CHAPTER NINE
SCARLET
Is it wrong to be this happy? It certainly feels like it should be illegal.
I lost count of the times I came last night. That was new, amazing, but it wasn’t just the sex. It felt right, like this is precisely how it was meant to be all along. Josh didn’t even cross my mind.
I was too busy to close the curtains last night, the first rays of morning sun lighting up my eyelids. For a moment I keep them shut tight, worried I’ll roll over and Jensen will be gone with a new notch in his belt, but he’s not.
His voice comes low, a husky growl against my back. He answers the question for me, hard, Mr. Diamond Dick behind me. “Morning, gorgeous.”
I roll over and run my hand up his side. “You’re hard.”
He’s grinning, eyes lit. “Can you blame me?”
“It’s just that with Josh I never…”
“Made love in the morning?”
“Something like that. Actually, he never made me come.”
I know this will get Jensen’s competitive streak flaring, and it does.
He takes the bait, his grin widening. “So I’m already coming up trumps, am I?”
I drop my hand perilously close to his manhood, fingers running through the soft, wiry mess of his pubic hair. His cock twitches in response. “If we were playing soccer, I’d say you scored a couple of goals.”
He takes me by the sides and rolls us over so I’m on my back. “The goalkeeper was a pushover.”
I raise an eyebrow, enjoying this innuendo. “Is that so?”
“And the referee… Didn’t catch half of what was going on.”
“I guess that’s just as well. You’re not supposed to use your hands, you know.”
He leans down and lets his lips hover above a breast. “Or my mouth.”
I slap him on the shoulder. “Stop it.”
“Can I help it I’ve got game?”
“I had fun,” I confess. “How about you?”
He lines himself up at my sex. I’m surprised I’m so wet already. “Best night of my life, and that includes taking out the NCAA Championship—twice.”
“Ego much?”
He slides in. “Sue me.”
He draws back, preparing to stroke forward again when my cell rings from the bedside table.
He pauses, man perfection above me. “Don’t you dare get that.”
I pick it up. It’s Mom. She’ll get worried if I don’t take her usual Sunday call.
“Don’t,” repeats Jensen, the head of his cock gently tapping against my clit.
“You’ll survive,” I whisper, pressing the screen and putting the cell to my ear, smiling as I speak. “Mom.”
“Baby, hope I didn’t wake you.” She always starts off with this line, predictable as always. Predictable and dependable—that’s Mom.
“No, Mom,” I read from the script, rolling my eyes at Jensen, who’s leaning back on his heels, his cock comically erect. He’s so hard I’m actually concerned there’s no blood left for his brain to function. Not that you need it. He’s pouting, arms crossed like a toddler who’s stuck at the stairgate.
“Sleep well?” asks Mom.
“I did.” A lie. I barely slept at all.
A new smile comes to Jensen’s face and everything about it reads ‘mischief’. He lies down on the bed between my legs and takes hold of my thighs, coming forward. No! I mouth, trying to close my legs, but I’m no match for Jensen’s strength. He pulls them back apart like a he’s a human jaws of life.
“Did you say something?” continues Mom, Jensen drawing closer and closer to my hot pussy.
Do not, I mouth, a stern look on my face I know will only make him want to do it more. “Um, I was asking how you’re doing. How’s Bob?”
Mom’s new man, if you can call him that, is a balding, middle-aged banker with as much life as a steel beam, but he’s been good to her so far. That’s all I care about at the end of the day.
“Bob’s good,” she replies. “He got a promotion.”
“Moving up the ranks, huh?”
Jensen extends his tongue. I give him my angriest look, but it ain’t about to scare anyone off, let alone Jensen Collins.
“How’s the hospital? They keeping you busy over there with gunshot victims and axe murderers?”
Mom’s never been a fan of where I work or live. She thinks anything downtown is rife with crime. A couple of years ago she wouldn’t have been wrong. “I’m off at the moment. You know how it is.”
