29. Maisy
29
MAISY
Heart thundering and fingers clamped around the arm of the couch, I brace myself. It’s pointless. Jensen slams into me with so much power, I could’ve launched into space. A garbled noise jams in my throat, and he allows me a few seconds to catch my breath.
His gentle tone reaches my ears. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I croak. Tentatively, I wiggle my butt to get things going again, but he tightens his hold on my hips.
“Don’t lie to me. This is only our second time. We can work up to rough sex.”
If I were to look over my shoulder, I’d see a war waging in his eyes. He wants to please me but worries he’ll hurt me. I need him to trust that I know myself and what I want. What I can handle.
Staring at the cushion beneath me, I say, “Stop treating me like I’m made of glass.”
I meant what I said about wanting the pain. The thought of him being rough excites me. After years of rejection and loneliness numbing me, I’ll feel something real and tangible. The desolation consuming me will rush to the surface and unfurl as tendrils of pleasure reaching for my nerve endings. I’ll feel alive.
When I chose my sleepwear for tonight, I intended to seduce him. I knew he’d push for a serious conversation, rightfully so, but I also knew he’d need to relieve some stress and settle his mind. I learned years ago that Jensen functions better when he feels like he can lose himself in a controlled environment. The way I see it, I’m absorbing his pain too, taking it upon myself as pleasure. A win-win.
Flexing the fingers on my hips once, twice, three times, he says, “As you wish.”
His fingertips sink into my flesh to secure his grip, and the last thought that races through my head is, “Oh shit. What have I done?”
“Jens—”
He unleashes, pounding into me with wild abandon. My mouth hangs open, a silent, gaping hole with no air flowing in or out as the blood rushes to my head. Only the sounds of his grunts and the movie soundtrack surround us.
“So. Fucking. Good.” Through gritted teeth, he punctuates each word with a hard thrust. When I can’t support my upper body any longer, I face-plant on the sofa. He reminds me, “You asked for this, Maisy. Take it all.”
“I’m trying,” I say, though my response sounds like a whine. Who knew I could be so whiny during sex?
He pulls out, leaving me with an empty, pulsing ache. My head tingles from the dizziness subsiding after I roll to one side. Sinking onto a cushion, he spreads his legs and adjusts his glistening length.
“Get over here,” he orders. With shaky legs, I move to straddle him face to face, but he stops me. “Turn around, plant your feet, and put me inside you.”
On his lap with my back to his chest, I wrap my hand around his slick erection and sink down. The air whips out of my lungs when he surges upward to meet me halfway.
“Oh god.” Groaning, I drop my head to his shoulder.
The deep voice growling in my ear says, “Tonight I am. Keep praying, birdie. You’re at my mercy now.”
He plucks my nipples with one hand and rubs rough circles on my clit with the other while driving into me. I’m overstimulated as he works my sensitive parts all at once. Never have I been on the verge of sobbing from an abundance of pleasure. I tremble from head to toe. My core muscles clench around him, frantically seeking release, afraid he might leave me on the edge forever.
A hiss of air tickles my cheek. “Yes. You’re right there. Come for me, beautiful.”
With a pinch of my clit and twist of a nipple, he draws a ruthless orgasm from me. On a hoarse cry, I spasm uncontrollably. Only the strong arms wrapped around me keep me from melting into a puddle on the floor. Once I go limp, he folds us onto our sides without breaking our connection.
Spooning me, Jensen plants kisses along my jaw and neck. He buries his face in my hair, slowing his thrusts to a steady, leisurely pace as he whispers his adoration. “You’re exceptional. My beautiful, perfect birdie. My Maisy.”
“Please,” I rasp, clueless about what I’m begging for. A drink of water? Another orgasm? Mercy?
As if reading my thoughts, he says, “Beggars don’t get to choose their reward. Now suck.”
He grabs my chin and stuffs two fingers into my mouth, then he drapes my leg over his thigh and pins my foot to the back of the couch. It’s like we’re on a wrestling mat. I’m spread open and locked down as he pistons his hips, unmerciful, while rubbing my swollen clit.
“Give me another one,” he says.
I mumble a sound of protest around his fingers because I can’t shake my head with him holding my jaw. He withdraws the fingers and angles my face toward his. The kiss we share is fierce, his tongue demanding, his moans pleading.
“One more, birdie. I need you too tired to run after seeing this side of me.”
“I don’t know if I can,” I say with a whimper.
