by Juli Valenti
“Jensen.” His name was breathy as it fell from her lips, garbled, and he stopped moving, afraid he’d hurt her. But Drew’s hands reached around, grabbing his ass and pulling him deeper into her, surprising him and taking his breath away. Their groans were in unison as he seated completely inside her, her body tightening around him.
He’d planned that when and if it ever happened, if he ever got the chance to make love to Drew, he wanted it to last. He’d wanted romantic and long sex, only after he’d had ample time to prepare her – he didn’t want it to hurt, and especially didn’t want to be the one who hurt her. She had other ideas, which he should have known. Even now, as he was hesitant to move, she was swiveling her hips, forcing him to.
“Love me, Jens.”
Drew’s eyes were closed, her mouth parted, and he knew anything he said would be lost right now. So, instead, he did as she asked. Pulling back, he slowly eased in, before repeating the motion, each time his thrusts going deeper and harder. Jensen relished in the feel of her, amazed by her, enjoying her nails digging into the muscles of his arms, his back.
Come on, Marks, hold out, he mentally pep-talked himself. Each movement had more sounds tumbling out of her, his name on constant repeat. Drew’s breaths became erratic and he could feel her quivering inside; he only prayed he could make it. It had been a while, a long while, since he’d had sex – one-night stands no longer did it for him. And since he’d met Drew, he hadn’t been able to even think about anyone like that.
“Fuck, Jensen,” she groaned brokenly, and he gritted his teeth. Drew rarely swore, and hearing the words coming from her as she clung to him was almost too much. Determined, he thrust again, and again, sparing nothing, letting him reach the end of her.
“Come on, baby,” he said aloud, not caring if she could hear him. Jensen continued moving, and, finally, she let go, her body tightening around him and bringing his own climax. Still he kept thrusting, forcing her to ride her orgasm out until the last, until the sensitivity was too much for him to bear.
Struggling not to collapse on her, he shifted to the side, taking her with him. Together they lay there, neither moving, the only sound in the room their mixed breathing. For the first time in a long time, Jensen wished she could hear – if only to hear the love and beauty in the silence.
Jensen was still holding Drew when she pulled back, getting his attention. Though the flush of her cheeks had faded, it was still imprinted in his memory and he cupped her face. She allowed him to kiss her softly, but stopped him before he could press for more.
“What happened?” she asked, entwining her fingers with his and staring up at him.
He sighed, not wanting to relive the day’s nightmare. The mood in the room had been full of peace and bliss, yet he was only going to bring sadness. Shutting his eyes, flashes of the scene he’d been called to sparked behind them, and he cringed.
“Carrigan and I were sent out on a call today,” he told her slowly, ensuring there was enough space between them that she could read his lips without strain. If he was going to discuss this, discuss the rare horror of his job, he only wanted to do it once. Truthfully, he didn’t want to tell her at all, but her eyes were serious – she meant business and wasn’t going to let him get away without spilling.
“It was a domestic disturbance call – meaning someone called because a fight was grabbing attention around them.” Understanding immediately colored Drew’s face, and Jensen hated himself a little. Of course she’d know what a domestic disturbance was … She’d lived the same nightmare, but, luckily, with a different outcome. “The couple were new to town – only been here about a month or so. No one really knew anything about them except they were early thirties or so, and had an eight-year-old son.”
“Were? Had?”
Her astuteness no longer surprised him. Drew didn’t need her hearing – she caught everything, probably because the lack of. It never failed that she would see through his every fib, merely based off his expression, or the way his lips moved when he spoke. She was incredible … and slightly intimidating.
“When we got there … well, we expected…” Jensen stopped, trying to focus on forming his words and Drew squeezed his hand. “We expected a couple fighting – the basic stuff, yelling and throwing things. Instead we found the wife on the floor, a gunshot wound to the head. The husband wasn’t far away; he’d eaten his gun after killing her.”
