25. Maisy
25
MAISY
My panties are drenched when Jensen sets me on the bathroom counter and wets a washcloth. He lifts it to my face, and I jerk my head back. “What are you doing?”
Holding my chin to keep me still, he rubs the damp cloth across my forehead, cheeks, and the bridge of my nose, erasing my made-up armor. “I have some rules of my own. First, when you’re in my bed, the makeup comes off. I want to see the real you. Every freckle. Every scar. Every inch of your beautiful skin.”
“My mascara’s waterproof,” I mumble when he glides the cloth over my eyelids.
Moving on to my mouth, he applies pressure and smudges the lipstick at the corner. A devious grin tugs at his lips, and I pretend his depraved mind has no effect on me despite the heat blasting between my legs.
In a bored tone, I ask, “What else?”
“Second, you allow me to touch you when I want, where I want, and how I want.”
“Only when we’re alone. I don’t do PDA.”
“Fair.” He throws the cloth in the sink and tilts my head up to meet his darkened gaze. “Do you consent to my first two rules?”
A chaotic storm of desperation and desire swirls in his eyes. To someone else, the combination might scream of danger, a cautionary sign to run far away. To me, it’s a potent promise of divine worship, and I’m more than willing to be the goddess he serves.
I’m resolute in my answer when I say, “I consent.”
His hum of approval drowns out the sound of the zipper on the back of my romper. My belly flutters when his teeth graze my jaw and neck, and I silently beg him to bite harder. If anyone’s daring enough to fulfill my vampire fantasies, it’s Jensen, a thought I tuck away for another day.
“And what else?” I ask again, trembling with anticipation.
If he doesn’t take me in the next thirty seconds, I might combust. His control and confidence turn me on, and I’d give anything for him to pin me to the floor and rut into me like a wild animal.
Slowly, he drags my romper down my chest and arms. “Last, I’ll take care of you my way. If you let go and trust me, I’ll never leave you wanting.”
“Liar. You left me wanting at the wedding. I’m not convinced you have the skills to follow through.”
His warm breath tickles my ear. “That was your punishment for avoiding me. If or when I choose to let you follow through, believe me, your body won’t need much convincing.”
“You’re sure of yourself.”
“I’m sure of us. Now lift.”
I raise my hips enough for him to remove my clothes, which join my sandals on the floor. Deft fingers unclasp the front closure of my lacy bra and push the cups aside, the straps gliding off my shoulders. On instinct, I cover my breasts, suddenly aware of the bright vanity lights shining overhead.
Grasping my wrists, he pulls them away. “No hiding. Let me see you.”
“I have stretch marks.”
“I don’t care.” He kneads my breasts and tugs at my nipples while looking me straight in the eyes. “You’re gorgeous, birdie, inside and out. And I’ll never be the man who makes you feel like you’re anything less than perfect.”
Lavishing my breasts with his velvet tongue, he bends my legs and spreads them wide. He releases the nipple caught between his teeth and rises to his full height, rolling his neck from side to side. I recall the motion from his football days when he prepared to dominate on the field. The switch is flipped, the adoring man going dormant while his shadow comes out to play. My slick thighs and I welcome this version of him.
When he leans into me, the rough material of his jeans rubs my core. He speaks against my lips, low and commanding. “Here’s what will happen. I’ll lay you down and learn every inch of your body. Since I didn’t let you come last time, I’ll bury my face in your beautiful pussy until you cry out for either me or your god. Only then will I fuck you the way you want—hard and deep—until I’m the only man you’ll ever remember touching you.”
A hiss flows between my teeth when he pinches my nipple hard, and I slap his arm away. “Stop being a tease and get on with it.”
Splaying a hand across my jaw, he angles my head to meet his blazing stare. “That’s the last demand you’ll make while I have you naked. Like I told you before, you’re not in charge. You said you want to be all in with me? This is what ‘in’ looks like. Are we clear?”
“We’re clear,” I say, my jaw clenched.
I’ve noticed how his pupils expand when I give him sass. His eyes flare even now, hot and ecstatic, as he lifts me off the counter. Our mouths collide in a battle of dueling tongues and stolen breaths until he drops me onto the bed. With the lights on, I have nowhere to hide from the piercing gaze sweeping over me. I’m vulnerable, naked and at his mercy, while he’s fully dressed.
As promised, he licks and kisses and nibbles every inch of me from my ears to my toes. He rolls me onto my stomach and maps my body with his mouth and hands, avoiding the parts where I yearn for his touch the most. Once he’s satisfied with his thorough inspection, I’m a panting mess of arousal, dying for him to escort me straight to ecstasy.
He shucks off his boots, socks, and jeans. Then he crawls over me and straddles my thighs. The intoxicating, musky scent wafting from him and his bedsheets envelops me, and I’m overcome with burning need. When he claims my lips again in a brutal kiss and shoves his fingers in my hair, his big body cages mine.
