Chapter 24 – Jensen
“What the hell is that song you're whistling?” Dawson asks as he comes up behind me in the stretching room I've claimed as my own inside the San Jose arena.
Heath just finished his fifth check on my shoulder and gave me the all-clear for tonight, but the flight back from Nashville left my hips tight. I figured I'd spend a little extra time loosening up before heading out there for my first ride.
Okay, my hips aren't just tight from the flight.
They're tight from fucking Catalina on every surface of her hotel room this morning.
I've been enjoying twisting her body up into different positions, discovering how flexible she is.
But fuck it gets me right in the glutes every time unless I warm up properly.
That’s the problem with being in your thirties and an athlete who’s lived a rough life.
I grin without looking up at him. “It's The Thong Song.”
He groans. “Whatever you're thinking about right now, I don't want to know. I wish I'd never asked.”
He has no idea. No one does. No one knows that I spent our short time off in the mountains of Tennessee with my head between the thighs of the most beautiful woman in the world.
That I peeled lace thongs and lingerie in a rainbow of colors off her round ass and perfect pussy like it was my personal religion.
I don't think I'll ever get enough of the fact that Catalina walks around all day and night in lingerie that no one gets to see but me. That I learned the exact sound she makes right before she comes apart. That I’ve felt all the warm, pliant parts of her that she hides from everyone else.
I can still taste her if I lick my lips just right. And I’ve been doing it. Absentmindedly. Constantly. To the point they’re almost chapped from all the licking and sucking, like I might somehow pull the memory of her taste back onto my tongue.
It was a good memory.
“What? You and Lo didn’t have enough sex in Hawaii?”
He rolls his eyes. “I will never discuss my married sex life with you. You're like one of my nephews. But if it'll give you peace of mind, it's even better than it was before we got married.”
“You're only ten years older than me. When are you going to stop acting like my dad?”
He sighs. “Never. You need to focus. Are you ready to get back on that bull?”
I grin, roll my shoulder and stretch it out. “Yep. Heath and Doctor Alba cleared me to ride tonight.”
“Good. Big crowd.” He nods toward the door. “If we need a second opinion on that shoulder, I can get one—”
“We don't,” I cut him off.
Because I trust her, and she already cleared me.
There’s no need for any other opinions. I know she sent me to have Heath look at it this morning more out of procedure than because she needed his expertise.
I trust her with my body. With my bones.
With the thing inside my chest that I’ve never handed over to anyone else before.
He claps my shoulder and leaves, the door swinging shut behind him.
The second it does, the thought hits me hard and low: I’m starting to trust her with not just my physical heart, but my real, emotional heart, too.
That realization scares the absolute shit out of me—especially since we haven’t talked about what this is.
No labels. No rules. Just heat, hands, mouths, and a whole lot of moaning.
I sink deeper into a squat, stretching my hips, breathing through the pull until the muscles start to loosen. Hopefully I can stay limber enough so that after my ride, I can fuck her in her office here at the arena.
The door reopens and I look up. As if I manifested her, Catalina slips inside.
“Holy hell.”
I breathe out, not even trying to hide my admiration. I’m damn near in a split, forehead brushing the mat, legs splayed wide, but my cock doesn’t give a single fuck about flexibility or physics. It tents my shorts, pressing into the floor like it’s trying to burrow straight through.
She’s wearing tight white pants—criminally tight—and there’s no way in hell there’s anything underneath them. I can see the exact curve of her ass when she turns to lock the door behind her, the faint line where I know she's naked.
So much for those lace thongs. I'm going to tell Sisqo to write a new song about being commando. So much hotter.
A burgundy top clings to her torso, her dark curls are spilling over her chest, and all I can think about is how those heavy breasts felt in my mouth this morning.
Suddenly, not using a condom isn’t enough.
Filling her with my come isn’t enough. I want permanence.
I want her carrying me with her everywhere she goes, smelling like me, thinking about me when she shouldn’t be.
I want to put something inside her that can’t be undone and washed away.
They need to create something like that.
Oh, fuck. I think what I want is a ring on her finger. Or a baby. I think I want both. I think I want what Dawson and Lo have.
She looks at me, and there it is. Heat, yes. Want, definitely. But there’s something else there too. Something softer. She looks sad. Like she’s holding something back that’s bothering her.
