Page 65 of Run to Me

He parts my labia with his thumbs and spears me with his tongue, burrowing deep before licking a path to my clit. The most erotic sounds pour from his throat as he devours me, and each one pushes me closer to the edge.

“Four minutes.” My ragged, shallow breaths come faster.

He nibbles and flicks and plunges. The scruff of his short beard rubs against my sensitive skin, adding to the euphoric sensations coursing through me. Lost in mind-altering pleasure, I struggle to remember we’re limited on time.

“Three minutes.”

I grab a fistful of his hair, and he moans when I tug the strands a little too hard and roll my hips. The man is doing things with his tongue I’ve never imagined, destroying me from the outside in. All the while, his intense gaze holds mine, knocking brick after brick from the stubborn wall I’ve erected between us.

“T-two minutes,” I stutter, my breaths sawing through me as I climb toward release. “God, you’re good at this.”

He hums in response to my praise, and the vibration shoots all the way up my spine, sending tingles across my scalp. My body’s a live wire as he brings me closer to orgasm with every swirl of his tongue and scrape of his teeth. Hot damn.

“One minute. I’m so close.” I whine—whine!—like a pouty brat because I don’t want this unbelievable moment to end.

When he adds a finger, pumping it in and out of me at an unforgiving pace, my legs shake, and I whimper his name. When his teeth graze my clit, and he sucks it hard between his lips, my muscles seize and my breath stalls. Just before my neurons explode from incomparable pleasure, he tears himself away and rises to his feet.

Chest heaving, I gape at him, incredulous. “What the⁠—”

“All I wanted to do was talk.” He sucks his finger clean, relishing my flavor on his skin. Then he wets the decorative towel to wipe his beard and hands. His movements are languid as he speaks to his reflection in the mirror. “You’re not in charge here, birdie, and I won’t let you manipulate me. You want to run away again? Fine. Go ahead and run. But this is your shot with me. You won’t get another one.”

He tosses the towel in the sink, fixes his hair, and adjusts his crotch. Twisting the doorknob, he pauses with his back to me. “At least now I know the answer to your question.”

“What question?” My throat is dry, and my voice cracks under the weight of defeat.

A dare edges out the disappointment in his eyes when he looks over his shoulder. “In five minutes, I can have you screaming my name.”

With that, he exits the bathroom. The click of the door closing behind him might as well be a maniacal crack of thunder. I flinch at the sound and draw my knees together, covering them with my dress. His disapproval obliterates my earlier confidence, and I hug my trembling legs while replaying his warning.

“…this is your shot with me. You won’t get another one.”

He threatens me with the same words I spoke to him the day everything went to shit between us. I followed through then, turning my threat into a promise. Will he do the same? Better yet, am I willing to find out?

After checking my hair and makeup in the mirror, I tuck away the vulnerability lingering at my surface and square my shoulders before rejoining the wedding celebration. Jensen, not the least bit disheveled in appearance, speaks with Rock and Brody as if his head wasn’t between my legs minutes ago. He doesn’t spare me a glance, and his blatant disregard stings. So that’s what it feels like.

I drop into my seat at the table and snag the half-empty flute I abandoned earlier. My gaze lands on Marcus, who stares at me, his thick brows raised in accusation. I roll my eyes at him and down the last of my drink in a single gulp.

Tatum dances with Jake, and when our eyes connect, I’m surprised to find curious amusement in hers rather than the disappointment I expected. Obviously, I missed my speech, but she’s not bothered. With zero subtlety, her gaze shifts between me and Jensen with a knowing smirk on her lips.

I mouth sorry and offer her a wink and a shrug. She shakes her head, smiling as she turns her attention back to her husband. Genuine happiness for my friend puts a grin onto my face as they dance, lost in their own world of bliss. And I wonder if I’ll be the one in a beautiful gown someday, swept away in the loving eyes and arms of the man who refuses to look at me for the rest of the wedding reception.

22

JENSEN

Who am I kidding? Definitely not myself. I’ll give Maisy Donovan a million shots as long as there’s hope she’ll want all of me one day. But my hope dwindles fast. I’m thirty-two now, no longer a young man with nothing but time. I want to get married, raise a family, and I want those things with only her.

“I cut my breakfast short for this, so it better not last long,” Rock says, strolling into my backyard with Brody on his heels. “And if any of you tell a soul I’m here, I’ll break your bones.”

I point at Brody, who’s wearing board shorts and a tank top as if we aren’t three-hundred-plus miles from the nearest beach. “You brought him. He runs his mouth.”

Rock grunts. “He never runs his mouth about me.”

“My mouth is a vault,” Brody says. “Lots of things come inside, but nothing leaves because I swallow it all down.”

Everyone stops what they’re doing and stares at him with slack jaws. It’s Trevor who speaks for the group. “Sometimes I wonder if there’s a faulty wire between your brain and your mouth.”

Brody shrugs and carries on with his task, and we all follow suit. I get settled in my spot as we form a circle around my fire pit. At Javi’s nod, we close our eyes and let the sounds of sunrise wash over us. Birds chirping. A gentle breeze. The light swish of leaves as branches sway overhead. It’s kind of peaceful without Brody running his mouth. Speaking of mouths…