Chapter 10 – Jensen
“Medically, I understand that this will fit,” she says. Her face is so serious it almost makes me laugh.
I smile at her. “But in reality?”
She winces. “It might hurt a little going in.”
“I’ll make sure you’re ready,” I promise, brushing my thumb over her hip bone. Her body responds without her realizing it, arching up to my touch like she wants more. She wants more of me.
That's something I might never be able to wrap my mind around.
She hooks one heel around my waist, pulling me closer to her until my cock's nestled against her soaked pussy. There’s nothing but a thin bit of plastic protecting us now. Her voice is quieter when she asks, “Whose room is next to yours?”
“Micah’s on one side, Raf’s on the other.”
“Do you think that they can hear what we’re doing?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so. Unless you want to get loud. I can pull your hair, grip the headboard, scream ‘Yes, Doctor Alba!’ a few times if you’d like to test it out,” I tease as I drag my cockhead through her pussy, feeling how warm and wet it is.
She swats at my chest. “No. That would be terrible. No one can know about this.”
I slide two fingers inside her, checking to be sure she’s ready. She's soaked. It'll fit.
I nod. “I know. You already said that." And it's starting to bother me. "Why’d you ask then?”
“I’m just checking.”
I pause, the question slipping out before I can stop it. “Would it really be the worst thing if people knew we slept together?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
It shouldn’t sting. I tell myself it’s because she’s the doctor for the Series.
That’s all. It has to be all. But the answer still lands low in my chest, right beneath the scar she fixed.
Because a part of me can't help wondering if it's more than that.
Maybe she's embarrassed by me. Embarrassed that she lowered her standards enough to spend one night with a guy who isn’t at her caliber.
Hell, the only other man she's ever been with was her fiancé. Of course she's embarrassed. She doesn't respect what I do. She thinks I'm reckless. Foolish. For her, this is just sex. I could be anyone, and it wouldn’t be different for her.
“You ready?” I ask quietly, trying to push aside thoughts of what comes after and the insecurities that always seem to find a way in when I least want them to. I need to focus on the time I have with her right now instead of worrying about the moment it's over. Because it will be over. Soon.
She nods, and I guide just the tip of me inside her. The tight, hot squeeze of entering her nearly blinds me. I go slow—painfully slow—because I don't want her to remember this night and associate it with hurt, and I know this might sting a little at first.
One inch. Then another. She sucks in a breath, watching me like her life depends on seeing every millimeter as it enters her. I drag myself out, then back in a little deeper. Again. And again. A slow push-pull until the last stiff part of me disappears inside her warmth, swallowed to the hilt.
She lets out a heavy breath. “Wow.”
“You okay?”
She nods. “Good.”
I press a palm gently over the top of her pelvis, feeling myself inside her.
Feeling how perfectly she takes me. How we fit in a way that doesn't make sense to anyone but us. Her scent mixes with mine—clean skin, nerves, cocoa, heat. Her hands smooth up my abs, then across my chest, right over the tattoo atop the heart she kept beating. I don’t think she even realizes she’s touching it, but I feel it. Like a zap straight through my core.
Her fingertips graze the tiny scar where she repaired me and my whole damn heartbeat stutters.
I'm planted inside her, toes curled into the mattress, thighs quaking like I don't ride bulls for a living, wondering what she's going to do next, and trying like hell not to move and fuck her into this mattress like I want to.
“You feel it?” I ask her, softly.
She doesn't answer. Instead, she turns her face to the side, jaw clenched. Like I've crossed some invisible line she keeps drawn around herself—one she knows I've seen. She feels the electrical pull between us too. She feels my heartbeat. She won’t admit it.
“Just move,” she whispers.
I pull out, slide back in, keeping my weight braced on my forearms so I don’t crush her. Her hands slip from my chest, leaving my heart cold, grabbing the bedsheets as she moans and arches into me.
“So deep.”
I thrust again. And again. Deeper each time. Until I hook one of her legs over my shoulder and drive into her harder. That’s when her control breaks. Her head tips back. Her mouth parts. Her breath stutters.
