Chapter 27 – Catalina
Maybe I shouldn’t have said that last part to Jensen.
But judging by the way his body has gone rigid behind me, the way his breath is punching out of his chest like I shook something feral loose, my words definitely lit a fire in him.
I bite down hard on my bottom lip, refusing to make a sound as he enters me in one thick, punishing thrust. The stretch is rough and slow and burning and so fucking good it knocks the air out of me.
He grunts from behind me and when I glance up, I catch his gaze locked on my ass in the mirror—tracking every inch of my body instead of my face.
Of course, that’s where he’s looking.
I don’t know what I expected. Maybe some groveling. Tears. Some grand speech about how sorry he is for not shutting that shit down with Davis and how much I mean to him.
He already apologized. I heard him. I did. But this—this hit too deep. Even if he doesn't realize it. Even if I realize it’s not entirely his fault that I’m ending things with us.
Maybe I’m punishing him. Maybe I’m acting immaturely.
I know the truth. I’m doing this to punish myself.
Because after Davis hurt me, I swore I wouldn’t fall for another man who didn’t believe in me without question.
I promised I wouldn’t hand my heart to someone who needed reassurance that I was smart enough.
Pretty enough. Good enough to be with them.
And yet here I am... feet spread wide, bent over a bathroom counter, having met his grandma under the pretense that I had nothing better to do with a few days off, letting Jensen Grant fill me with his cock like he owns me.
He lifts his gaze to the mirror and catches my eyes. For half a second, I see the confusion and pain that's behind them, and for a moment I feel guilt. Then I shove the feeling down where it belongs.
I’m done wasting my emotional capacity on men who don’t fully choose me.
I know I’m confusing him. I know this looks messy.
A week tangled together in Tennessee sheets, laughing and fucking and pretending this could be casual, and now I’m asking him to fuck me roughly so I can feel some pain to match my hurt.
I was never going to go on the double-date with June tonight.
A week ago, she’d made me swipe right on a few guys because tonight’s our only night in San Jose.
She was already meeting someone and turned it into a whole double-date situation that she was excited about.
I was not. That had been before Tennessee and Jensen.
I’d planned on telling her about Jensen privately this evening but had gotten caught up in reviewing Olivia’s case notes and surgery preparation as soon as I left the hospital. And then, after the rodeo… well… Davis happened.
I don’t want to go on this date. I never wanted to go. I already know I’ll hate it. Yet there’s a part of me that thinks I should go anyway just to prove a point to myself. The point being that what Jensen and I had was always meaningless.
I bend further forward at the waist, deliberately changing the angle, giving him more. Jensen’s hands grab my hips, fingers digging in as he pulls almost all the way out just to slam back into me again. It’s so deep; I can practically feel him in my throat.
It feels good. It always does with him. And if I let my mind go there even for a second, I’ll remember that it’s only ever felt like this with him. I've only ever felt this sexually free and satisfied when he’s inside me.
“Fuck,” he rasps. “You feel so good. So perfect, Kitty.”
Perfect. A word that I used to strive to be in everything I did.
Right now, it doesn't feel like a good thing. It feels like something that's being held against me. Because I’m not perfect. I have unhealed wounds from my past relationship that are spilling into the present. I struggle with insecurities that have followed me around my entire life. I’m at times defensive, and quick to shut down rather than talking things through.
I know he’s struggling back there. I can feel it in the way his thrusts are stuttering, in the way he’s holding himself just shy of losing control. Torn between wanting me and knowing this feels like an ending. Torn between believing I’ll forgive him after this, and terrified that I won’t.
One hand slides around my waist, finding my clit with practiced ease, rubbing me exactly the way he knows will unravel me fast. It always works too fast and that’s the problem right now.
With Davis, fingers alone never did much.
Oral was rarely given, conditional, something that I earned from him on special occasions, holidays, or if he ended up drinking too much.
But Jensen...Jensen touches me twice, and my body lights up like it’s been waiting its whole life for him. He proudly enjoys giving just as much as receiving. And I can’t let that happen tonight.
I don’t want sweet.
I don’t want careful.
I don’t want him looking at me like this means something.
I shove his hand away from my clit, hard.
“Catalina,” he growls, pausing mid-thrust.
