42. Maisy
42
MAISY
“Are you mad about the party?” Jensen asks as he empties his pockets on the kitchen counter.
“Not anymore. You sort of made up for it with your speech.”
“Sort of?”
I lift myself onto the center island and shrug. “You won’t have my complete forgiveness until you give me a gift.”
Alarm flares in his eyes. “I didn’t think about a gift.”
Humming, I drag up the hem of my dress and point to a spot on my exposed inner thigh. “Right there.”
His gaze snaps to mine. “What?”
“This is where I want my gift.”
“Explain.”
I hold out a hand. “Come over here.”
He shifts his weight from foot to foot before he approaches. I place his hand between my legs, and he runs the back of his knuckles along my panties.
“Your panties are soaked. Why?”
I lick my lips, nervous about voicing my fantasy. The thought of it actually happening floods my cheeks and my core with heat. “I want you to bite me.”
He’s bitten me a few times when we’ve had sex, and I’m curious to find out if the biting intensifies my orgasms. I have a feeling I know the answer already.
His eyes pop wide open in surprise. “Bite you? On your thigh?”
“I just want to try it.”
Like he’s deep in thought, he absently strokes my center while staring at my leg. “Birdie, are you sure?”
“Don’t I seem sure?”
When the silence lingers, I wriggle away from him, wishing I could take back my request. The hand on my thigh clamps down, stopping my escape. He draws circles on the spot where I pointed and presses a finger into my flesh, as if he’s imagining the bite.
“I won’t draw blood,” he warns. Biting my lip, I nod. “But it won’t be a little nibble either.”
My core clenches, and I try to squeeze my thighs together. Because he’s standing between them, he catches my physical reaction to his statement.
Intrigue threads his voice when he says, “You really want this. It turns you on.”
“Please don’t shame me,” I whisper.
“No, no. I’m not.” Blunt nails scrape my inner thigh. “I’m about to grant your birthday wish. Take off your panties and lie back.”
He pulls a stool around to the end of the island. Then he tugs my hips to the edge of the cool surface and plants my calves on his shoulders, massaging my shins. “Should we have a safe word in case I bite too hard?”
“By the time I use a safe word, the damage will be done.”
“True.”
Sensing his hesitation again, I hike myself on my elbows. With him sitting between my propped-up legs, our positions remind me of being at a gynecologist appointment. “If it makes you feel better, we’ll have a safe word. How about rodeo?”
He stills, and amusement brightens his eyes. “You can’t cry rodeo while I’m getting you off.”
I shrug a shoulder. “Mustard then.”
“Mustard? Do you know any sexy words?”
We’re both grinning now, and I’m relieved the awkwardness has passed.
“You pick one.”
Humming, he runs a hand up my thigh until he reaches my core and slides a finger in and out of me while he thinks. His voice drops lower, the rough sound causing me to shiver. “You never need a safe word with me. I know just how far you’ll bend before you break.”
“Jensen,” I moan, dropping my head back.
He withdraws his hand and plants my heels on the counter. “I’ll take care of you, my beautiful birdie. Try not to scream too loud.”
The moment he swipes his tongue along my slit, I whimper and weave a hand through his hair, fisting the strands. He’s merciless with his teeth and tongue and greedy, supple lips. Those lips suck on my clit with the rhythm of a pulsing heartbeat. He shoves two fingers inside me, finding my pleasure spot as my legs tremble and my hips buck wildly. Between his mouth, his hand, and the delicious assault of his beard on my flesh, I’m close to soaring.
Intense pressure builds in my lower abdomen, a foreign sensation that makes me convulse as I fight against it. Without knowing if releasing the pressure will end in humiliation or pleasure, I squeeze my eyes shut and say, “Do it. Do it now!”
Without disrupting the steady work of his masterful hand, he licks down my thigh and sinks his teeth deep into my flesh. My mind goes blank. My vision turns fuzzy. A guttural, keening cry escapes me when the most embarrassing thing happens.
“Holy shit,” he whispers in awe.
My eyelids are squeezed shut, and I’m certain my face is a deep shade of red. I can’t look at him. I can’t handle the humiliation or the shame.
The stool scrapes against the floor, and then he’s leaning over me. “Look at me, beautiful.”
Lips clamped between my teeth, I shake my head.
“Birdie,” he says, softening his tone. “I want to hold you and comfort you, but my whole arm is dripping wet.”
I whimper.
He plants gentle kisses all over my flaming face. “Don’t be embarrassed. That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen or heard in my life.” His belt buckle thumps against the countertop, followed by the sound of a zipper. “I’m so fucking hard for you right now.”
When his erection nudges my entrance, I open my eyes. The green ones staring back at me, shining with fathomless wonder and love, grant me permission to relax and breathe. Jensen pushes into me and groans, gripping one of my hips with his dry hand while holding the other out to the side. Frustrated because he can’t move me at his whim, he peels off his shirt and wipes his arm before burying his fingers in my hips and plunging into me with long, even strokes.
“Could you be any more perfect?” Thrust. “More beautiful.” Thrust. “ More mine.”
I’m enchanted, lost in his adoring words while he coaxes more pleasure from my body, his movements languorous and worshipful. Holding me a little closer, a little tighter, he comes with a quiet groan against my lips.
“I love you, birdie. I’m keeping you forever.”
Satisfied with how this fantasy played out, and imagining all the ones we can explore in the future, I grin. “You caught me. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You said that once before.” He leaves a path of light kisses from my mouth to my ear and whispers, “You lied.”
Me
On my way. Don’t hold me hostage.
Jensen
No promises.
Me
I’ll give you a drive-by kiss.
Jensen
That’s not enough to last me a week.
Me
Fine. You can have a peek at my ankle too.
Jensen
Scandalous.
Everything seems to be coming together as I make myself at home in Walford. I’ve technically moved into Jensen’s house—half of my belongings are still at Pam’s—and we’ve established a routine of sorts. He eats me for breakfast, and I deliver lunch to him at work. During the afternoons, I handle domestic chores, which I find surprisingly satisfying. Not that I enjoy doing laundry or dusting shelves. Rather, I’ve discovered satisfaction in knowing I’m taking care of Jensen in small ways, ensuring his basic needs are met.
One afternoon, while cleaning, I imagined gathering toys scattered around the floor and tossing them in a cute, hand-carved toy chest. Gasp. My mindset on love, my outlook on life, and my daydreams of the future continue to change and flourish.
I’ve been putting off my conversation with Vera, but for good reason. I don’t want her to douse my excitement about the new project offer I accepted in Jamaica, a swimwear photo shoot for the same designer who launched the perfume campaign. The team didn’t give me a lot of notice or time to consider, but I didn’t need it. My answer was a speedy, resounding yes.
I heave my oversized suitcase into the trunk of my new car, which is another big change and a symbol of permanence. Jensen took me car shopping, and I never want to suffer through that ordeal with him again. Apparently, car manufacturers don’t make enough safety features for his liking, not when it comes to my safety.
At Bruno’s, I head straight for Jensen’s office, but he’s not here. I spin around in his chair, waiting for him to get back from wherever he is. Chewing my lip, my gaze clashes with the keys lying on his desk with every rotation. He said the second floor is unsafe and off-limits, but I’m curious to know what it’s like up there.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, swiping the keys off the desk. I’ll take a quick peek and be back downstairs in a jiffy, faster if a furry creature jumps out at me.
The dark, creepy stairwell echoes with the creak of each step I climb. The battered door at the top doesn’t have a lock, so I twist the knob and open it. I wish I hadn’t.
My breath catches.
My heart stops.
My mind rejects the scene in front of me.
What. The. Fuck.