“Honestly,” she huffs, Jensen’s tongue licking figure-of-eights against my thigh, “I don’t know how you do it, Scarlet—all that blood and guts. Your father…” she trails off, never willing to speak directly about Dad and the old days. “And Josh?”
Jensen stops, sensing Josh’s name.
I reach down with my free hand and try to push him away, but he’s not going anywhere. “We broke up.”
I have to hold the phone away from my ear, so loud is the whooping and cheering that follows.
Jensen lifts his head, an inquiring look on his face.
I roll my eyes again. “Really, Mom?”
“I’m happy for you, baby. I never liked that boy.”
“Geez, thanks for telling me now.”
“Oh, baby. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. It wasn’t my place to get involved.”
Jensen pushes forward, my hand no match. He licks up from my perineum to the very top of my pussy, the tip of his tongue flicking off my clitoral hood. I jerk and give a soft moan. “Ah, yeah. It’s for the best.”
“You’re not seeing anyone else?” comes the curious reply.
Jensen slides a finger inside, draws it out wet with arousal. I shake my head. “No, Mom,” I lie. It’s early days, far too early to have her calling and texting me every second for an update. There are only two things in her life that matter, and Bob doesn’t make the list. It’s me and Bold and the Beautiful. God help you if you get between Mom and Ridge Forrester. I’ve kind of wondered whether she makes Bob wear a wig in the bedroom, run lines from the show.
Mind bleach, aisle six!
“Are you okay, baby?” In comes the concerned parent, Jensen turning his concentration to my clit and pushing me far too quickly towards completion.
I’m panting softly, trying to hold the phone away from my face. It’s getting hard to speak. “Yes, Mom.” Jensen adds more pressure, uses the underside of his tongue to press and knead. Yes, yes, yes.
Oh god. It’s happening.
“You really broke up with him?”
I bring my feet flat on the bed, push my hips up into Jensen’s face, grind against his mouth while simultaneously trying to push his head away. “Yes… Mom.”
My cheeks are burning. I’m breathing hard, my chest rising and falling and only Jensen’s alligator eyes visible below.
My responses become monosyllabic.
Mom pushes on. “You’re looking after yourself?”
“Yes,” I pant, Jensen lapping over and over, finger darting quickly in and out of my pussy.
“You okay? You sound a little off.”
If she hears him… “Yes, I’m okay.” Another lie. I’m about a second from leaving Earth entirely and rocketing off into the sexual stratosphere. I don’t think I’m even connected to the bed anymore.
“Scarlet?” she questions, when I remain mute.
“Yes.”
Oh sweet loving Lord.
“Can you hear me?”
I’m almost breathless as I reply, eyes closed. “Yes.”
It comes, exploding from the inside out, my toes curling and my head dropping back into the pillow. I hold the phone away from my face and turn sideways, burying my face in the sheets as I scream in release, my hips bucking and pussy caught in a violent series of convulsions I’m sure are going to snap me in two.
All the while I hear Mom yapping, “Scarlet? Baby? Are you there?”
Finally, Jensen slips away, kneeling and smiling so hard I’m sure he’s done this before. I scald him with my eyes. I’ll deal with you later, I mouth, still holding the phone away from my ear.
He holds himself, wagging his cock. Please do, he mouths back.
Holy hell, Scarlet. What have you gotten yourself into?
“Scarlet!” screams Mom.
I place the phone back against my ear. It’s almost as hot as the maelstrom churning in my core. “I’ve got to go, Mom.”
“You’re really okay?”
I smile at Jensen, closing my legs and amazed how tender I’ve become down there. “Never been better.”
*
Over the next two days my apartment becomes our hideaway. We barely leave the bed. It gets to a point where I can’t remember the last time I was wearing pants or a shirt. My apartment becomes something of an impromptu ‘no clothes’ zone.
But I’m comfortable around Jensen, far more comfortable than I was with Josh, who’d point out my imperfections, tell me I was ‘bulking up’ around the thighs. He even bought a treadmill once, left in the corner of the living room as a silent hint. In hindsight I’m amazed I stayed with him so long. Stockholm syndrome, probably.
