21. Maisy
21
MAISY
Jensen stares at me throughout Tatum and Jake’s sunrise wedding ceremony. He looks at the bride once and whispers something to Jake, then his gaze drifts back to me. Even while having our pictures taken afterward, he tracks my every move.
Yes, he looks delicious in a grey suit with a pink tie that matches my dress, but I have to pretend he doesn’t affect me. Give him an inch; he takes the whole circumference of the globe.
Tatum eyes me as I pour another mimosa. She thinks I drink too much when I’m in Walford, which was true the handful of times I visited her after she first returned. Back then, I needed to deal with the stress of being in this town. Since the mugging, however, I’m more diligent about how much alcohol I consume and where. At home or with close friends, I’ll relax and let my guard down, knowing I’m safe. Anywhere else, I limit my drink count to two.
Sipping from the champagne flute, I wander toward the table for the bride and groom on the back porch. As best man and maid of honor, Jensen and I have seats on either side of Jake and Tatum. They’ve asked us to give speeches, which I’m dreading. I hate public speaking and get jittery just thinking about it. The mimosas help.
“Can I talk to you inside?”
Heat radiating from Jensen’s body pulses against my back. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, secretly inhaling the rich blend of cedar and nutmeg from his cologne. To anyone watching, his presence irritates me. In truth, my heart pounds, and my belly flutters.
“Whatever you have to say, you can say it here.” I don’t face him, afraid he’ll see the flush rising in my cheeks. When he touches my hip, my eyes dart to the right to make sure no one is, in fact, watching us.
He steps closer, pressing against me, and whispers, “Get your ass in the house, birdie. Down the hall. Last door on the right. Now.”
“We have to give our speeches soon,” I argue, but the quick rise and fall of my chest tells a different story. His dominance turns me on, and my pathetic body also says get your ass in the house .
He squeezes my hip. “Now.”
I huff, feigning annoyance, and storm inside. I appear to be running away from him, but we both know I’m running toward whatever he’s offering.
Once I’m in the bathroom he directed me toward, I study my reflection in the mirror and wait. The image looking back at me is not me . She’s wanton, desperate, and submissive to her secret desires. This woman makes me angry, and I channel that anger, turning it on Jensen the second he sneaks through the door and locks it.
“What do you want?” I cross my arms over my chest, closing myself off to him.
He crowds me against the vanity and drags a finger along the neckline of my dress, across the swell of my left breast. “This dress is hideous. You would never wear something like this.”
“I’ll wear whatever makes Tate happy. It’s her wedding.”
My best friend is notorious for her poor fashion sense. She’s learned nothing from me over the years. This blush pink dress with a sequined bodice and long taffeta skirt with chiffon overlay is proof. Its only saving grace is the sweetheart neckline, which showcases my boobs. Boobs currently pushed up by my crossed arms, drawing Jensen’s gaze.
“Again, what do you want?”
“My five minutes. You’ve kept me waiting long enough.” His fingertip trails along the top of my other breast, and I smack his hand. He withdraws and slips both hands into the pockets of his slacks. “When are you leaving for New York?”
“Tomorrow. How did you know the gig is in New York?”
“I pay attention. How long will you be gone?”
I shrug a shoulder and, in the narrow space between him and the vanity, turn toward the mirror and pick at my curls. “I’m not sure. I may go to California for a few days afterward. So…a week?”
He towers behind me. When I glance at his face in the mirror, I’m met with a clenched jaw and eyes full of despair. Frustration and wretchedness, a tricky combination of emotions to navigate through.
“Please don’t stay away that long.”
Arching a brow, I say, “Oh, we’re begging now.”
“I’ve been begging. I’ll keep begging.” He reaches for me but stops short, balling his hands into fists. His gruff voice strains when he says, “It’s so hard to stop myself from touching you.”
A thrill zings through me as an opportunity presents itself, and I spin around. Staring into those chartreuse eyes, I keep my tone even, my facial expression blank. “A worthy man would beg on his knees.”
Without hesitation, the mighty, poised Jensen Holloway drops to his knees before me, and my inner boss-bitch roars from the power surging through my veins. I lean against the counter and curl my fingers around the edge of the granite, channeling my excitement into my white-knuckled grip to keep it off my face. He’s not much shorter than me in our current positions, but having the higher ground bolsters my confidence.
“What would you beg for first?” I ask.
He wets his lips, eyes locked on my mouth. “A kiss.”
“Then kiss me.”
The command barely leaves me before he tugs me down to his chest and claims my lips. He’s everywhere, his large hands exploring and groping and squeezing. He licks into my mouth with deep, passionate strokes of his tongue. I match each one, pouring my desire down his throat on an aggressive moan.
How many nights have I fantasized about watching him unravel beneath my spell? Too many to count. It’s finally happening, and I wish we were anywhere other than a tiny bathroom at my best friend’s wedding.
“What else?” I ask, breathless and panting as he nibbles my jaw and sucks on my throat. “What will you beg for next?”
He drags his juicy bottom lip up my neck to my ear and whispers, “A taste.”
Oh my god. Yes.
“Our speeches,” I say.
