Page 35 of A Love That Broke Us
“Come here,” he murmurs, closing the space between us. He shifts, pulling me in, and our lips meet. My nose is stuffed, my head is pounding, and somewhere in the back of my mind I’m worried about getting him sick. But it doesn’t matter. It’s healing—physically, emotionally. The past, the present, all the broken pieces coming back together beneath Jensen’s mouth.
“Do you want me to stop so you can get some sleep?” he whispers against my skin.
I’m already shaking my head when he grins against my lips. “Or do you want to be a pillow princess so I can help you forget all about this cold?”
“Pillow princess,” I whisper, pleading softly.
He leans in, voice husky. “Is that a command?”
I nod.
“Good.”
He trails slow kisses down my jaw and neck, his hand sliding under the blanket to cup my breast, palming it gently.
I gasp, heat flooding my core and surging through my veins. Suddenly, I’mhot—and I pray it’s from him, not a fever. I reach for the hard length beneath his joggers, but he swats my hands away.
“No way, baby. You’re sick. I’m taking care of you tonight.”
His hand slides down my stomach and dips into my sweats, and I arch into him. He circles his fingers against my clit, drawing out a soft moan. “Babe,” I whisper, my eyes squeezing shut.
“Hey,” he says softly. “Open your eyes.”
So I do.
He meets my gaze. “I love you.”
Then he’s kissing me again before I can respond, filling me with the best remedy in the world.
Don’t they say that food is the best medicine?
Bullshit.
Jensen is.
Chapter Twelve
ALLEY
PRESENT DAY
The cab pulls upto our building, and I step out, the rain hitting instantly, soaking me in the fifteen feet it takes to reach the entrance.
Inside, the lobby blurs—familiar people, familiar space, but I barely see any of it. My feet carry me to the elevator, my brain blanking the moment I step inside. The doors close, but I don’t move. I just stand there, staring.
My phone rings. I yank it from my purse, pulse spiking.Jensen.
No—Adam.
I send it to voicemail, a lump forming, tightening my throat. The weight of why he’s calling pressing on my chest, constricting my goddamn heart until I swear it might explode. Of all nights for something else to go wrong. Why tonight?
A text dings.
I slump against the elevator wall, my fingers sluggish as I swipe up.
Adam
I just talked to Michael. How are you holding up?