“What about their son?” Drew asked, emotion coloring her words, making them distort. Her eyes had grown glossy, knowledge forcing them out of her. She knew where he was going, what had more than likely happened. He could tell she didn’t want it to be true; she wanted him to tell her the boy was fine, that they got to him in time. Baby, I wish I could tell you those things, he thought before taking a deep breath.
“He was behind the couch, huddled in a ball. He…” Jensen’s voice broke and he was grateful she hadn’t heard it, though he knew she knew. “He was gone. Shot three times.”
The utter despair that covered Drew’s gaze was too much for him to bear and Jensen closed his eyes, only to be bombarded with images that would haunt him. Everything he’d ever experienced, the death and heartache of war, had never kept up at night. Under orders, Jensen had done things he wasn’t proud of – hell, he’d killed people. He felt bad when he’d done it, but orders were orders; it was simple logic that had been ground into him since he was a young man. One didn’t disobey orders from a high-ranking superior, and certainly not during combat. But this, this he knew was going to follow him everywhere he went.
Jensen hadn’t even had a hand in this. He’d merely been the one called on scene, the one to find the bodies. Yet, it hit him where it hurt the worst. There wasn’t anything he could do, anyone he could hunt down and lock up, throwing away the key when he was done. There couldn’t be any vengeance here and he hated it.
“My God,” Drew murmured, not moving to brush away an errant tear that was trailing down her cheek. She looked up at him innocently, yet with so much age and maturity, he could hardly stand it. “I’m so sorry. Sorry for the boy … and sorry you had to see it.”
“Drew, God, Drew. If we had gotten there earlier…”
“No, Jens. No. This wasn’t your fault,” she scolded, shaking her head.
“You don’t understand!” he all but yelled, immediately regretting it. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t hear the tone in his voice; she saw it on his face and cringed back, trying to move away from him, but he stopped her. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. It’s just…”
She continued trying to move away from his embrace, trying to pull out of his arms, but he held steady. Fear was written all over her, which only served to make him feel worse. She looked like she expected him to hit her, to raise a hand to strike her, which would never, ever happen.
“Stop looking at me like that – you’re killing me. It’s just … he was still warm, Drew. He was still warm, bruises all over his fucking body. If we’d gotten the call earlier, or something … I just…”
Drew stopped fighting him, but still didn’t relax, instead studying his face. Jensen was fighting the emotion that was beginning to choke him, so many he could barely name them. Sadness, anger, guilt for scaring her, fear, heartache. It was taking everything he had not to break down, to not cry, which he’d done the entire way home. Carrigan had left him at the scene, the older man shaking his head sadly and heading home to his wife and baby. Jensen, though, had stayed. He’d stayed beside the boy until the medical examiner had taken him away; he’d stayed and whispered how he was sorry for what had happened and how he wished things could have been different.
It was obvious what had happened; the couple had fought, the man had killed the wife, then moved on to his son before offing himself. The fucker hadn’t even had the balls to face the music of what was coming to him, what he deserved. Instead he stole away any peace of mind Jensen could have gotten, any redemption for the poor boy named Shawn who’d lost his life for no reas
on. Shawn. The little blond-haired, blue-eyed little boy with freckles, with more bruises than he’d even realized was possible on one small body.
“Jensen,” Drew’s voice came hesitantly, her hand releasing his to pull his face up. He hadn’t even realized he’d dropped it, or that unwanted tears had coursed down his cheeks. “Oh, Jens.”
Movements slow and unsure, she kissed him softly, caressing his face. Jensen let her, trying not to think as her lips touched his, her kisses growing more confident. He let her strength drown out the gruesome images in his head, replacing them with a tenderness only she could give him. A tenderness he couldn’t be more grateful.
After another kiss, he pulled back, a finger tracing down to her chin. He didn’t know how he’d gotten so lucky to have her with him, there, in his bed, but he was grateful. Jensen knew he’d all but forced himself into her life, but she hadn’t seemed to mind – instead she’d accepted him, though hesitant to trust him at first. He couldn’t only hope she’d eventually trust him with her whole self.