I don’t feel trapped. Freedom is mere moments away, and I’m close to begging for it. I’ve wanted this for as long as I can remember, and I’m more than ready to dig way down into the fossilized center of my dreams and claim Jensen Holloway as my own.
My hands glide over the broad muscles of his back, arms, and chest, relishing every ridge and dip he’s earned from long hours in his gym. “Take this off,” I say, frantically tugging at his shirt so I can touch his bare skin.
Nervousness flickers in his eyes before he lets out a resigned sigh. Reaching with one arm over his shoulder, he tugs the shirt over his head and tosses it aside. Then he waits.
A wide range of reactions fight to appear on my face. None of them survive. Instead, I stare blankly at his naked chest. At the image staring back at me. At the hummingbird inked over his heart, hovering in flight. His birdie.
Like a silent summoning, I trace the outline of the bird with my fingertips. The detailing is incredible, a vivid painting of black, green, and white. A shading effect makes the tattoo appear silver in some places, and it’s the only art on his body with color. Rich, vibrant color.
With a thick swallow, I cram down the emotions rising in my throat. “Is it new?”
He caresses the ink with such adoration; my heart leaps. “No. I get it touched up every year so it never fades.”
“How long have you had it?”
“A very long time.” The truth shines in his pained eyes even if he refuses to confess it aloud. Thirteen years.
“Jensen,” I whisper, his name both a fractured prayer and a breathless plea on my quivering lips.
Now I understand why he refused to take off his shirt when I stayed the night with him months ago. He said doing so would “hurt too much,” but he wasn’t referring to his physical injuries causing him pain from the effort. He knew I would reject the meaning of the tattoo because, at the time, I was rejecting him.
Bracing himself on a forearm, he leans down and brings us face to face. He skims a knuckle along my neck before pressing a fingertip against my racing pulse. “Do my feelings scare you?”
My answer is an honest one. “No.”
“Do I scare you?” The deep timbre of his voice sends an avalanche of shivers across my skin.
Never in my life have I been afraid of him. He’s intense, intrusive, and forceful at times, but he’d never cause me physical harm beyond the pleasure-pain I seek. Of that, I’m certain.
“Not even a little bit,” I admit.
“Good. I want you too much to be gentle with you, Maisy. You may be small, but you’re not breakable. Though I’m happy to try.” His lips curve into a sinful smirk, and my greedy core flutters in response .
“Try your hardest.”
When he climbs off the bed and tugs his boxer briefs down, his heavy erection sways as he steps out of them one foot at a time. “Spread your legs and grab your knees.”
I’m too stunned by the size of him to register his words at first. He’s big, beautiful, and a tad intimidating. When I rip my stare from his cock and meet his gaze, he arches an impatient eyebrow. His command filters into my brain, and I spread my legs for him.
With a satisfied grunt, he grips my thigh and drags a finger from my opening to my clit and back several times. I hold my breath, an attempt to appear unaffected when that finger sinks inside me.
“No games. I need to hear how good you feel when I take control of your body.” He adds a second finger and a third, pumping and twisting, coaxing all kinds of noises from me as I writhe on the mattress. “There’s my needy girl. Hold nothing back while I get you ready for me.”
I widen my knees, aching to feel him deeper. “Jensen, hurry.”
“Are you on birth control?”
“Yes.” I can hardly speak through my panting breaths, and the last thing I want to do right now is talk.
“Do you want me to wear a condom?”
I haven’t had sex in ages and never without a condom. Out of curiosity, I ask, “Have you ever?—”
“No, but you make the call.”
My gaze drifts downward to where he’s now stroking himself, and I make a quick and easy decision. “No condom.”
I swear he whispers, “ Thank fuck,” before he makes his move, dragging me to the edge of the mattress. He hoists me in the air by the waist. A half-gasp, half-yelp escapes me when we spin and land on the bed, his head on the pillow and me straddling his face. It happens so fast I’m still processing the mechanics of his actions when he impales me with his tongue.
“Holy shit!” I cry out.
To ground myself, I curl my fingers over the top of the sleigh-style bed and rest my forehead on the back of my hands. His lips latch onto my clit, and I moan loudly when he sucks hard and flicks his tongue. Obscene noises come from him—gluttonous sounds of pleasure, as if I’m his first meal in a century. I squeeze his head with my thighs, a halfhearted attempt to escape the overwhelming assault of his skilled mouth.
With his fingers gripping my butt cheeks, he doubles down in his efforts to make me come. I moan and mewl and curse his name for the tears welling in my eyes. When my legs quake, threatening to give out, he slides his palms under my thighs to hold me up so I don’t collapse on his face.