I can see the kitchen through the bedroom door. I lie on the bed laughing at Jensen, who seems rather determined to cook breakfast donned only in a ‘Momma Knows Best!’ apron, his two pale buttocks staring back at me.
He turns around, cheeky smile on his face and spatula in his hand. “Like the view?”
“I’ve seen better.”
He wiggles his butt. “Bullshit you have.”
“I always wanted a live-in cook.”
“Cook or cock?”
“I can’t have both?”
He returns to the scramble, speaking over the sizzle coming from the pan. “You, my queen, can have whatever your heart desires.”
“How about a world where I don’t have to work?”
“I thought you enjoyed working at St. James?”
I spin around, sitting myself on the edge of the bed. “I do, but it’s draining, you know? People come in, I patch them up, and they’re back a couple of days later with another gunshot, OD’ing again—whatever.”
“You’re doing good. Me? I kick a ball around a bit, run, dribble… It isn’t rocket science.”
“You’re killing it out there, Jensen. Everyone knows it.”
“I am, but I can always be better. I play too many short passes, my assists are down…”
“You’re the highest scoring player in the entire league.”
He looks to me, but it’s hard to take him seriously with his butt out, delicious as it is. “And how many lives have you saved? You tell me who’s really on top of their game.”
I make my way to the kitchen, the smell of bacon and eggs causing my stomach to speak out in a sharp gurgle. I stop at the doorway trying to decide whether it’s the eggs I want for breakfast or the man making them. “We’re going to have to be careful, you know.”
He places the spatula down and turns around, hands gripping the edge of the counter. “Haven’t we? I’m not going to shout it to the press if that’s what you mean.”
“So you’re saying we’re in a relationship?”
“Aren’t we?”
“Do you want to be?”
He takes me around the waist with his big hands. “Of course. You’re fucking amazing, Scar, and I mean it. You were worth the wait.”
I press myself into his chest as his arms wrap around me, listen to his heart da-dum da-duming against my ear. “You shouldn’t have had to wait at all.”
“His loss, my gain.”
“He’s going to lose it when he does find out we’re together.”
Jensen’s nostrils flare above. “Let him. I’ve had quite enough of his shit. We’re together, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.”
“What if the press finds out first?”
“We’ll be careful, wait for the right moment.”
“What are they going to think of me, that I’m some soccer slut working my way through the team?” The words taste dirty in my mouth, but it’s true. The scrutiny was intense with Josh, but with Jensen it will be at a whole new level given his past. Am I really ready for that so soon after the breakup? I don’t know.
Jensen takes my face in his hands. “Let them think whatever the hell they want. It doesn’t matter.”
I nod. He’s right, but we still have to play this safe. It’s the only way.
I sniff. “Ah, something’s burning.”
Jensen’s hands fall to my butt. He takes two handfuls of it, pressing me against him. “You’re damn right it is.”
“No,” I say. “Something is burning.”
He turns around. “Shit,” dashing to the smoking pan with his apron tented out and his ass cheeks showing.
I laugh at the complete stupidity of it, at the idea that yes, even the great Jetstream Jensen isn’t good at everything.
*
It’s my last day off before a grueling week of graveyard shifts. I let Jensen out this morning to go to training, both of us looking left and right past the door, Jensen creeping down the stairwell like he was a cat burglar. Twice already I’ve caught myself looking out the windows at the street below for any suspicious florist vans or camera-heavy tourists. The paparazzi in this town are ruthless. There’s very little they won’t do for that payday shot, and damn what a shot it would make, Jensen getting together with his twin brother’s girlfriend.
I go for a jog, catch up on my shows and struggle through a stack of bills and paperwork I’ve been putting off for weeks. The whole time I’m thinking about him, watching the clock on the wall for the moment he’ll come through that door and we can start again.
