Page 71 of One More Chance

I nod in agreement, afraid to ask what I really want, afraid to push for more. The questions swarming my mind seem to be building up. “What day are we going to the ocean?” I ask, deciding to steer the conversation somewhere less tense, at least for me.

“I’m thinking this weekend. I’m hoping to get out of the office early on Friday and head down so you have a couple of days there,” he says, his grin wide with excitement.

“Sounds great,” I say. “I might even pick up a new bikini or something this week.”

Jensen narrows his eyes. “Oh my god, I get to see you in a bikini again.”

I giggle. “You’ve seen me completely naked,” I whisper.

“I know, I know, but seeing you in a bikini is essentially the same concept as lingerie. It’s teasing and delightful.”

I laugh harder this time, shaking my head. “You’re silly.”

“Now I’m having thoughts of you in that red bikini at the lake,” he says. “You look so good in red.”

Our food arrives, disrupting the bikini talk, and we settle into more conversation while I still steer clear of heavier topics. And he’s right, this orange duck is fucking fantastic. We sip wine and laugh. Jensen orders dessert, which comes with chocolate covered strawberries, and he feeds me one across the table. This simple act of feeding me, of holding the strawberry to my lips while I take a bite, feels sensual. He watches my mouth the entire time, biting his bottom lip.

“Okay, it should be illegal for you to eat,” he says.

“You want me to starve?” I laugh.

“Okay, it should be illegal for you to look like that when you eat,” he says. “Maybe that’s a better way of putting it.”

We both laugh as the check is delivered to the table and he immediately swipes it, pulling a card from his wallet and laying it at the edge of the table. The nosey part of me, not that I condone her behavior, wants to know how much an evening like this costs. But I resist the urge to look.

The mood changes when we arrive back to his loft. Suddenly, it’s as if we’re both aware of the proximity of a bed. Or perhaps that we’re in a space we can have sex in.

Jensen removes the items from his pockets, setting them on the counter, as I step out of my heels.

I turn to see him leaning against the counter, staring at me. “What?”

“Come here,” he says, reaching his hand out to me.

I oblige, walking back to him, my bare feet hardly making any noise against the floor. His face turns dark as he licks his lips, biting the bottom one again. I wrap my arms up around his neck as his slide around my waist.

“I want to take you to bed,” he whispers, as he leans down and presses soft kisses to my neck, just underneath my ear.

“How about right here against the counter?” I tease.

Jensen groans, his grip tightening, fingers digging into my flesh. But it doesn’t hurt. “I want you in the bed,” he says. “I want to watch your face as I make you come.” He walks me back, ushering me toward the stairs.

“You can’t do that against the counter?” I laugh.

“Not the way I’m craving it at the moment,” he says.

I ascend the steps, his hands trailing down over my ass as he walks behind me. I can’t place a finger on it, I can’t say exactly how, but tonight feels different. We’ve had sex plenty of times, but this feels more intimate, more serious.

As Jensen kisses me near the foot of his bed, his hands lace into mine. His mouth is slow but not teasing. He kisses me completely, passionately.

Then it dawns on me.

We’re not just having sex tonight.

We’re making love.