Page 52 of Blindsided By You

When I sink my length into her, it’s like coming home. She arches her back, seeking the perfect angle. I grab a cushion from behind me, shoving it roughly under her hips.

“Yes, more,” she huffs and I comply, burying myself in her, hitting the spot hard and deep. Her breath hitches with every thrust, her exhales threaded with whimpers. I roll my hips in the way I know gives her extra contact, the friction working her clit.

I’m struggling to hold back today. She feels so fucking good, her muscles clenching me so damn tight I’m glad it’s not my fingers in there because I swear she’d break them. Drawing on every bit of self control, I manage to hold myself back just long enough. She tips her head back, her mouth open in a shuddering release, and feeling her come so hard around me sends me crashing over the edge.

When I come back from the bathroom, Jenna’s still lying there on the sofa, a cushion under her head, eyes closed. The dappled sunlight through the gauzy curtains lights the peaks and valleys of her body.

She’s so beautiful it hurts and I wish I could keep her here in this little bubble, where all her worries about what anyone else might think about the idea of us together don’t exist. Where all her doubts—that she’s too much of this, or not enough of that—are erased by me loving her. I don’t use the word love in only the physical sense, because I think this is a woman I could love if she’d give us a chance. If she’d let me love her.

Stretched out there, totally naked and uninhibited, I long for her to have the same confidence about the Jenna inside as she does about her outer body. Then she might see how easy she is to love.

I sit on the end of the sofa, lifting her feet and propping them on one thigh. She opens her eyes with a bright smile, like she’s just woken in the morning to see me for the first time. God, what I’d give to wake up with her one morning.

She shuffles herself down the sofa, edging her feet further onto my lap. I take one between my hands, massaging it with firm strokes, and she hums in pleasure.

“Feels so good,” she sighs.

“Christ, if I’d known I could get those sorts of sounds from you just by touching your feet, you could have left your clothes on.”

She snorts out a laugh. “If you think you can get away with just a foot massage, Geordie MacDonald, you are deluded.”

“I can tell you now,” I tease, “there’s no way I’d have dragged myself away from work if I thought I’d only get to give you a foot massage.”

“Yeah, like getting away from work was so hard.” She mumbles in between tiny moans as I begin work on her second foot, kneading her instep with my knuckles.

She’s right. Working as a contractor for Sparky isn’t the most exciting job, but it fills my days and gives me flexibility. I can choose to take a few hours off to spend with her.

I’d be happy filling all of my days with Jenna, but I’m thankful she’s gifted me this hour away. It’s pulled her away from her own work, and I know how much that matters to her.

I ignore her squeal of protest when I tuck her feet to one side and lie down, stretching out on the sofa alongside her. She turns onto her side, facing me to make more room, and I press myself against the length of her. I graze a kiss on her warm forehead.

“This is nice,” she says, dropping her head to my shoulder, her breath coasting across my bare skin. “Having the place to ourselves. No marauding dads.”

“Or dogs.”

Bubbles of laughter burst against my neck.

“No Nathan? About to crash through the front door and see your naked arse?” she grins.

“No,” I say. “I put the chain on. Besides, over in the distillery, he will have heard that car of yours announcing your arrival. He’s not coming home early.”

“Good,” she hums against my chest, as if she’s in no hurry to leave. She’s relaxed under my arm. “Just us.”

We lie there, moulded together, skin to skin. My fingers absently untangle the strands of her hair while hers play with my chest hairs. I don’t speak, not wanting to break the peacefulness between us.

“I really like you, Geordie MacDonald,” she breathes against me, the words warming me through.

“I really like you, too, Jenna Sharpe.”

She tips her chin upwards, her brown eyes soft and serious.

“How is it that I find a guy like you, here in Cluanie? And who’d have thought,” she muses, “that guy would be you?”

“Not me,” I say. “This is not what I expected coming home would look like. But I’m pleased it does.”

“Me too,” she says. “No one, least of all me, would have predicted that you and I would be good together. But here we are.”

I’m pretty sure from the delicate kiss she presses on my mouth that she’s not just talking about the sex, and the small ember of hope in my chest flares for a moment. And then, just like that, with my next stupid words, I extinguish it.

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