“How long until you’re on?” she asks quietly.
“One hour.” I push up fast, ready to ask what’s wrong, but she’s already moving—dropping to her knees in front of me in a blur of dark hair and crimson red.
“Whoa, Kitty.” My voice roughens instantly. “What’s going on?”
She shakes her head, fingers already at my buckle. Denim unfastened. Zipper down so fast I see stars. My hand comes up automatically, resting at her throat, thumb brushing her pulse as I try to catch her eyes and get her to focus on me.
She snaps down my briefs and yanks my cock free. It takes exactly three strokes of her fist—base to tip—before I’m steel-hard and breathing like I just finished a ride.
“What’s this about?” I ask softly because something’s off. Something’s urgent in her movements.
“Nothing, I just…” Her voice trails off. Her grip tightens. Those deft fingers that healed my heart squeeze tighter. Then her tongue peeks out and flicks my cockhead.
My boots tingle.
She does it again.
I forget what I asked her.
She sucks on my tip a little.
I’m in the clouds.
She pumps me, watching the way my skin tightens, her gaze fixed on my cock instead of my eyes.
"You have the best dick I've ever seen."
I slide my fingers into her hair, wrapping it around my fist and tugging gently until she looks up at me.
Her dark pupils are blown wide. Her other hand sinks into my thigh, red nails that match the ones on my right-hand biting into the muscle hard enough to ground me, while one long finger traces along my sac, slow and possessive.
Whatever’s driving her right now—fear, need, sadness—I wish she'd tell me. I wish she didn't feel like she had to keep things from me. I'm not sure we're on the same page when it comes to vulnerability, and that scares the hell out of me.
“Kitty…”
She ignores me. She spits right on my tip.
I watch it glisten before she swipes it with her palm and uses it plus the bit of precum that's leaking from me to stroke my shaft firmly.
Then she leans forward, wraps her lips around me and sucks on my crown, swirling with her tongue before sinking down, letting her mouth stretch wide to take me.
“Dammit, Catalina,” I curse.
I grip her hair tighter, but not to stop her, just to watch her. She chokes a little and comes back up, pumping what she can’t swallow with her fist. Slowly, her tongue swirls around my tip again before she sinks back down.
"How many dicks have you seen?" I groan out.
My free hand moves gently around her throat, not in a choke, but just to feel the way she opens for me. The way her throat swallows and struggles while it takes me. I swear I can feel myself in her throat which only makes me harder.
I pulse there a little when she sinks down again, rock my hips forward a beat, breathing hard, struggling to keep composure.
"Many," she says when she comes up for a moment of breath before taking me down to her throat and swallowing.
“You’re so fucking good to me,” I say.
She moves down, gagging this time, the slightest bit of moisture rising to the corners of her eyes from choking. I swipe it away and bring it to my mouth, tasting what her tears taste like when she’s turned on and not sad.
“You get so wet when you suck my cock, don't you?”
She nods, swirls her tongue on my crown again and sucks. I see stars.
“Just like that. Fucking swallow me, Kitty. Own me.”
Her fist pumps harder, wrapping around my base, taking what she can’t take while her mouth feels like velvet wrapped around my tip.
She pulls off on a gasp, licks a long line from root to my crown before cupping my balls gently and tugging. It’s just enough to make me hiss a curse and squeeze her throat.
“Coming soon. You okay with that?” I ask.
She nods and sucks me down again, all the way to the back of her throat, this time with a muffled, choked gag.
“I’m coming in your mouth, Kitty.”
She moves faster, bobbing, sucking, licking. The tears are coming more freely now, dropping down her cheeks to her chin and mixing with her spit and my come.
She moans around me, my fist tightens on her throat, and I go stiff, gripping the back of her head and holding her there so that I can finish by fucking her mouth to completion.
“Don’t swallow it,” I choke out, watching some of my seed drip down onto her lips and tongue in white rivulets. It's mesmerizing. Shiny, pearls of white on such a beautiful face and mouth that I love.
I love.
I swallow hard and pull out, the noise her lips make when they lose suction has me thinking I could probably come again if I wasn't on such a time crunch.
She slams her lips shut and looks up at me, nothing but trust and desire in her eyes.
I take her chin gently, prying her jaw open, wondering the whole time how people so different ended up falling for each other.
