Chapter Twenty-Six #2
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.
God, I love him.
My throat constricts, thick with emotion, as my orgasm rises—gathering low and deep, a slow burn spreading like wildfire. The heat intensifies with every stroke, and I close my eyes, bracing for the climax that’s about to take me over.
He slides his fingers lower, pushing them inside me as his thumb takes over. The pressure builds, pooling in the center of my thighs. My orgasm sends white-hot sparks shooting through my limbs, my hips tensing as I tighten around him, unraveling completely.
Gasps and moans echo softly around us as his fingers slow, and I sink back into him, melting—liquid and weightless in his arms.
His lips brush against my ear. “I love you so fucking much, Alley.”
He draws his fingers from me and tightens his hold. His forearms flex around me, strong and steady. There’s something about the way he’s holding me—like he’s scared to let go.
Like he’s afraid of losing me.
“God, I love you.” His voice cracks, rough and unsteady, and something heavy settles in the air between us—an undercurrent of fear I don’t understand. It radiates off him, strong and suffocating, and I’ve never felt anything like it from him before.
I shift, turning just enough to see his face. The sorrow in his eyes, the quiet glisten on his cheeks. My heart lurches. His love for me is unmistakable, but it’s tangled up in something else. Something I can’t name. And it shakes me to my core.
“Hey,” I whisper, turning to fully face him.
I kiss him softly, and he kisses me back, deep and lingering, drawing my lips into his. My fingers drift beneath the water, gliding down his torso until I reach his cock. I wrap my hand around the base and slowly stroke him.
His hands catch my wrist, gently stopping me.
He shakes his head. “No,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper. “Not tonight, baby. Just you.”
His hand cups the back of my head, and he crashes his mouth to mine, kissing me with a desperation that’s hot as hell—and terrifying at the same time.
He stands abruptly, water streaming down his body, and steps out of the tub. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he walks into the bedroom leaving me satisfied, but deeply unsettled.
I’m warm and sated, but nowhere near at peace. Something about that moment didn’t feel right, and I can’t shake it.
I watch the candle flicker, shadows dancing on the wall, my heart pounding. He held me like he needed me. Like he was scared.
And then he walked away.
I stay there a while longer, letting the water cool around me, hoping clarity will come. It doesn’t, and sitting here isn’t helping.
Standing, I step out of the tub and wrap myself in a towel.
I blow out the candle, and pad into the bedroom.
The lamp is on. Jensen’s already lying down—naked, one arm draped across his abs, the other tucked behind his head.
His eyes are closed. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, lips parted, hair still damp from the steam.
But he’s not asleep.
And he’s still mostly hard.
I let the towel fall.
Part of me wants to crawl in next to him, wrap myself around him, and drift off in the quiet comfort of his arms. But another part of me—it aches for that deeper connection. The part where he needs me too. The way that I need him.
I climb onto the bed and straddle him, my knees settling on either side of his thighs.
His brow twitches, eyes fluttering open slowly.
“Hey,” I whisper.
He hums, low and quiet, looking up at me. His hands rise lazily, skimming up my hips. “Hey,” he echoes, his voice thick and slurred with sleep.
I lean forward and kiss him softly. His mouth opens beneath mine, but there’s no urgency. Just a response—a reaction, but not desire.
I reach between us, wrap my hand around him, still semi-hard, and stroke gently.
He lets out a breath through his nose. “Babe…”
But he doesn’t stop me.
Once hard, I guide him to my entrance and sink down slowly, letting a soft moan escape my throat as he fills me. My hands brace on his chest, and I move—slow at first, rocking my hips back and forth. His hands slide up to my thighs, holding them lightly, but he’s not taking control.
He lets me do the work.
His eyes are half-lidded, watching me, but there’s a haze to them. It’s like he’s here, but not fully. His jaw clenches, like he’s trying to focus, trying to feel it the way he normally would, but something’s missing. He’s disconnected.
I keep going. I grind down on him, finding the friction, even as my heart aches. It’s good. It still feels good. But it’s different—detached, quiet.
After a few minutes, I slow, leaning forward until my chest is against his. “You okay?” I whisper into his ear.
He nods, slow. “Yeah. Just tired. You feel incredible, baby.”
I nod against his neck, biting my lip, and press a kiss to his jaw. I keep rocking my hips, gently, coaxing what I can from him. His breathing deepens, his hands squeeze my thighs once, and eventually, he groans low in his throat and finishes—more from the motion than the moment, or me.
His arms wrap around me after, pulling me down onto his chest. “I love you,” he murmurs.
I swallow down the lump forming in my throat. “I love you too.”
I can’t help the tiny crack forming in my chest, because for the first time, I felt like I was loving him alone.
I glance at the clock on the nightstand and let out a sigh—12:03.
Happy New Year.
We pull up to my childhood home, and Jensen shifts the car into park. The yard is dead from winter, but still well-kept, leaves cleared and weeds pulled. Everything looks maintained, just waiting for spring to bring it back to life. Already, it’s a vast improvement from the last time I was here.
Jensen’s hand finds my thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze. I turn to meet his gaze. He seems different today. Better. More like himself, happy and focused. There’s a light in his eyes again, bright and clear.
“You sure you don’t want me to come up with you?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll be okay,” I say nodding, like hearing myself say the words will make me believe them.
“Alright. Well, I’ll wait here until you’re inside. I’ll stay close. Just call or text when you’re ready for me to come back.”
I nod again, more firmly this time. “Okay…”
My fingers fumble with the door handle. I pause, glancing back at Jensen. “What if he doesn’t want to see me?”
“He wants to see you. He reached out to Michael. He wants to see you,” he says, steady and sure.
“Alright,” I say softly, my pulse quickening.
He leans forward, kissing me fervently, like he’s trying to kiss the fear right out of me.
Without another thought, I open the door, and before I know it I’m standing on the porch of my dad’s house. My house. My mother's house.
I swallow hard, my fingers trembling. I take a deep breath and lift my hand to knock, my heart pounding so hard it echoes in my ears. Nerves crawl up my throat with every passing second.
The door swings open, my dad’s expression shifting in an instant—shock melting into something soft. A ghost of a smile curves his lips, his eyes lighting up, and just as quickly, filling with tears.
“Alley girl.” His voice cracks as the words leave his mouth, and his fingers fly to the bridge of his nose, pinching it as his eyes squeeze shut. He lets out an audible cry.
And then—he breaks. Right in front of me.
A love so deep bursts free from the cell I’ve kept it locked in for far too long.
The space that’s kept me safe for a decade.
Kept me from shattering, from getting hurt.
Every emotion hits me all at once, but it feels like a hug.
And somehow, the storm inside me calms, warmth radiating through every inch of my soul.
My pulse steadies, and I step forward—into the first hug with my dad in over ten years. “Hi, Dad,” I say, my voice shaky, choked with all that I’m feeling.
I let myself fall into his arms, and the dam breaks. Tears streak down my face, and every crack begins to fill with hope.