Page 41 of Loving at 40

“Drug Enforcement Administration?” she clarifies.

“Yes. I’ve been undercover for years.” Just admitting that feels like a weight off my shoulders. A small one, but a relief nonetheless.

“And that’s why you’ve been absent all this time?” She continues when I don’t respond. “You weren’t missing. You were working.” Her brows pinch. Her expressive face tells me more questions are rolling into that smart brain of hers.

“I was on assignment for the past five years.” In a relationship that nearly killed me for two of them.

“And that’s when this happened?” She points at my scar as if she can no longer touch it.

“Yes. It’s been eight months.” New Year’s Eve. We’d just announced our engagement. I didn’t want to marry Viviana, but I would have. I’d do whatever it took because we were getting close to cracking the investigation.

Jenna’s eyes wander back to the bullet wound. “And you’ve been in recovery since then?” Her voice drops, shaky and rough. Suddenly, it hits me. This must be difficult for her. I was shot but survived. Her husband had been killed. The innocent dead. The guilty still living.

Fuck.

“Yes.” I clarify, “Physical and mental.”

Her head shoots up again, eyes meeting mine. “I’m glad you’re getting help.” She glances back at the puckered skin.

“Why haven’t I noticed this before?” Jenna seems to be asking herself as her eyes focus on my thigh. Maybe it’s because I wear longer shorts, along with T-shirts at the beach to cover the tats. Maybe it’s that I’ve worn jeans more often than anything else, having grown used to pants covering the scar along with the thinness of one leg compared to the other for a while. I’d worked hard in physical therapy and then on my own to strengthen and rebuild what I could.

When I don’t answer her, Jenna leans over my thigh and presses a kiss to the permanent mark.

I gasp.

Her lips linger, and my eyes close.

Fuck, that feels good, and I don’t deserve someone so good, so innocent, so sweet in my life.

Then her mouth moves. Soft sips and the tip of her tongue peeks out, working over and around the puckered patch. She shifts, slipping her body between my legs and kissing my scar over and over again. With a hand on the side of my thigh, her other hand strokes the short distance to the bulge in my boxer briefs. The palm of her hand cups my balls before her fingers squeeze the thick length.

“Fuck, Jenna. Babe.” My tongue tangles, and my mouth dries. Her lips continue to pepper my thigh while her hand massages my hard dick. “What are you doing to me?” I groan, but I don’t want her to stop. With every kiss, with every stroke, she’s erasing the ugly memories and building new ones I’ll never want to forget.

Her hand squeezes harder on my cock, and her mouth opens, sucking at my skin again, lapping at the wound, offering it healing. My fingers delve into that hair of hers, combing through the length and curling it around my hand until I can’t take it anymore.

“I need that mouth.”

Jenna’s fingers curl into the waistband of my boxer briefs and tug downward. As much as I want those lips sucking on me elsewhere, there’s something more important to me tonight.

“No, babe. Up here.” I tap my lower lip with my finger, hoping she catches my meaning. I need more kissing. When she doesn’t stop on my thigh, and her fingers tighten in my waistband, I take action. I fist her hair and remove her from my leg with a gentle tug. Then I jackknife upward and capture her mouth, cupping her chin and forcing my tongue between her lips.

God, I just want to kiss her all night.

I want this to be the way she erases all my pain, all the aches and burns, and bad memories.

She follows my lead as I open wider, dip deeper, sweeping inside the cavern of her mouth to tangle with her tongue. Slowly, leaning back, I pull her with me until her body blankets mine. Her breasts, free of a bra, crush against my chest under the thin material of her tank top. One of her legs slips between mine, pressing her thigh against my rock-hard cock while my thigh rests under the heat seeping through her short shorts, but I only want her mouth right now.

Her head tilts and mine shifts, allowing us to continue exploring with lips and tongues until teeth nip and grins grow. I move down to her chin and scrape my teeth over the hard ball. She angles toward my cheeks, peppering them with kisses like she’d given my thigh. I seek her jaw with my lips, sucking at it before dragging my teeth along the edge. She rubs her face against the prickly stubble on mine. Her breathing comes heavy, and her breasts swell against my chest.

“I swear I only want to kiss you, but I want you to lose the shirt, babe. I want to feel your skin.” She slips back only enough to wrestle out of her tank, exposing the lushest breasts I’ve ever seen—ripe and round with bright pink nipples peaked and pointy.

Shit. I want to kiss her there as well, but first, I bring her mouth back to mine and sigh as her warm skin meets mine. Those full tits flatten against the firmness of my chest, and the heat between us soars. Our kissing grows frantic, desperate even, as my hands slip into her hair again, fingers fisting clumps of her smooth locks. Her hands skim over my biceps and up my shoulders, circling my neck with her arms. She holds me to her as our mouths refuse to separate.

Holy shit, I could love her.

I could also fucking come from only her mouth on me.

As if sensing how close I am, Jenna spreads her legs, straddling me, and rests that hot center of hers over my hard length. Our mouths remain attached as the rest of our body lines up as well.