Chapter 22 #2
I flatten my tongue and lick her slow, thorough, then suck her clit into my mouth while sliding two fingers inside her. She lets out a guttural moan, nails scraping into my scalp.
“I—oh my God—I’m gonna—”
“Come for me, baby,” I rasp, thrusting my fingers deeper. “Let me feel it.”
She does… hard. Six months of ache pouring out all at once.
Her thighs clamp around my head as she cries out, body spasming, a string of half-broken moans falling from her lips. I don’t stop. Not until she’s losing her goddamn mind for me.
“Jensen,” she gasps, breathless. “It’s too much.”
Jesus. No shit.
If I stay down here, I’m gonna come in my pants.
It’s been too damn long.
I kiss the top of her pussy and pull away. “One more, baby.” I trail kisses up her stomach, over her tits, and back to her mouth. My hands follow, fingers grazing her soft skin. “Give me another.”
I kiss her mouth like she’s mine.
Like she never left.
Her hands roam over me, nails scraping, fingers greedy.
She grips my hips, presses her thumbs into that hard V of muscle, and I groan.
Then she’s unzipping my pants with trembling hands, pushing them down.
I shove them off, boxer briefs too, kicking them away—releasing my hard cock, and letting her see exactly what she does to me.
Her eyes go wide. “Jesus, Jensen. You look so good.”
I chuckle as she wraps a hand around my length, stroking slow, causing me to hiss.
I brace myself above her. “You still mad at me?” I rasp.
She laughs softly, dragging her thumb over my tip. “Yes.”
I lower myself, nudging between her legs. “Good.”
Then I slide into her in one slow, devastating thrust. “Because I plan on fucking you until you’re not mad anymore,” I grunt, hips rolling deep.
She gasps—tight, hot, perfect—and I groan, “God,” as I pull back and thrust again. “And I don’t care if it takes tonight, a week… six months…” Another thrust. “Five fucking years.”
Her nails dig into my back, her body arching under mine.
“I’ll love you until you’re mine again,” I whisper against her mouth. “And I’ll keep loving you… till the day I fucking die.”
God, I’ve missed her like this.
Her eyes close, and she lets out the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard. I move my hips—
And this. Is. Everything.
Our bodies collide in perfect rhythm. Like they were made for this. Husband and wife. Kissing. Making up. Fucking through all the hard shit. Coming together in a way that’s rough and raw and healing.
Her head tips back. “Jensen, I’m gonna come.”
Good.
I thrust harder, faster, burying deeper with every stroke until she’s gasping for air and then—
She falls apart again, her body jolting as she comes around me.
I wait until she finishes, then pull out, sensitive as fuck.
“What are you—”
I grab her hips, flipping us, dropping to my back. “Get on top. Ride me.”
She bites her lip through a smile, then sinks down on my cock. She moves slow, hips rocking in a cadence that blurs my vision.
“Oh my God, it feels so good,” she pants.
I take her hands in mine, guiding them to my chest so I can watch her. Feel her.
She grinds down, her pace picking up, breath going ragged. My hands slide up her sides, thumbs brushing over her nipples, and she shudders. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her flush against me, and thrust up hard and fast. Our slick bodies slide together as we both start to unravel.
And then we come…
Together.
I close my eyes, voice gruff as I groan, “Fuck.”
Her body shudders around me, and mine follows with a rough, strangled moan. I bury my face in her neck, trembling, clinging to her.
She collapses on top of me, and we lie there. Breathless. Stunned. Fucking satisfied.
Sex has always been great with Alley. More than great. But this? This was like nothing before.
Sure, maybe it’s because it’s been so long… for both of us. But it was more than that. It was like all the good and the broken shit from our past came crashing together in one big clusterfuck of grief, guilt, and longing—colliding in the best possible way.
It was incredible. Explosive. Intense.
We needed this.
Her arms tighten around me, and she nuzzles her nose into my neck. I press a kiss to her temple, tightening my hold too. “I love you.”
She’s quiet. But it’s not uncomfortable, even though I want more than anything for her to say it back.
It’s okay if she doesn’t.
After a long pause, I feel her take a shaky breath, and a strangled cry bursts out of her.
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
She gasps, her whole body jerking. “God, I’m sorry,” she chokes out, barely getting the words past the sob.
Did I read this wrong? “Shit, babe,” I whisper, rubbing my hand across her back as she breaks in my arms.
I’m torn. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if she’s crying because she’s happy or—
God, I hope it’s not regret. Because that meant everything to me.
Her sobs grow louder. Shit.
It tears at my chest, pulling my heart in every direction. I thought I’d reached the top of the mountain I’d been climbing. I’m over here saying I love you, thinking everything’s fine now. That we’re fine. Like having sex could somehow erase the past.
