Page 96 of Hung Up
“But it’s your turn.”
She grins. “Technically, it’s yours. I interviewed last.”
Instead of arguing, rather than pointing out that maybe the woman he’s now confirmed to be in, well,somethingwith might not be able to stay objective, I turn and take off at a light jog down the hall, the heels of my boots echoing on the cement floor as I make a beeline around the corner.
He’s already leaning against the wall with a small smirk, his arms folded over his chest and his legs crossed at the ankles. He flashes me a wink as I slow my approach, that tint on my cheeks from earlier deepening.
God, I can’t believe I’ve become the kind of girl who blushes like this. It’s gross.
Kind of.
“Hey there, Pretty Boy,” I greet, flipping open my notepad. “Think you can handle an interview with me? It’s been a while.”
“I can handle anything you throw my way, Sweetheart.” He says it with a sultry undertone, one that causes very dirty thoughts to float through my mind.
I shake my head, trying to clear the lust-fog he’s attempting to induce, and pull my favorite pen out from behind my ear. “I’ve been talking to everyone today about how it’s been riding the day after knowing that one of your own can no longer compete, but if it’s too hard for you to talk about, we can skip that.”
“No, it’s fine.” He takes a deep breath, rubbing his beard. “It’s never easy when someone gets hurt, but it’s even harder this late in the season. Since I’ve been competing, we’ve never had someone in the first spot get injured and have to drop out like that. It messes with your head, for sure. Especially for me, kind of like we talked about last night, him dropping out means I’m now in first, and that thought is hard to wrap my head around.”
I nod, jotting down a couple key words before reconnecting our gazes. “But the thing that makes it easier is knowing that I’m now doing this for him. I’m here to get that golden buckle for him now. He deserves it more than anyone here, so I’m using that to drive me forward and do whatever I can to make sure I can bring it home for him.”
“You put a fifteen-point gap between you and Carson today. Does that bring you any kind of comfort heading into your last ride tomorrow?”
“Yes and no.” He shrugs, taking his hat off and running a hand through his hair before placing it back atop his messy waves. “It does give me a little bit of leniency, which can be helpful, but a bad ride for me and a good one for him could mean him kicking me out of first position. We obviously don’t want that.”
“Obviously.” We smile at each other, unable to tear our gazes away. It’s like I’m constantly finding myself sucked into his eyes, and when they darken, all the other questions I was going to ask him evaporate into thin air. “Do you want to get out of here?”
He laughs, kicking himself off the wall to close the gap between us. His hands land on my hips, and he pulls me in, our bodies flush together. “Yeah, Sweetheart. I really, really do.”
Half an hour later, after asking Rylie to finish up the last couple of interviews for me and saying goodbye to the boys, we find ourselves in his hotel room. We’re frantically tearing at each other’s clothes, trying to undress the other as quickly as possible. There’s a desperation to our movements that we haven’t had in a while, and while I know why I feel this way—we’re just at that point in the month where I find myself extra needy—I can’t quite figure out why he is.
Not that I’m exactly trying that hard.
I give his chest a shove, watching as he sits on the edge of the bed. I’m on my knees and between his legs, my right handwrapping around his length as I take him into my mouth. He moans loudly, and I look up at him under my lashes to see his head tipped back and his eyes closed, his hands braced behind him on the mattress to keep him upright.
My hand and mouth move in tandem, sliding up and down the length of him while my tongue presses against the vein on his underside. When I hollow out my cheeks his breath hitches, his hands fisting the sheets.
“Fuck, Sweetheart,” he groans, the sound only turning me on more. “That feels so fucking good. Your mouth is perfect.”
Normally, those words would spur me on and make me want to get him off this way, but I want him more than I can ever put into words. I ache for him in a way I never have for anyone else before. I want him to claim me, to bury himself so far inside me that I’ll never be able to discern where I end and he begins. The intensity of these emotions would normally make me run for the hills, but nothing has ever felt more right than it does right now, being here with him.
I lift my mouth off him with a satisfying pop, slowly rising to my feet. Reaching out my hand, I keep it palm side up, and a second later, he’s leaning forward, sliding his calloused one into my own. I turn so it’s my back facing the bed. Ever so slowly, I lower myself onto it, scooting upward so I’m laying on my back in the middle of the mattress. Keeping my eyes on his, I slowly spread my legs, my knees bent and heels digging into the mattress, exposing my bare pussy. His eyes flutter for a moment, a quiet moan slipping past his lips.
“Come here,” I whisper, crooking a finger at him. “I want to see your eyes this time. I want to watch you while you fuck me.”
“You will be the death of me, Faith Thompson.” He kneels on the bed and hovers over me, one hand beside my head and the other slowly skimming up my side. “But it’s a death I would happily welcome.”
He dips his head and captures my lips with his own. My arms wrap around the back of his neck, one hand working into his hair as the one roaming my side slips between us. A second later, I feel his tip pressing against my entrance, and my breath stutters as he pushes into me. We’re both breathing heavily, our pants mingling as his forehead rests on my own.
But this isn’t like every other time we’ve had sex. It’s slower. Softer. Our gazes never leave one another, our kisses longer, gentler. It’s every single thing we’ve ever felt being acknowledged and accepted.
It’s two people coming together with no intent of ever letting go.
And when we both reach our climaxes only seconds apart, I know that this is how it’s meant to be for the rest of my life.
Jesse lies on his back, one hand behind his head and the other wrapped around me as I lay with my head-on his chest. There’s so many things I want to say, questions I want to ask him. But more than anything, I want to tell him how I really feel. But just as that thought crosses my mind, the fear of admitting that to him ebbing away, his soft snoring reaches my ears.
And as I find myself drifting off in his arms, I tell myself that tomorrow will be the day I tell Jesse Hayes I love him.
