Page 44 of A Love That Broke Us
I catch my breath before slipping into the bathroom to wash up and ready myself for bed. When I return, Jensen’s already under the covers, his arms immediately wrapping around me, pulling me close.
These are my favorite moments. The sex and orgasms are incredible, obviously. But this—being held in Jensen’s arms, drifting off as he spoons me, his hand cupped lazily around my breast—is the best thing in the world. Nothing beats it.
Nothing.
The room is quiet now, just the soft sounds of the city beyond the window and the rhythm of his breathing. His fingers trace lazy patterns over my stomach as I relax into his touch, that familiar content humming in my veins.
His touch slows, and his breath deepens. He’s falling asleep.
I grin into my pillow. He always knocks out so fast after sex—sleeps like a damn baby. I turn, pressing a soft kiss to his chest, thenroll onto my back. My thumb rubs along the new ring on my finger, a smile creeping as it all sinks in.
I’m getting married.
With my coffee in hand,I retreat to the living room, curling into my favorite spot on the oversized chaise lounge. The city stretches beyond the window, a soft haze clinging to the skyline. My legs tuck beneath me as I sink deeper into the cushions.
It’s almost ten, and Jensen’s still in bed. We rarely sleep past nine, but the party went late last night.
I scan the apartment. It’s a mess in here, but I force myself to stay put and enjoy the stillness of the morning. My eyes drift to my ring finger. It’s been almost a week now, and my heart still flutters every time I see it. Smiling, I bring my mug to my lips.I’m engaged.
The bedroom door swings open, and Jensen pads into the kitchen—rumpled, groggy, hair sticking up in every direction.
My gaze follows him as he moves straight to the coffee pot, his boxer briefs slung low on his hips.
“Hey, babe,” he rasps, voice rough with sleep.
My heart lurches at the sight of him, and I can’t help but laugh as he opens the fridge to grab the creamer, his underwear doing nothing to hide the raging erection pressing against them.
This is love. Right here. Quiet Saturday mornings, bedhead, coffee in your underwear. These are the moments I live for.
“Good morning,” I say, standing and making my way toward him.
He glances at me over his shoulder. “What are you laughing at?”
“You,” I say. “Do you ever wake up without that thing?”
Jensen chuckles, setting the creamer on the counter before pulling me into him, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “Hmm. No. They don’t call it morning wood for nothing, babe.”
“I know. I just thought it might, you know… taper off with age. But here you are, in your thirties, still rocking morning wood like a champ.”
He scoffs. “I’m thirty-two, not dead. Jesus. I don’t assume Lola’s gonna dry up the second you hit thirty.”
I snort. “Okay, morning wood and the ability to get it up are not the same thing. I wasn’t implying you wouldn’t be able to get an erection.”
“Don’t call it an erection. We’re not at the hospital,” he says, laughing. “God, I hate when you use clinical terminology on my manhood. Clark deserves better than that, Al. And after everything he does for Lola?” He clicks his tongue, shaking his head.
I giggle, biting my lip. Yes, he named my vagina Lola. And his dick? Clark—after Clark Kent, you know—Superman. Because, of course he would.
I press a slow, lingering kiss to his chest, breathing him in—salt, musk, and the faintest trace of last night still clinging to his skin. When I look up, he’s watching me, that familiar spark in his eyes.
“Oh, you think Lola’s a lucky girl?” I ask.
“Psh. I know she is, babe. Clark delivered hardcore last night.”
I laugh. “And what about Clark? I’d say he’s pretty damn lucky, too.”
He cups my face, his thumb grazing my cheek. “Oh, he’s the luckiest motherfucker on the planet.”
Then his lips crush against mine, warm and insistent, his hand sliding to the back of my neck, pulling me in deeper.
