Page 85 of One More Chance
Harper
I turnto face Jensen after removing my shirt and I can’t read the expression on his face. There’s something more to his hooded eyes, something he seems to be fighting away. His hands come to my waist as he approaches, gripping me tightly. I sweep my palms over his chest and around his shoulders, feeling his warm skin against me.
He reaches down and tugs at my shorts, sending them down to the floor, and I’m left completely exposed.
“Lie down on the bed,” he whispers. “Face down.”
I do as instructed because I trust him, because I know I have nothing to fear in this moment. I rest my head against my crossed arms, belly to the mattress. The cool fabric sends a sensation down my body.
Jensen undresses next, the sound of his clothes hitting the floor being my only clue. His weight dips the mattress a bit as his hand reaches out to tuck my hair behind my ear. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. “I don’t think I could ever get tired of saying that.”
Feeling like I’ve had the wind knocked out of me, I inhale, trying to steady myself.
His fingers trace down along my neck from my ear, stopping to draw delicate circles between my shoulder blades before moving down. He lingers every few inches, like he’s memorizing the exact way my spine feels beneath the pads of his fingers.
When he reaches my tail bone, he dips them in the dimples right above my ass before cupping it. I part my legs instinctively and he reads my invitation, letting his hand pass over me and dipping two fingers into my wet center. There’s something deliciously different about this angle, and I find myself pressing up and arching each time his hand rocks back and forth.
“Turn over,” he says, sliding his hand away from me.
He’s still sitting on the edge of the bed and when I turn, he pulls me to him, wrapping my legs around him, so we’re face to face. My chest is pressed against his as he clings to me, like he can’t get me close enough. He lifts me gently, pressing his lips to mine and sets me down again, this time entering me slowly as I melt down over him. I claw at his back as he fills me, my insides immediately twisting into lovely knots of pleasure.
“Fuck,” he groans against my mouth, the expletive coming out more growl than actual word.
Moans and panting are the only noises escaping me as I lose myself to this moment. My body bounces up and down slowly, the pace set by him. I shudder over and over again each time he pushes all the way in. He strokes the outside of me with his thumb so slowly, the intensity is almost unbearable.
“I’m gonna come,” I manage between shallow breaths.
Jensen doesn’t change pace; he doesn’t change a thing. He wants it now, just like this, his expression hopeful and coaxing.
The delicious knots unravel inside me as I grow limp around him, basking in the pleasure of the orgasm ripping through my limbs. Three more slow thrusts and Jensen tenses head to toe, his own orgasm overcoming him. He collapses back onto the bed, bringing me with him.
He’s still inside me but we make no effort to move. We pant together, trying to catch our breath, wrapped up in each other. Jensen’s heartbeat is beneath my ear again, a lullaby I’ve come to rely on.
“Do you think there’s a way to record a heartbeat without medical technology?” I ask.
Jensen chuckles, his hand gently rubbing up and down the length of my back. “I’m not sure. Why?”
“Just need a recording of yours,” I say, my eyes blinking lazily as I succumb to relaxation.
“I’ll see what I can find out,” he says.
It’s the last words I hear before drifting to sleep.
* * *
I wake up suddenly,sitting straight up in the bed, confusion and concern mounting in me. The room is completely dark and I reach out, realizing the bed is empty. What time is it? How long have I been asleep? Where’s Jensen? All these questions are like an avalanche in my mind, once I remember where I am. I hate the split-second moment when you wake up so disoriented you don’t even remember where you are.
Peering toward the bathroom, I realize he can’t be in there. The light is off according to the crack at the bottom of the door. Then I hear it. The soft strumming of a guitar floats through the air. It sounds like it’s coming from downstairs.
Gathering the sheet around me, I tiptoe to the edge of the stairs. The glow of the fire paints Jensen in a golden orange glow. He’s sitting on the edge of his couch as he works his fingers over the strings on his guitar. I can’t be sure, but it sounds like he’s humming. As quietly as I can manage, I descend. I’m not more than four or five stairs down before he speaks.
“Sorry if I woke you,” he says. He’s not at full volume but it’s not a whisper either.
“You didn’t. I just sort of woke up, I guess.”
Jensen pats the couch next to him, inviting me to sit. I curl up into a ball against the arm of the couch, my feet pressed against the side of him. His hands continue strumming and I’m mesmerized by the way they float over the instrument. His humming grows until it becomes words.
He sings in a hushed tone, the words barely echoing across the space. I close my eyes, a lazy smile over my lips. Being serenaded intentionally or by accident is so peaceful. A quiet rhythm causes me to loosen the tension in my body.