Page 87 of Truthfinder’s Promise

Warmth enclosed her and strong arms settled around her waist. Jensen nuzzled the side of her neck, breathing her in like she was something intoxicating instead of just a woman.

“It will be fine,” he rumbled in her ear. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” She ran her hands over his forearms, feeling the strength of the muscles beneath his skin.

“Then what are you worried about?” His breath grazed the shell of her ear before he nipped it lightly. A tremor ran through her, heightened when his hands slid up her waist, over her stomach. “And don’t even try to say you’re not.”

“I’m afraid you won’t come back.”

“I will. And so will you, and so will everyone else. What else?”

But she couldn’t voice the rest. I’m afraid that if you do come back, you won’t be coming back to me. I’m afraid I’ll lose you either way. He would lead his enclave someday. Would he really want her beside him for that?

She didn’t want to ask or hear his answer, didn’t want to know if the words he spoke would be true or not. He could promise her anything right now. He could even mean it. But meaning it now didn’t mean he would mean it later, once the dust had settled.

She was so sick of the myriad ways words could be true and not true. True now, and not true later. How truth was as mutable as the world and, for all her Aspect, she didn’t seem to have a firm grasp on either.

She didn’t want his pretty words. The only truth she wanted right now was the graze of his lips, the slide of his tongue against hers. She wanted to feel him on top of her, inside her, to feel him be hers one last time.

She arched back and tilted her head up, teasing his lips with hers. His hands closed on her hips, pulling her hard against him as his mouth answered her demand, his tongue meeting hers stroke for stroke.

She ground back, rolling her hips, loving the groan she dragged out of his throat.

“You drive me crazy.” His hands slid to the insides of her thighs and squeezed. Heat zinged through her, pooling low in her belly.

Yes. If she had to walk straight into Julian’s arms tomorrow, she was doing it with Jensen’s scent on her skin, the hot brand of his lips on hers, the feel of him inside her.

She lifted her shirt over her head, then unclasped her bra and tossed it aside. Jensen inhaled sharply, his hands closing over her breasts, kneading her flesh. She bit her lips against the pleasure that spilled through her. She’d never wanted anyone like she wanted him, had never felt as right, as easy, as safe, as she did when he touched her.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “So perfect.” His right hand flicked open the button on her jeans, slid the zipper down and delved inside. “It’s no wonder that in that basement, I almost thought I made you up.”

His fingers glided through the wetness that soaked her, teasing her entrance before gliding back up to circle her clit. “Tell me you’re not a dream, darlin’. Tell me you’re real.” He moved back down and thrust two fingers inside her.

She arched into his hand. “I’m real,” she panted. She tilted her head back, biting his neck and sucking. “Show me you are. Fuck me, Jensen. I want to feel you. I want to still be feeling you tomorrow.”

He grabbed the waistband of her jeans, yanked them and her underwear over her hips, down, crouching to pull them off over her high heels. Goosebumps broke out over her skin, something delicious about being naked when he’d yet to take off a stitch of clothing.

He grasped her ankles, running his hands lightly up over her calves, the backs of her thighs. “Jensen…” She didn’t know exactly what she was begging for, just that she was.

He pressed a kiss to her low back. Then he dropped and slid beneath her, pulling her down to straddle his face. His hands on her ass held her down as his tongue delved into her, and she cried out. He licked and sucked, driving her higher and higher up that peak until he sent her hurtling off the other side.

He brought her down with gentle kisses, but she didn’t want gentle. She sat back and rolled, pulling him on top of her, his hands landing to either side of her face. She fumbled at the clasp on his jeans until she had them open, shoving them down just enough to draw him free.

He groaned, pumping against her hand as he showered her face and neck in kisses. She didn’t want to wait, couldn’t wait. She guided him to her entrance, locked her legs around his thighs and pulled him into her.

“Fuck.” His voice was low and rough and perfect.

Meredith gasped at the sharp hurt of going too fast, of not easing into it, but she didn’t care. It passed soon enough, and when she relaxed, Jensen withdrew and slowly eased back in, filling her. His slow, deep thrusts were torture, the material of his jeans against her thighs a rough contrast to the smooth hardness of his body.

It was so good. She just needed more—everything. She arched up and took his lips, her tongue thrusting into his mouth before she turned aside to whisper in his ear. “Make me feel it, baby. Make me feel all of it.”

He dropped to his forearms and gave her a quick, hard kiss. He withdrew and thrust back in, hard and deep.

She moaned. “Just like that.” She hitched her legs higher around his waist, urging him on. “Harder.” He pulled out and slammed home, her hips swiveling up to meet him. “Harder,” she repeated, the word almost a mantra as he built a fast, furious rhythm, giving her what she demanded.

Pressure built inside her as they moved together, the slide of his t-shirt against her breasts bringing her nipples to rough peaks. His body tensed, his thrusts growing faster, erratic. He held himself up on one arm and moved his other hand between them. His thumb grazed her clit. Once, twice, and she exploded, convulsing around him as a guttural sound left his throat and he buried himself in her a final time.

He kissed her face, her neck, her collarbone as he came, and when he moved to roll off her she wrapped her arms around his back and held him, inside her, on top of her, loving the heavy weight of him.

I love you. The words pounded through her head in time with the rise and fall of her chest, fast and insistent and ridiculous. She couldn’t love him. She didn’t want to love him. Everything would hurt more, if she did.

But she couldn’t shake the thought, the feeling, as they stumbled their way to bed and she fell asleep tucked against his side. And when they both woke in the middle of the night, thrashing from nightmares, those three words were the ones coursing through her veins as they kissed each others’ fears away.

I love you, I love you, I love you. Three words she wouldn’t say, so she tried to make him feel them instead. In the brush of her lips against his, in the touch of her hands, in the way their bodies moved together. Because that was all she knew how to give him.