“Drew,” he whispered, drawing her eyes to his lips. “I need you to know I’d never hit you, ever. I’m not your father – you understand that, right?”
“I know,” she told him quickly, but he shook his head.
“No. Don’t automatically answer that. I need to know you really know I’d never touch you in anger. Even if I’m upset or frustrated, even if we’re arguing, it would never escalate to that. I can swear that to you. Never, ever.”
Drew peered up at him, her eyes moving from his lips to meet his earnest stare. He was putting every truth he could muster into his expression – desperate for her to believe him. The scene today put everything into so much more perspective for him. He’d seen the effects of what could have happened to the amazing woman beside him, damage that had been just shy of what had been done to her. Part of what haunted him was if he closed his eyes, it wasn’t hard to picture a much younger Drew in place of Shawn, her small body broken and curled in on itself, trying to find refuge where there was none. He could only imagine the utter fear she’d felt, wondering if each beating would be the one to finally take her life. Even worse, he imagined she would have welcomed it at some point – the point at which she’d set her room on fire for the simple plan of getting out.
Jensen needed her to know that the future was going to be much different for her than her past. She would never know a single unkind graze of his skin on hers. He didn’t know what was in store for them, where she may go or what choices she’d make; he couldn’t make any promises in that regard. But this was one he could, and he’d rot in hell before he ever broke it.
“I know,” Drew repeated and he released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He searched her face for any doubt of words, but found none. She meant it, she knew it, and he’d live up to it.
“Thank you,” he uttered, pulling her lips back to his. Jensen had only meant for it to be a kiss but fire spread through him as she held him. Drew’s tongue teased the seam of his mouth, and he opened, letting her explore his mouth, doing the same with hers. They stayed locked in their embrace, their dueling of tongues and wills, until both were breathless.
“I want you,” he told her when he finally broke away, his hands trailing down her shoulders, her arms. He fingered the strap of her lace bra, the same color purple as the panties he’d removed from her earlier. I should have taken this off, he thought, but stopped his line of thought before he got too distracted with her. “But we need to eat. You hungry?”
The answering nod she gave him said she was, but the look on her face said otherwise; she was hungry, all right … for him. Every inch of man in him stretched and preened like a prized peacock, yet his stomach chose that moment to grumble loudly. Jensen hadn’t eaten since breakfast and he was famished.
“Food first, baby.”
Dressing in a pair of sports shorts, he started to hand Drew her clothes, but she shook her head and walked passed him. Moving to the dresser against the wall, she withdrew a pair of his boxers and slid them on over her bare skin. Fuck that’s hot, he mentally groaned. There was something so sexy about her wearing nothing but a skimpy bra and his boxers. Shifting, he adjusted his growing erection, knowing the thin fabric of his shorts would hide nothing; Drew didn’t miss the motion either.
She smiled and actually winked at him. She winked! Jensen knew he wasn’t ever going to get enough of that girl and almost tossed her back on the bed as she walked by. Unfortunately, she somehow knew of his plan seconds before he did and bolted around him, giggling as she ran toward the door, shooting him a seductive look before disappearing.
A grin formed on his lips as he stared, dumbfounded, at the doorway she’d gone through. Mere seconds passed before he laughed to himself and ran after her. He’d have his food, then he’d have her – if she’d let him. And judging by that look she’d given him? She was going to. Hell yes.
Never had watching someone cook been so interesting to Jensen before. But watching as Drew moved around in his kitchen, barely clothed, nothing could have taken his attention away from her. It was like he was hanging on her every motion, from cracking the eggs, to scrambling them, and pouring the mixture into the frying pan. She was distracting and he found himself lost in thoughts of what he would do to her when he had the chance. It was easy for him to remember she wasn’t wearing panties under his boxers, and the thought had him shifting in his seat.