He held back the day of the wedding when he went down on me in the bathroom. The man has a magic mouth, and this is a whole different level of…
“Oh my god, J. Oh my god! What the f-f—” The word cuts off when my abdominal muscles flex involuntarily, and my vagina strangles the fingers now stuffed inside me, clamping them in place.
He’s ruthless with nipping teeth and hard sucks, bringing me right to the edge. When he pinches my clit and shoves his tongue inside me again, I shatter. My climax blasts through me like a rocket. In seconds, I’m blinded by the most intense orgasm ever while convulsing and screaming his name.
He groans, long and loud, and laps up my release with crude slurping sounds. The moment is raw and filthy and nothing like I’ve ever experienced. With all the strength zapped from me, I drop my forehead against the headboard with a hard thump. A helpless, pathetic whimper follows.
His low chuckle sends a chill skittering along my spine. “I told you…five minutes to make you scream my name. And I’m nowhere close to being done with you.”
I glance between my thighs to find him smiling up at me—a dirty, dark promise on his glistening lips—and I offer him the only thing I have to give. My surrender.
“Okay.”
Manhandling me, he flips me onto my back and rises to his knees. He did promise not to be gentle, and I’m too blissed-out to care. With a deviant kiss, he licks into my mouth and brands the taste of me onto my tongue. We break apart, and I’m drawn into the depths of his lust-blown eyes as he tenderly brushes aside the hair stuck to my wet cheeks.
His voice is so soft, so loving, when he says, “I’m gonna fuck you hard now, birdie, but know that I’m doing it with the utmost love and respect.”
With a chaste peck on my lips, he kneels and yanks me closer while shoving a pillow under my hips. There’s nothing gentle about him. He moves fast and with purpose, placing one of my ankles on his shoulder and holding the other wide. My belly flutters with anticipation when he drags the swollen head of his erection through my folds, coating the tip with the remnants of my release.
Without warning, he pushes into me. I tense from the stretch, my back arching off the bed on a sharp inhale as I twist the sheets in my hands.
“Relax, beautiful. Breathe through it for me.”
“Fuck.” I spit out the single word, chest heaving as he works his way inside.
The ache and pressure beg me to look where we’re joining, but I can’t take my eyes off his. He’s intently watching himself sink into me, his gaze flicking to mine to make sure I’m okay. After a few shallow, testing strokes, he slams all the way in, forcing the air from my lungs. My eyes roll back in my head, and I can’t move. All my senses have abandoned me.
His head tips back on a guttural moan, eyes closed in submission to the euphoria. “Damn,” he whispers to the ceiling before checking on me. “You good?”
“Yep,” I squeak, giving him a freaking thumbs-up .
He barks a loud laugh, and my core clenches in response, which he takes as a sign to start moving. And move he does. The time for tenderness and levity has passed. He presses my knees to my chest, folding me in half. With sharp thrusts, our hips connect each time he drives deep.
“Look at how we fit together, birdie,” he commands, but I’m too distracted by his darkened eyes while remembering to breathe. “Look,” he repeats.
Mesmerized, we watch him glide in and out of me, our jaws slack and chests rising and falling in a synchronized rhythm. Loud grunts permeate the air, and I discover they’re mine. He’s omniscient of my needs, every thrust filling me with small doses of pain that deliver heaps of pleasure.
“Heaven. Pure fucking heaven,” he says, releasing one of my legs.
High-pitched sounds spill from my lips when he grabs the headboard for support and pistons his hips faster and harder. The bed slams against the wall, and I swear I’m having an out-of-body experience.
My gaze travels up his tightened abs and straining pecs, pausing on the hummingbird now in motion. Beads of sweat glisten on his neck and forehead. Ecstasy imprisons his face. Relaxed, parted lips. Heavy-lidded eyes burning into me with so much intensity, my heart skips several beats.
I’m lost in the hungry gaze devouring me. Amid the wild and frenzied sex, something more meaningful than physical attraction or carnal desire shines in his stare, and I recognize its familiar presence. It’s powerful, thrumming through the invisible chain linking us together. An unnamed feeling always known but never spoken by me.
It’s all too much—too terrifying—for me to handle.
“Jensen,” I whimper, overwhelmed by everything. The strong emotions blanketing us, the physical sensations, the simultaneous urges to flee and slip further into the madness.
He slows his movements. “Tell me what you need.”
I reach for him with urgency, unsure how to explain what I’m feeling. “I don’t know.”
Registering the panic in my voice, he sits back on his heels and hauls me onto his lap. The change in position forces him deeper, and I hide my wince in the crook of his neck.
“Jensen. It’s?—”
“You can handle it,” he says, reading my mind. “You can handle me. I’m not too much.”