“Five minutes.” His rumbling plea dampens my panties.
We don’t have any minutes to spare, but I’m too far gone to care, drowning in his musky cologne and the warmth of his body against mine.
With a boldness I’ve never felt in my life, I issue a challenge. “What can you possibly do in five minutes?”
Guiding me to my feet, he looks up at me from his kneeling position. Hunger and victory shine in his eyes, and a shameless smirk teases his lips. Drunk on false power and blinded by lust, I’ve stumbled right into his trap. In one fluid motion, he shoves my dress up and rips my thong down my legs, stuffing the panties in the pocket of his suit jacket.
He gathers the material of my skirt, bunching it at my waist. “Hold this.”
I fist the fabric with both hands and gasp when he hoists me onto the counter. He parts my legs slowly, savoring the anticipation as he unwraps the gift sitting in front of him. I help him along, planting my heels on the granite and spreading myself wide.
A sharp gasp passes his lips when his gaze lands on my smooth, bare sex. “Birdie,” he whispers, the sound like a wave rushing ashore and knocking me off my unsteady feet. It’s a good thing I’m not standing.
I’m unable to hide my desire or breathlessness when I command, “Taste me.”
Still on his knees, Jensen lunges forward. He licks me from opening to clit and groans. “Fuck. You taste like my perfect undoing.”
He parts my labia with his thumbs and spears me with his tongue, burrowing deep before licking a path to my clit. The most erotic sounds pour from his throat as he devours me, and each one pushes me closer to the edge.
“Four minutes.” My ragged, shallow breaths come faster.
He nibbles and flicks and plunges. The scruff of his short beard rubs against my sensitive skin, adding to the euphoric sensations coursing through me. Lost in mind-altering pleasure, I struggle to remember we’re limited on time.
“Three minutes.”
I grab a fistful of his hair, and he moans when I tug the strands a little too hard and roll my hips. The man is doing things with his tongue I’ve never imagined, destroying me from the outside in. All the while, his intense gaze holds mine, knocking brick after brick from the stubborn wall I’ve erected between us.
“T-two minutes,” I stutter, my breaths sawing through me as I climb toward release. “God, you’re good at this.”
He hums in response to my praise, and the vibration shoots all the way up my spine, sending tingles across my scalp. My body’s a live wire as he brings me closer to orgasm with every swirl of his tongue and scrape of his teeth. Hot damn.
“One minute. I’m so close.” I whine —whine!— like a pouty brat because I don’t want this unbelievable moment to end.
When he adds a finger, pumping it in and out of me at an unforgiving pace, my legs shake, and I whimper his name. When his teeth graze my clit, and he sucks it hard between his lips, my muscles seize and my breath stalls. Just before my neurons explode from incomparable pleasure, he tears himself away and rises to his feet.
Chest heaving, I gape at him, incredulous. “What the?—”
“All I wanted to do was talk.” He sucks his finger clean, relishing my flavor on his skin. Then he wets the decorative towel to wipe his beard and hands. His movements are languid as he speaks to his reflection in the mirror. “You’re not in charge here, birdie, and I won’t let you manipulate me. You want to run away again? Fine. Go ahead and run. But this is your shot with me. You won’t get another one.”
He tosses the towel in the sink, fixes his hair, and adjusts his crotch. Twisting the doorknob, he pauses with his back to me. “At least now I know the answer to your question.”
“What question?” My throat is dry, and my voice cracks under the weight of defeat.
A dare edges out the disappointment in his eyes when he looks over his shoulder. “In five minutes, I can have you screaming my name.”
With that, he exits the bathroom. The click of the door closing behind him might as well be a maniacal crack of thunder. I flinch at the sound and draw my knees together, covering them with my dress. His disapproval obliterates my earlier confidence, and I hug my trembling legs while replaying his warning.
“…this is your shot with me. You won’t get another one.”
He threatens me with the same words I spoke to him the day everything went to shit between us. I followed through then, turning my threat into a promise. Will he do the same? Better yet, am I willing to find out?
After checking my hair and makeup in the mirror, I tuck away the vulnerability lingering at my surface and square my shoulders before rejoining the wedding celebration. Jensen, not the least bit disheveled in appearance, speaks with Rock and Brody as if his head wasn’t between my legs minutes ago. He doesn’t spare me a glance, and his blatant disregard stings. So that’s what it feels like.
I drop into my seat at the table and snag the half-empty flute I abandoned earlier. My gaze lands on Marcus, who stares at me, his thick brows raised in accusation. I roll my eyes at him and down the last of my drink in a single gulp.
Tatum dances with Jake, and when our eyes connect, I’m surprised to find curious amusement in hers rather than the disappointment I expected. Obviously, I missed my speech, but she’s not bothered. With zero subtlety, her gaze shifts between me and Jensen with a knowing smirk on her lips.
I mouth sorry and offer her a wink and a shrug. She shakes her head, smiling as she turns her attention back to her husband. Genuine happiness for my friend puts a grin onto my face as they dance, lost in their own world of bliss. And I wonder if I’ll be the one in a beautiful gown someday, swept away in the loving eyes and arms of the man who refuses to look at me for the rest of the wedding reception.