Won Ton’s watching the clock too. He’s grown increasingly fond of my new man. Josh? Couldn’t stand dogs. Wanted to throw Won Ton out the window one night when he wouldn’t stop barking. For a second I thought he was actually going to do it.
Won Ton cocks his head.
“You too, huh?”
Jensen arrives around six with a pizza and a fresh stack of DVDs. We’re working our way through my A-to-Z of romantic comedies, from Annie Hall to Zelig. Tonight we’re kicking off with Enchanted and I know that nothing is going to give me as much satisfaction as seeing Jensen’s testosterone evaporate before my eyes when Amy Adams busts into that first number.
Amy barely gets a glance. By Happy Working Song, I’m half naked, Jensen lifting one of my ankles over his shoulder. By That’s How You Know, I’m two orgasms down and quickly rising to a third.
The credits roll and we lie sweaty and exhausted on the sofa, arms and legs and who knows what else tangled together.
“You hungry?” questions Jensen.
“I don’t think I can go again. My poor vag will catch fire or something.”
He laughs. “No, I mean I’m actually hungry. Food, remember that?”
I roll over, facing him. “Right, what were you thinking? Bit late for takeout.”
“I’m in the mood for candy.”
“What are you, twelve?”
“Fucking sue me, Scarlet Strict Diet. I like my candy bars. What can I say?”
I snap up. “Sue me? You guys are the ones who can’t eat carbs, methodically measure out your chicken and activated almonds. I felt like I was dating Jenny Craig instead of Josh sometimes.”
“True, true, we watch what we eat. I mean, we’re elite athletes, after all.”
“You’re so full of yourself.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t have some Skittles on my cheat day.”
“Today’s your cheat day?”
“Thought the pizza would be a giveaway. Why, what’s your favorite candy bar?”
I shrug. “Never had one. Mom was pretty strict about all that. I didn’t try Coke until I was twenty-one.”
“Not even a Kit Kat, a Baby Ruth?”
I shake my head. “Nada.”
He shoots up from the sofa. It happens so quick I collapse to the floor, struggling to my feet. “You all right there?”
He points to the door. “To the corner store, rapido!”
*
We’re at the corner store down the road at 1 a.m. running down the aisles.
Jensen’s having way too much fun. He selects a bar, holding it up for me to see. “This is a Butterfinger, originally made by Curtiss Candy before the company was acquired by Nestle in 1990.”
I put my hands up. “Whoa, you know way too much about this. You’re freaking me out.”
“Pops ran his own corner store, remember? Never did figure out Josh and I were stealing all his stock.”
He selects another. “Snickers, a milk chocolate-covered bar of nougat, peanuts and caramel the Mars Corporation claims to be the biggest-selling candy bar of all time.”
The basket I’m holding is already loaded with a who’s who kind of processed horrors.
The store door sensor dings in the background.
“You’re telling me you eat all these candy bars and still manage to look like that?”
He lifts his shirt and slaps his granite abs. “Everything in moderation.”
He presses me against the shelf and kisses me, our tongues moving together and my hand automatically moving around his neck. A shocking bolt of want makes my clit tingle. I angle my head, kissing him back, starving for more.
I drop the basket, but it’s followed by another sound as soon as it hits the floor.
We both hear it at the same time. The sound stands out over the solitary hum of the fluorescents above—a camera shutter.
I look over Jensen’s shoulder and right into the lens of a DSLR raised above the drink aisle. The shutter snaps again, running continuously.
“Jensen!” I scream. He turns, sees it, and bolts for the end of the aisle.
I leave the basket and dash after him.
Someone pauses at the end of the aisle. A rock drops down my throat. It’s Angela, that sleazy skank of a reporter, camera in hand and face alight as she stands there smiling, has the actual gall to snap another few frames of Jensen running towards her before she darts out of the door and throws herself over the back of a waiting bike, the cursed thing giving a brum! brum! of throttle before whisking her away into the night.
Jensen runs out into the street with his hands on his head.
He stays there, crouching, before turning back towards me. We both know what this means.
Whatever privacy we had is gone.
Our secret’s out.