“You can, and you will.”
He brings my legs together and creates a tight gap where he enters me from behind before wrapping his leg over mine. I’m so full of him I can’t see straight, and the new angle makes his cock rub against my g-spot with every stroke. Teeth sink into my shoulder, unwitting participants in my wildest fantasy, and I lose all free will. My spine bows forward with the instinct to curl into a ball. My release gushes through me, soaking us both. I’m convulsing, a small earthquake trapped beneath a giant boulder, unable to break free as he thrusts through my orgasm.
When I’m spent, all the pleasure leached from my boneless body, he pulls out and rises to his knees. Bracing an arm above my head, he jerks himself wildly. Mouth parted, breaths quickening, eyes locked on mine before they roll back in his head and warm spurts of cum land on my breasts.
Everything comes to an abrupt halt, as if the earth stopped spinning. No sounds from the TV. No flashing lights. No words spoken when our foreheads join, and we heave each other’s air for long seconds.
“Why…” I can’t finish the question, but he understands what I’m asking. Why did you stop?
He grazes my cheek with his knuckles, a gesture of love and tenderness after wrecking me so thoroughly. “Because you had enough. You reached your limit. If I kept going, you wouldn’t have enjoyed it.”
I struggle to stop the tears brimming in my eyes. “Thank you.”
“Never thank me for knowing where to draw the line.”
Snagging his shirt off the floor, he wipes my chest and lifts me into his lap. I nuzzle his neck, my favorite hiding place when the stirring emotions become too much to bear. Goosebumps surface where his fingertips dance up and down my arm.
“Why are you crying, beautiful?”
A sniffle confirms his suspicion. “You’re being so sweet.”
“And that makes you cry?”
“I’m never sweet to you. It’s so one-sided. I’m not a nice person, and my vagina’s sore.”
His chest quakes with a soft chuckle. “Those are unrelated concerns, so let’s start with the first one. You’re sweet in your own way, and I prefer you just as you are. Don’t change for my benefit. As for being sore, I’ll take good care of you, and you’ll feel better in the morning, okay?”
“Okay.”
He lingers when he kisses the top of my head, breathing in my coconut-scented conditioner. “Let’s shower, then we’ll talk.”
Snuggled against Jensen in his bed, my mouth stretches with a big yawn. “I’m so sleepy. Can we please talk tomorrow?”
Neither of us spoke in the shower. He scrubbed our bodies and washed his hair while gathering his thoughts. He’s upset with me, and I understand his reasons. The line of communication has been practically nonexistent over the past few days, and the faulty wiring sparks on my end alone.
“You’re a flight risk, so we’re doing this now. You can sleep after we talk.” He turns onto his side and faces me, folding an arm under his head. The fingers of his free hand whisper against my jaw, and his unwavering gaze penetrates mine. “Why have you been avoiding me?”
Lacing my fingers through his, I maintain eye contact so he knows I’m being truthful. “I’ve been busy with Vera. She drains me, and I fall asleep before you get off work.”
“You can drop into Bruno’s any time and see me. We’re not too busy during the week, and even if we are, I’ll stop everything for you.”
Honestly, it hadn’t occurred to me to visit Jensen at work. Do most couples drop by each other’s place of employment just to say hello? He might annoy me if he were to show up while I’m working. Gigs pay by either the hour or the face in my profession, so time is money and all that.
“I hadn’t thought of that, but I’ll keep it in mind.”
Curiosity pinches his brows together when he asks, “Have you ever been in a relationship?”
With my eyes pinned on our joined hands, warmth suffuses my cheeks. “No. When you travel all the time, it’s hard to find someone steady—someone confident enough in themselves to stick it out.”
He gives me a tired, but devastating, smile. “It’s a good thing I’m known as a steady, confident guy.”
“Arrogant,” I mutter, rolling my eyes.
“Certain.”
“Delusional.”
Leaning forward, he brushes his lips against mine and whispers, “Faithful.”
I scoff. “Please. I’m sure you’ve had relationships with other women. You dated lots of girls when you were younger.”
“Dated, but I’ve only had one relationship. A very short one because my heart has remained faithful to you.”
I shake my head and chuckle in disbelief, bewildered by how easily he makes such declarations. “You say the wildest things sometimes. I never pegged you as a romantic.”
“Romance is for dreamers. I’m a realist, and nothing feels more real than the way my heart thrashes when I think of you or look at you. Like it wants to burst from my chest and jump straight into yours.”
