Page 87 of A Love That Broke Us
“Alright. I’ll just be here.”
I grab a few things from my suitcase and head for the bathroom. The guest bath has one of those freestanding tubs—big, with the perfect slope. I use it every time I visit.
I start the water and plug the drain, brushing my teeth while I wait for it to fill. Dimming the lights, I add some salts and light a candle before slipping out of my dress and stepping into the tub.
I sink down into the hot water, letting it wash over my skin.
“Oh, wow,” I breathe.God, that feels so good.
I close my eyes and try to quiet my thoughts. In through the nose, out through the mouth—slow, long, meditative breaths. I count to four on each inhale and exhale. Every time my thoughts drift back to Jensen and the pain he’s in, I force them back to the count.
Something feels… off. Leaving the party was unusual enough. But what really gets me is that he didn’t get handsy on the way home—didn’t slide a hand up my dress, didn’t whisper something filthy in my ear. We’ve been home for a while now, and there’s been no attempt to have sex. No playful teasing. Nothing.
I glance down at the edge of the tub, lips pressing into a frown.I was wearing a short dress.That’s not Jensen. That’s never Jensen.How much pain is he in if he’s not even thinking about sex?
It almost stings. But I know it’s not personal.
Damn. Stay focused. One, two…
The bathroom door creaks open, and I open my eyes. Jensen stands over me, a familiar smirk forming on his lips.
There he is.
The medicine must be kicking in. He looks better now, like the pain has eased. He pulls his shirt over his head, then pushes his joggers and underwear down, stepping out of them without a word.
“Room for one more?”
Warmth floods me, low and fluttery, spreading through my chest and down between my legs. Grinning, I slide toward the middle of the tub. Jensen steps in behind me and sinks down, his legs framing mine. He pulls me back against him, his arms wrapping around my body, firm chest pressed to my back.
His mouth finds the spot just behind my ear, lips dragging slow kisses along my neck. One hand cups my breast, his thumb circling my nipple in lazy, perfect strokes. I feel his cock throbbing behind me, hard and hot against the base of my spine.
His other hand trails lower, gliding across my stomach, inching toward that deep, steady thrum building between my thighs. Goosebumps prick my arms, and I melt into him, body going pliant, like we’re sinking into the same pulse.
When his fingers reach my pubic bone, my legs part instinctively, resting open against his. But instead of going where I crave, his touch veers slightly, brushing that soft, hypersensitive skin along my inner thigh.
The thrum turns into a steady pounding, like a heartbeat deep in my core, heat radiating into every inch of my body. My head falls back against his chest, lips parting as a soft sigh escapes into the air. My hips shift beneath me, aching for more of his touch.
A deep chuckle vibrates behind me, echoing off the porcelain walls of the tub.
He keeps teasing me. Tracing slow circles along my inner thighs, his fingertips barely dusting my skin. The heat of his touch blurs into the warmth of the water, sharpening my focus, pulling all my attention to every stroke.
My hands slide down to his thighs, gripping tight, nails digging in.I press back against his hard length, and his arm tightens around me, pulling me flush against him—the same hand still cupping my breast, fingers toying with my nipple.
Then,finally, his fingers slip lower, gliding over my slit and circling my clit.
I gasp, melting deeper into him as my pelvic floor tightens, hips arching to meet his touch.
“You like that?” Jensen murmurs, his breath hot against my ear as he kisses a slow path along my jaw.
I moan in response.
His fingers have always been magic, pulling pleasure from places I didn’t even know existed. Not until him. No one else has ever satisfied me the way he does, quieted my cravings like he can.
My gaze drops, drawn to the way the muscles in his forearm flex with every motion, his veins rising from the tension. Watching him work me, watching those hands—it’s almost enough to push me over the edge.
They’re big. Strong. Masculine. Capable of being both firm and impossibly gentle. The way they cradle me when we sleep. The way they hold me when I’m hurting. The way they pleasure me when I’m burning with need.
The way they make me feel safe.
