Page 64 of Run to Me

My best friend is notorious for her poor fashion sense. She’s learned nothing from me over the years. This blush pink dress with a sequined bodice and long taffeta skirt with chiffon overlay is proof. Its only saving grace is the sweetheart neckline, which showcases my boobs. Boobs currently pushed up by my crossed arms, drawing Jensen’s gaze.

“Again, what do you want?”

“My five minutes. You’ve kept me waiting long enough.” His fingertip trails along the top of my other breast, and I smack his hand. He withdraws and slips both hands into the pockets of his slacks. “When are you leaving for New York?”

“Tomorrow. How did you know the gig is in New York?”

“I pay attention. How long will you be gone?”

I shrug a shoulder and, in the narrow space between him and the vanity, turn toward the mirror and pick at my curls. “I’m not sure. I may go to California for a few days afterward. So…a week?”

He towers behind me. When I glance at his face in the mirror, I’m met with a clenched jaw and eyes full of despair. Frustration and wretchedness, a tricky combination of emotions to navigate through.

“Please don’t stay away that long.”

Arching a brow, I say, “Oh, we’re begging now.”

“I’ve been begging. I’ll keep begging.” He reaches for me but stops short, balling his hands into fists. His gruff voice strains when he says, “It’s so hard to stop myself from touching you.”

A thrill zings through me as an opportunity presents itself, and I spin around. Staring into those chartreuse eyes, I keep my tone even, my facial expression blank. “A worthy man would beg on his knees.”

Without hesitation, the mighty, poised Jensen Holloway drops to his knees before me, and my inner boss-bitch roars from the power surging through my veins. I lean against the counter and curl my fingers around the edge of the granite, channeling my excitement into my white-knuckled grip to keep it off my face. He’s not much shorter than me in our current positions, but having the higher ground bolsters my confidence.

“What would you beg for first?” I ask.

He wets his lips, eyes locked on my mouth. “A kiss.”

“Then kiss me.”

The command barely leaves me before he tugs me down to his chest and claims my lips. He’s everywhere, his large hands exploring and groping and squeezing. He licks into my mouth with deep, passionate strokes of his tongue. I match each one, pouring my desire down his throat on an aggressive moan.

How many nights have I fantasized about watching him unravel beneath my spell? Too many to count. It’s finally happening, and I wish we were anywhere other than a tiny bathroom at my best friend’s wedding.

“What else?” I ask, breathless and panting as he nibbles my jaw and sucks on my throat. “What will you beg for next?”

He drags his juicy bottom lip up my neck to my ear and whispers, “A taste.”

Oh my god. Yes.

“Our speeches,” I say.

“Five minutes.” His rumbling plea dampens my panties.

We don’t have any minutes to spare, but I’m too far gone to care, drowning in his musky cologne and the warmth of his body against mine.

With a boldness I’ve never felt in my life, I issue a challenge. “What can you possibly do in five minutes?”

Guiding me to my feet, he looks up at me from his kneeling position. Hunger and victory shine in his eyes, and a shameless smirk teases his lips. Drunk on false power and blinded by lust, I’ve stumbled right into his trap. In one fluid motion, he shoves my dress up and rips my thong down my legs, stuffing the panties in the pocket of his suit jacket.

He gathers the material of my skirt, bunching it at my waist. “Hold this.”

I fist the fabric with both hands and gasp when he hoists me onto the counter. He parts my legs slowly, savoring the anticipation as he unwraps the gift sitting in front of him. I help him along, planting my heels on the granite and spreading myself wide.

A sharp gasp passes his lips when his gaze lands on my smooth, bare sex. “Birdie,” he whispers, the sound like a wave rushing ashore and knocking me off my unsteady feet. It’s a good thing I’m not standing.

I’m unable to hide my desire or breathlessness when I command, “Taste me.”

Still on his knees, Jensen lunges forward. He licks me from opening to clit and groans. “Fuck. You taste like my perfect undoing.”