Fuck. Who was I kidding? We’ve barely even started chipping away at the mess I made.
But if Alley’s going to cry, I want it to be in my arms. I want to be the one she feels safe with. The one who gets to hold her. Comfort her.
I shift to my side and gently roll her onto her back. Her hands spring to her face, covering it in embarrassment.
“Hey.” My voice drops low, almost a whisper. I thread my fingers into her hair. “Come on, babe. It’s dark. I’ve seen you cry before… You’re beautiful. Let me see you.”
I lower my lips to her clavicle, pressing soft kisses to her skin. Again. And again.
“I’m right here, baby,” I murmur.
My hand drifts across her stomach, soft, explorative, comforting. My lips and fingers graze over every inch of skin as I worship her, trying to make up for everything I’ve done. Because the truth is: she’s crying because of me. Because of what I put her through.
And that stings. I feel it deep—bones aching, nerves burning—like I’m bleeding from every pore. Her pain is my pain.
I kiss my way back up her body. Her sobs begin to quiet, and after a moment, she lowers her hands, wiping beneath her eyes and across her cheeks.
I can feel her gaze on me as I taste my way to her lips.
When I meet them, I kiss her with fervor.
They’re soft, swollen, and they come to life beneath mine.
Her fingers dig into my shoulders, and when I finally pull away, her eyes find mine.
I brush my thumb along her jaw. “Talk to me. What’s going on? What are you feeling?”
Her lips tremble, and she swallows. “I’m scared,” she whispers. “I’m so scared.”
I close my eyes, letting it sink in.
She’s scared. Of course she is. Scared she can’t trust me. Scared I’ll hurt her. Scared I’ll fuck up again.
My jaw clenches. My chest tightens. I feel it everywhere. Like pressure building behind my ribs.
I open my eyes and press a kiss to her forehead.
“I get it,” I murmur. “You have every reason to be scared. I gave you every reason.” I pause, fingers grazing her hairline.
“But I know I can make you happy.” I stroke her cheek, voice low.
“I know you. I know how to make you laugh. How you take your coffee. Every song that reminds you of your mom. The guilt you carry with your dad… I know every part of you.”
She doesn’t move. Just lies there, tears silently slipping down her cheeks. It kills me.
“You do,” she says softly. “But you’re also the person who broke my heart.”
Fuck.
That guts me.
Feels like the air was sucked out of the room. Like I was hit in the sternum. Clean. Precise.
And deserved.
“I know,” I whisper. “And I’ll spend every day making sure I never do it again.”
Her eyes search mine, then squeeze shut. “I’m sorry.”
When she opens them, I hold her gaze. “Don’t apologize.
Not for this. Not to me. I understand why you’re scared.
And it’s me who should be sorry. That you can’t trust me.
That I’m not your safe place, when that’s exactly what I should have been.
I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me most. Sorry that I’m the reason you needed someone in the first place. ”
I swallow down the regret rising in my throat, my eyes dropping to the pillow.
It hurts less, looking away, avoiding the pain in her eyes.
But I force myself back to her. “You’ll never know how sorry I am.
The guilt I carry—it’s constant. Knowing the things I did that hurt you.
And for causing pain I don’t even know about. ”
I blink fast, breathing deep, trying to keep it together. “I hurt a lot of people. But nothing’s heavier than knowing I pushed you away.”
Her chest rises with a deep inhale. “And you’ll never know what it was like to witness it. Up close. Watching as everything I knew to be safe and real became the thing I couldn’t trust. The thing that terrified me. I had to stand by and watch the person I love burn everything that mattered most.”
Tears stream down her cheeks, and I nod, taking it in the best I can.
And God, it’s the worst. But in the best way. Just hearing her speak her truth. It means she trusts me, at least a little. Trusts me enough to let it out. To hand me the weight so I can carry it.
I don’t say anything. There’s nothing I could say to make it better. Listening is the best thing I can do right now. I learned that in therapy.
And in this moment? I hear her. I see her. And I’m owning my shit.
I fall to my back, eyes on the ceiling. She scoots closer, resting her head in the crook of my arm, her leg tangling with mine.
I stroke her shoulder, wrapping my arms around her, breathing her in. Just soaking in the moment.
She drags her palm across my abs, then up to my chest, feeling every inch. When she reaches my shoulder, her fingers lift and trace a slow line down my right arm, the one that’s tattooed. Then she reverses the motion. Starts over: torso, chest, shoulder, arm.
Repeat.
My breathing slows. I focus on the rhythm of her touch, silently thanking the universe. For her. For this feeling. Time slows, and I close my eyes. Happy to fall asleep like this.
Right here with my wife.
I don’t know what happens tomorrow…
But she’s touching me.
She’s feeling me.
She’s here.
With me.