Because that's what's happening here, right?
She's falling for me just as badly as I've fallen for her.
Fuck. I hope she is.
“Let me see it.”
She sticks out her tongue and I inspect it. My seed, warm and salty, her swollen lips, her tear-stained cheeks. And that’s when I realize she’s wearing make up for the first time since I've met her.
She’s pretty no matter what, but I think she’s prettier without it. Why is she wearing it tonight of all nights? Is it for her parents? Is it for me?
Fuck, is it for some other asshole?
I can't let that thought take root. I press my hand to her chin gently, getting her to close her lips around my seed.
“Swallow for me, Kitty.”
She does. I watch her throat bob; I feel it going down on the pads of my fingertips pressed there, and when she’s done, I ask to see her tongue again.
“Show me your tongue when I look for you before my ride.”
She nods, and I help her to her feet. Carefully.
Like she’s something breakable now. I wipe her face with the edge of my flannel, gentle where the tears had streaked her cheeks.
My thumb brushes under her eyes. I smooth her curls back into place, tucking a strand behind her ear until her gaze clears and that shy, little smile finds its way back to her mouth.
“Was that too much?” I ask quietly.
She shakes her head. “No.”
"I wasn't too rough with you?" My mind drifts back to some of the first words she ever said to me a few weeks ago when I shook her hand.
“No. I can take it.”
I brush my knuckles along her cheek, then kiss her forehead. “I know you can.”
She beams up at me.
“You know,” I murmur, “they say you’re not supposed to have sex right before a ride.”
Her brows lift. “What? Why not?”
“Need the extra testosterone,” I say lightly. “Match the bull’s energy.”
She snorts—and God, it’s the prettiest sound I’ve ever heard. I want to find more ways to hear her laugh and see her smile every day because I know she doesn't give that part of her away easily.
"You’re so unserious sometimes," she says with a smile.
I pull her into a hug. “I think I messed up your nickname.” I kiss the corner of her mouth, then drag my lips softly along the seam of them, tasting myself on her tongue. She kisses me back sweetly but there's hesitation there like she doesn't know what I'm going to say next.
“What do you mean?” she asks, turning toward the floor-to-ceiling mirrors to check her hair and makeup.
I move in behind her, hands settling on her hips. My body dwarfs hers, palms spanning her stomach, her curves fitting me like they were made for my touch. I press in just enough that she knows I’m there. That I’m not going anywhere.
I want to tell her that, but I'm not sure if she's there yet. If she even realizes what's started between us isn't casual. That I intend on sticking around even after the series ends.
“Your nickname should’ve been Pulse...”
She stills and looks at my reflection in the mirror.
“…Because every time I’m around you, my heart races,” I say low, my mouth close to her ear where I bite down gently. “And you’re the reason I still have one.”
I turn her gently to face me and kiss her again—her cheeks, her forehead, her mouth—until her fingers curl into my neck, into my hair, until whatever she came in here carrying melts away into softness.
I kiss her slow and deep, until our tongues are warm and unhurried, until there’s no start or finish to it.
I fucking love the way Catalina kisses me. Like she’s learning who she is through it. Like she’s never given this part of her away so freely before. And there's a strong part of me that either wants to believe or knows, she hasn't. That she never kissed her piece of shit ex like this.
I keep kissing her until there’s a knock on the training room door and Dawson's voice is bitching at me through it that it's time to ride. Her fingers tighten on my hips, just for a second, like she doesn’t want to let go.
And for the first time in my life, I’m not sure I want to ride either.
“Okay,” she says, pressing a hand to my chest, creating distance like she just remembered she’s supposed to. Like she remembered I’m the risky choice. The man who won’t stop riding for anyone. Not the safe guy she almost married who would never do something this reckless.
I watch the shutters slide back into place and her whole body go stiff and cold. “Have a good ride. Don’t hurt your shoulder. If you fall, make sure you don’t land on that side.”
I smile to try to soften the fears that I know she's thinking but not saying. “I like knowing you’re out there watching. Haven’t had someone to perform for in years.”
I kiss the top of her head and head for the door, but not before glancing back, tapping my fist over my heart and winking.
“Don’t worry about me, Pulse,” I say. “You’re the reason I still have one. As long as I've got you, I'll be alright.”