks into the bedroom leaving me satisfied, but deeply unsettled.
I’m warm and sated, but nowhere near at peace. Something about that moment didn’t feel right, and I can’t shake it.
I watch the candle flicker, shadows dancing on the wall, my heart pounding. He held me like he needed me. Like he was scared.
And then he walked away.
I stay there a while longer, letting the water cool around me, hoping clarity will come. It doesn’t, and sitting here isn’t helping.
Standing, I step out of the tub and wrap myself in a towel. I blow out the candle, and pad into the bedroom. The lamp is on. Jensen’s already lying down—naked, one arm draped across his abs, the othertucked behind his head. His eyes are closed. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, lips parted, hair still damp from the steam.
But he’s not asleep.
And he’s still mostly hard.
I let the towel fall.
Part of me wants to crawl in next to him, wrap myself around him, and drift off in the quiet comfort of his arms. But another part of me—it aches for that deeper connection. The part where he needs me too. The way that I need him.
I climb onto the bed and straddle him, my knees settling on either side of his thighs.
His brow twitches, eyes fluttering open slowly.
“Hey,” I whisper.
He hums, low and quiet, looking up at me. His hands rise lazily, skimming up my hips. “Hey,” he echoes, his voice thick and slurred with sleep.
I lean forward and kiss him softly. His mouth opens beneath mine, but there’s no urgency. Just a response—a reaction, but not desire.
I reach between us, wrap my hand around him, still semi-hard, and stroke gently.
