Page 36 of Pucking Never
"You have to understand Jensen," I say, looking directly into his eyes. "I’ve always been so careful, and I never wanted what happened to Stacey to happen to me. Trust isn't something easily given… in my case, at least."
Jensen takes a moment before responding; his gaze is intense as if he's trying to read me, understand the depth of my fears.
“Grace,” he says in a gentle voice. “You can’t live your life in fear like that. What your friend Stacey went through was awful, but that wasn’t you. It doesn’t have to be you.”
Releasing a breath, I murmur, “You don’t get it.”
“I do,” he insists. “More than you know.”
Frowning, I ask, “What do you mean?”
He sighs and explains, “I’ve always had to fight to live the life I want. My father has expectations of me that I don’t want to fulfill. He’s never understood my desire to pursue hockey as a career. He keeps insisting I come work for him when I’m done playing, but I don’t want to leave hockey. I want to coach and he just can’t accept that. It’d be easy for me to do what he tells me to do. Just give up hockey and fall into line. There’d be a lot less tension between my dad and me, and honestly, I’d have a certain and steady future. That’s not what I want, though. I want to take the risk and fight for the life I’ve always dreamed of.”
I blink at him, stunned by his words. “I…I didn’t realize your dad was putting that kind of pressure on you. Isn’t he happy that you’re so successful?”
Jensen lets out a derisive snort. “No, I don’t think he is, because it’s not success as he defines it.”
As I gaze at his face, I can see the hurt in his eyes. I guess we have more in common than I thought, but he’s at least brave enough to push past his anxiety and stress to fight for what he wants and not what anyone else wants for him.
“It’s…it’s hard for me,” I whisper at length. “It’s hard for me to get past my fear enough to trust…”
"Then let me earn it," he says, "just give me a chance."
Chapter Eighteen
GRACE
I recall my conversation with Skyler. How she urged me to keep an open mind and give Jensen a real chance. Maybe…maybe I should listen to her advice.
Maybe I should take a leap of faith. Jensen is the only guy who’s ever made me want to try.
"Okay," I say slowly, taking another deep breath. “Okay. I’ll give you…this, a chance. Whatever this is.”
He looks relieved as he smiles softly. “Good,” he murmurs, as he leans in closer. “Let me start by showing you why you won’t regret this.”
I don’t pull back as his lips meet mine. His kiss is soft and gentle at first. It’s as if he’s trying to ease me into this, even though he’s had his face between my legs before. Still, something does feel different about this kiss.
His lips move against mine with a tenderness that I’ve never experienced before. My heart starts to race as I respond to him; I can feel the walls around it starting to crumble, piece by piece. His hand moves up my arm, past my elbow, and gently touches the side of my neck. His fingers lightly trace the contours of my collarbone, making me shiver under his touch. Then he pulls away, his eyes searching mine for something. When he finds whatever he’s looking for, he gives me a small nod before leaning in again.
This time, his kiss is deeper, more insistent. He holds me tighter as his tongue slips into my mouth. Heat rises in my body as his other hand finds its way to my waist, pulling me closer. The taste of the kiss is intoxicating: it's the bitter aftertaste of whiskey mixed with something uniquely Jensen.
When we pull away again, we’re breathless. He rests his forehead against mine and our noses touch. Though his eyes are closed, there's a smug smile on his face.
“How was that for a start?” he asks, his breath tickling my cheek.
"Pretty good," I tease.
"Only pretty good?" He lifts his head and raises an eyebrow at me with a half-grin.
"Well," I chuckle. "There's room for improvement."
He growls and cups the back of my head, pulling me back in for another, harder kiss. The next moment, he’s pressing me back into the mattress as he ravages my lips and aggressively explores my mouth with his tongue.
"Better?" Jensen murmurs against my lips, his voice husky with desire. His hand begins to wander from the small of my back upward, tracing the curve of my spine, and I shudder involuntarily at his touch.
I manage a breathless "Definitely," before his lips are on mine again, toppling me over the edge of rational thought. His hands are everywhere, all at once – on my waist, in my hair, tracing patterns on my skin – and I gasp as he pulls back just enough to smirk down at me.
He pushes my T-shirt up and over my head, tossing it away, then cups my breasts through my bra and squeezes them, making me gasp.