I rock back into him without hesitation, taking his cock all the way inside me, forcing a sharp curse from his throat as I impale myself on him.
“Don’t stop,” I say, breathless. “If you’re going to fuck me, finish it without your fingers.”
He groans and tries to reach around my waist again for my clit. I shove my hips forward, pressing them hard into the cold marble sink so that there’s no room for his hand to go where he wants it. The bite of the rock is going to hurt, but I don't care. Jensen will come tonight but I refuse to.
“Let me fucking touch you,” he grits out. “Let me help you come.”
“No.” I arch my back more, just enough to make it worse for him. “Fuck me like this, or don’t fuck me at all.”
He shifts, trying to turn me, trying to get my face to look at him outside of the mirror, trying to ground this in something softer, something gentle. I shake my head, gripping the edge of the sink, dropping my chin to my chest until my knuckles burn.
“Get it over with, Jensen.”
“Let’s talk about this.”
I fold my arms on the counter and drop my forehead onto them, the sting behind my eyes is sharp and sudden.
I shouldn’t have done this. I’m not in the right head space right now.
I think about Davis. About how little we actually fought since we rarely spent time together outside of the hospital.
About how every disagreement died before it ever had a chance to matter—because he never cared enough to fight for me.
I think that was it. Back then, I didn't see it that way.
I thought not fighting was a good thing.
Does Jensen care enough to argue with me? It seems like he does. It seems like he doesn't want to drop this. It doesn’t matter. This needs to end. I’m not good for him. I’m not perfect.
He exhales when I don’t reply, and it's a defeated sigh, before he slides back into me slowly. The new pace he sets is reverent, a careful rocking like he’s waiting for me to soften and start talking, for me to break and say never mind!
I don’t. Instead, I shove my hips backward, forcing him deeper, making him stumble and grab onto me to keep from losing his footing.
He growls, low and frustrated, trying to regain control, trying to slow me down and set the pace like he still thinks he can steer where this is going. Maybe I'd given up some control to Jensen during our short time together, but my heart was always still guarded.
It’ll always be this way until I deal with the hurt that Davis left behind. And that’s the cold truth.
I shove back again.
“Harder,” I say.
His breathing turns ragged. He curses under his breath, fingers digging into my hips. The red polish I painted onto his nails flashes against my brown skin. It's bright and violent. Like blood and the marks that he'll leave on my skin.
“Hurry up. It’s too slow,” I demand.
He thrusts faster, but it’s still not enough. He’s doing this on purpose. He’s savoring.
“Harder, dammit!”
“Fuck,” he snarls. “Kitty—”
He slams into me, finally giving in, hips snapping hard enough to make the sink creak against the wall. My body jolts with every thrust, porcelain bites into the front of my hips, the pressure bruises my skin. It hurts. I don’t care. I want it to sting.
“Is this what you want?” he growls into my ear, his chest flattening against my back, his size swallowing me whole. “Because I fucked up. I know I did.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, jaw tight.
“I’m sorry for what I said when I came out of anesthesia,” he pants, thrusts turning rougher, more desperate with each time he enters me. “You're right. The first assumption is never that the woman is the doctor. That’s fucked up."
Thump. Thump. Thump.
"And I should’ve pushed that other doctor away tonight. I should’ve told him to fuck off. I should’ve said my girl already cleared me—”
My chest tightens painfully. He bottoms out hard on every thrust now, breath uneven, control slipping.
“… But I didn’t,” he says, voice breaking just a little. “I didn't see the harm in a second opinion at the time. And now you’re punishing me for a mistake, Catalina. This reaction doesn’t fit what happened. The punishment doesn’t fit the crime.”
Something in me goes still. I bite down hard on my bottom lip, holding myself together through sheer force of will. I refuse to let my body have its way. I refuse to come.
Not again.
Not tonight.
This is the last time he gets this much of me.
I hold back as long as I can—until I feel him tense, hear the broken sound he makes, feel the heat of his warm release spill inside me.
When I’m sure he’s finished, I roll out from under him before he can touch me again.
Before he can get me to come. I move fast. Leaving him standing there in complete shock.
I gasp as I get my footing behind him. He grunts. His hand flies to his bare cock, still half-hard, still dripping a little, realization hitting him all at once that I didn’t finish.