A quick self-assessment reveals I’m freaking the fuck out. “What if you are? And what if I’m not enough for you? What if I don’t know how to do this? What if we?—”
“Look at me,” he says, cutting me off. He cradles my head in his hands, forcing me to abandon my hiding place in the crook of his neck. “You’re a beautiful soul, Maisy Rae.”
I sag on his lap, grateful he came to my rescue. “So are you, Jensen No Middle Name.”
A smile graces his lips but quickly falls away. “I’ve waited a long time for us.”
The sob lodged in the back of my throat cracks my voice when I whisper, “So have I.”
“We belong here, birdie. Just you and me. I promise we’re the perfect amount of everything for each other. Have faith in us. Please don’t get scared and give up before we even begin. Please,” he begs against my lips.
He sweeps his tongue against mine in a passionate, pleading caress that seeps into my bones. Tears flood my eyes, and I’m grateful he doesn’t ask me to explain my sudden emotional downturn. I can’t explain it. Instead, he gently thrusts his hips, coaxing me back into the moment.
His whispered words of encouragement flow through me, soothing my mind as his body soothes me physically. “Stay in this with me. Don’t think about anything. Just feel us. You’re so incredible, wrapped around every inch of me. Taking me. Owning me. Stay here, beautiful. Be with me. Feel how perfect we are.”
“Yes,” I breathe as I let go of my thoughts and focus on how we feel together.
He drags his bottom lip between his teeth. My own lips remain parted as pleasure swims through me with every languid stroke. He slowed things down for me, giving me time to acclimate to the new bond we’re forming, and I’m ready to accept it.
“Don’t hold back,” I whisper.
Arms banded around my torso, he squeezes me to his chest, my breasts pressed between us. He pumps in earnest, each burst of his hips drawing a cry from me as we crash together.
“Yes.” I repeat my earlier agreement, a chant acknowledging how effortlessly we fit in every way. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”
Our breaths grow harsh and rapid before he pins me to his thighs and drops his forehead to my neck. A rumble crawls up his throat as he spills his release into me.
“Perfect,” he says, panting hard and drenched in sweat. “We’re so perfect.”
We are. Too perfect. And that’s the most terrifying truth of all, because perfection isn’t sustainable. Everyone has flaws, and I may not meet his high expectations once he has a closer look at mine. When that happens, he’ll let me go, and I’ll return to the brokenhearted self-exile I only just escaped.
For now, I wrap my arms around his head, holding him as close to me as possible. “Promise me you won’t hurt me again.”
“Never,” he vows to my thundering heart. When he lifts his head, our fearful gazes collide. “Promise me you won’t run.”
My eyes flick between his, seeing the worry building there along with every qualifying phrase he didn’t add to his request. He wants me to promise not to run before he wakes tomorrow, run from Walford, run from him and his mental struggles. I’m aware they exist. I’ve always known.
He wants me to give us a real shot despite my unease about being vulnerable, and I want the same. We’ll navigate my roadblocks if they come—when they come. And we’ll face his challenges together, like we did when we were younger.
“I won’t run,” I say, surprised that I mean it.
His whole body relaxes, and I press a kiss to his lips and lay my head on his shoulder. We stay like this for several minutes, reflecting on the monumental shift between us and the fears brought to light. With a delicate touch, I sweep the damp hair off his face, tucking the wild strands behind his ears.
I’m hoarse when I speak again. “We’re kind of a mess.”
He chuckles, understanding my double meaning, and drops kisses along my neck and shoulder. “We are. A mess I’d happily stay in forever, but let’s get cleaned up first.”
After we shower, where Jensen washes us thoroughly—and I ignore the fact that he has a shower cap on hand to keep my hair from getting wet—we crawl into bed. He leaves a light on in the bathroom, and I’m touched by all the little things he remembers about me from years ago, like my fear of the dark.
My head rests on his arm while he lazily twists one of my ringlets around his finger. “Why a hummingbird?” I ask.
“I read some cultures believe hummingbirds bring healing. In others, they symbolize love and devotion. They’re also fierce fighters, skittish and hard to catch.” He shrugs a shoulder. “In a nutshell, you.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful.”
My aversion to snuggling seems to have disappeared as I nestle against him and breathe him in. We’re quiet, enjoying the solace we bring to each other in the simple moments. As usual, my mind wanders when left to the silence for too long.
I recall everything he said to me in the living room when he laid himself bare. Some of the things he says, the way he speaks…what if he’s not coming from a place of genuine love? I worry I’m an infatuation of his, a wrong he needs to right in order to clear his conscience. Perhaps he’s been in pursuit of me for so long, he’s confused about the reasons he wants me now.
As if he’s able to read my thoughts, he whispers, “Have faith in me. In us.”
“Okay,” I whisper back. Then we drift off to sleep, holding on to each other a little tighter.