When he talks like this, I’m dizzy with warring emotions. Giddy at the possibility that he has such deep feelings for me, but wary that he’s paying me lip service. Perhaps my love language is words of affirmation , but I’ve been deprived of them for too long. I need him to fill my head with a lifetime’s worth of sweet sentiments before I can believe in myself enough to believe him.
“What if I hadn’t come back?” I ask. “Would you have grown old alone?”
“You were always gonna come back to me. Your head may have lost faith in me, but your heart never did. It would’ve eventually found its way.”
Ironically, when Jensen shares his thoughts without thinking too hard, the words flow effortlessly. He’s poetic almost, a compliment he’d reject if I ever told him.
He may have a weakness for constructing words at times, but he holds nothing back when sharing his emotions with me. Opposites must attract because my greatest weakness—my greatest flaw—is the inability to express what I’m feeling. Only small reactions or expressions filter to the surface when I allow them.
“That’s a pretty bold claim. I could’ve met someone, got married, and had a couple of kids by now.”
“And when you divorced that man because your heart was lying to itself, I would’ve raised your kids as my own. There’s no scenario where we don’t end up together, birdie. Not in this lifetime, and not in the thousands that follow.”
“But…” I whisper, sensing he has more to say on the matter.
He tucks some curls behind my ear. “ But …this will be easier on both of us if you meet me halfway. I’ll accept baby steps as long as each step you take brings you closer to me.”
I sigh, resigned to the fact I’m setting myself up for failure in our relationship. This touching base concept is foreign to me, but I’ll make a conscious effort to check in with him, which doesn’t seem like too difficult a task.
“I promise to try. This doesn’t come natural to me, Jensen, so please be patient.”
“Fair enough. Now tell me something new. Any jobs coming up?”
With a sleepy grin on my lips, I tell him about the upcoming Las Vegas project. I prattle on about what it’s like working on a production set and the satisfaction I feel whenever I transform a face into art. How I take pride in my work—in knowing I’m adding beauty to the world. How evidence of my work will exist forever in digital glory.
Jensen hangs on my every word, a pleased grin on his lips and pride shining in his eyes. Fingertips, calloused from years of lifting weights, explore my shoulder, neck, collarbone, jaw. He never stops touching me, unaware he’s doing so as he listens.
“I’m happy with the way things are going. Any of these jobs could lead to the big break I’m waiting for.”
“And I’m happy for you. I want all your dreams to come true.” God, I don’t deserve him .
“Thanks. What about you? Have you decided about running for mayor?”
He rolls onto his back and stuffs a hand in his hair. “I filed the paperwork.”
“Already? I thought you had more time to decide.”
“Figured I should get it over with.”
I sit up to get a better look at his face. Tightened features give away his internal struggle with the decision, one he clearly didn’t want to make. I straddle his waist and fold my hands across his chest, resting my chin on them.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Don’t I? Everyone expects me to. It’s all anyone can talk about when they see me.”
“They’re excited because they respect you, but you don’t owe them anything. Do what’s best for you in the end.”
He stares at the slice of moonlight on the ceiling. “I’ll disappoint them if I back out.”
“What about you? What if the pressure gets to be too much and you…you know.”
“Lose my head?”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, ashamed for bringing up his history of crumbling under pressure.
“Don’t be sorry for thinking it. There’s a chance I’ll have a breakdown, but I’ve learned how to control myself before things get too far out of hand.”
I doubt he’s managing his stress the right way if he’s never sought professional help. Of course, I haven’t been around for a long time, and he could have things under control.
Either way, I say, “You’ll tell me if you need my help, right?”
“Of course. You’re the only person I would turn to. But you don’t need to worry about me. I’m good.” Putting an end to the conversation, he tucks me against his side and wraps an arm around me. “Sleep, beautiful. And don’t sneak out in the morning.”
I rest my cheek against his shoulder and trace the hummingbird tattoo with my fingers, reflecting on how tired he looks these days. Faint shadows circle his eyes, and his skin’s natural luster has dulled. The election may have something to do with his exhaustion, but I wonder how much I contribute to his worries.
Jensen absorbs stress like a sponge absorbs water—instant, greedy, without thought. But he can only hold in the stress for so long before he makes a mess. I discovered this truth when I was too young to understand his struggles and too foolish in my belief that I could fix him.