My hands drag up her arms, until I reach her palms that are splayed out at her sides.
Her fingers twitch under mine, like they’re trying to curl up and close me out.
I don’t let them. I lace them together, grounding us both.
Her eyes are closed, lashes shaking. And that’s when I realize I’m holding her hands.
These fucking hands. The hands that saved me. They’re small. Precise. Steady. And she's trusting me with them. The ones that have been inside my heart and are connected to the woman allowing me inside her body.
“You’re right,” I say roughly, staring at our joined hands while I’m being squeezed by her wet pussy. She clenches. I groan. I pull my hips back and watch the way my cock comes out covered in her arousal.
Fuck, I would live inside there if I could. She's perfect.
“…You’re right,” I repeat. “I was too rough with you earlier.”
Her eyes blink open, confusion on her face.
“Your hands are a fucking gift.” I bring our connected hands up to my mouth and kiss each one of her fingers on her left hand, slow, reverent, memorizing the tiny mole on her left ring finger like it’s something I’ll dream about later.
My heart still beats, but I can't tell if it's because it's supposed to, or because she's the one keeping it going.
I rock my hips forward, watching her stretch around me each time I push deeper. It’s fucking hypnotizing the way she takes me.
I lower her hand back to the bed and kiss her lips, sliding my tongue inside her mouth to taste her again. She’s so soft everywhere. Every part of her is like velvet.
“Am I being too rough?” I ask her again.
She shakes her head—no words, just that. Catalina isn’t cold at all. Damn the person who made her believe that. She’s molten. Malleable. She softens under pressure and blooms under heat. She’s honey, flowers in springtime, melted sugar on the tongue.
And for one terrifying second, it hits me—I think I get what Rafael means when he looks at June and just knows.
Her skin glows like warmth. Her brown eyes—when she opens them—are dark and liquid, terrified and guarded in equal measure. It's the same way I must look right now, because when our gazes collide, something shifts in her demeanor.
She pushes at my chest like she's trying to get me to back up. I lean back a little before she flips onto her stomach, breath shaky.
“From behind,” she whispers over her shoulder.
Distance. Yeah. That’s smart. I need that too.
I line myself up and slide back into her, lifting her hips to deepen the angle.
It should help—switching positions, not seeing her face, pretending this is just sex with anyone.
But it doesn’t matter whether I’m staring at her ass, or the back of my own eyelids in an empty hotel room.
I’m still thinking about her hands. About her body fitted in mine. About her mouth. About her lips.
About how she put me together…
…and how easily she could be the one to rip me apart.
I find her clit and rub tight, fast circles, trying to ground myself in something physical like the fact that she's just a body. Another woman. But this doesn't feel like just any other woman. She’s special.
She pushes back against me, chasing her orgasm like she needs another one to breathe.
When her soft moan slips out and her pussy clenches around me, coming for the second time, I lose control.
I bury myself inside her and come hard, my whole body locking up as the world narrows to her.
Her heat. Her sound. The way she takes every pulse of me through the condom.
And then my mind screams two things at the same time: run and stay. Treat this as just a fuck, the way she is, and tell her this won’t be the last time.
When the shaking leaves my legs, I pull out carefully. She flips onto her back immediately, staring at the ceiling fan unblinking like she’s in shock.
All I can do is look at her. Then at my dick and the full condom hanging on it. Then at her body again. I try to memorize this moment. Because something tells me this is the last time this is happening. And a greater part of me tells me I’m never going to forget this night.
I want to do that again. With her. Only her.
“Hold on,” I say gently. “Let me trash this. I’ll be right back.”
I get up, pad to the bathroom, dispose of the condom, wash my hands, wipe myself off, and look in the mirror. I look different.
I take a breath. Open the door. Ready to hold her.
Ready for round two. But she’s already gone, and I'm not surprised by that. The disappointment hardly even registers. Instead of thinking she’s cold for leaving without saying goodbye, I start thinking she’s so much warmer than I ever knew was possible.
Because where she was lying in the sheets is still warm, and the usual fuzziness in my head is quiet.
All because she touched me.