“Jens?” she asked, using the nickname she’d given him – the one that sounded so sexy coming from her. If he had his way, she’d never refer to him as Jensen ever again - Jens was way better in his opinion.
Glancing up at her, he could tell she’d been speaking to him, trying to get his attention for a bit. At least, that’s what he got, judging by her hands on her hips and almost concerned gaze. He’d been lost in his own thoughts.
“Sorry, what?” he asked and she smiled.
“I asked what you wanted to drink,” she told him, almost knowingly, like she knew he’d been thinking about her. Who was he kidding, she always knew.
“Oh, whatever is fine,” he answered, watching her once again as she nodded and poured glasses of water, setting them on the bar side by side. She quickly and efficiently plated the omelets she’d made, adding bacon after stealing a piece that had broken off.
Drew made her way around the counter to sit beside him and he stopped her before her butt hit the stool. She looked at him questioningly as he pulled at her hand, tugging her down to his level. He mouthed thank you and kissed her softly, smiling against her lips as a small sound escaped her. Jensen doubted she realized she’d even made it, but it was fucking adorable. He wanted her to make those sounds forever, maybe even record them, just so he could play them over and over.
“I really like you, Jensen,” Drew said softly when he let her go.
He was momentarily struck stupid, not knowing what to say. He more than liked her, more than really liked her. Did she not realize that? Sure, he hadn’t said it, he hadn’t thought he had to. If he was being honest with himself, he was in love with her – how that was possible for only four months, he wasn’t sure. Hell, he hadn’t even questioned the fact; he’d merely accepted it, just as he had the uncontrollable pull she had on him.
As he opened his mouth to speak, he realized she’d sat down and dropped her head, her hair covering her eyes as she stared at the floor. What he could see of her cheeks, she was flushed. Reaching out, he brushed a lock of hair out of the way, tucking it behind her ear before turning her face to him.
“I really like you, too,” he told her, copping out at the last minute. The words ‘I love you’ had been on the tip of his tongue, but saying them would cement the fact. Drew had her world ahead of her, had just gotten out of a terribly abusive situation, and the last thing he wanted to do was bind her to him. Well, not the last thing – in truth, he wanted nothing more than to keep her forever. But, when that happened, if it happened, it needed to be her choice, with no outside inf
luence.
In the days he’d spent with her, she was growing more than she realized. No longer did she shy away from speaking to him, even calling out to him – where once she was shamed by the possibility of what she sounded like, there was none now. A spark was also igniting within her; Jensen could see its subtle changes in her, and it was as if he glimpsed another woman.
She wasn’t healed, whole, by any means … but she was getting there more and more. Being in his home had seemed to help as well. Drew was independent there, cooking for herself while he was working, reading a book, even working on getting her GED in her spare time. She hadn’t taken the roll of housekeeper, which he was grateful – instead that was a dual effort between the two of them, without ever being verbally agreed upon.
The smile that illuminated her face at his words stole the breath from his lungs. Her eyes glowed, and he hated himself a little that he hadn’t been entirely truthful. Drew was so happy by his small admission, his really liking her … he could only imagine how she’d be if she knew.
I love you, Drew, he told her mentally, wishing he had the balls to say it aloud. But, instead, he pushed his plate away and pulled her lips to his. He put his feelings, the words he hadn’t said, into their kiss. She sighed against his mouth and he stood, moving toward her, and she opened her legs, allowing him to press against her where she sat.
It never ceased to amaze him, the unbridled passion inside her. He’d never expected it, but cherished it all the same. And when they’d made love? God, Jensen couldn’t remember a more satisfying experience. It had been amazing, her body accommodating him as if it were meant for him. And she’d been a virgin. Wait a minute. Thoughts running a mile a minute, he hesitated, his forehead propped against hers as he relived the experience. He couldn’t remember any pain, or pinch as he’d entered her, nor had he noticed any blood. There should have been blood.