Page 48 of Undercover Hearts

When Michelle slipped her fingers between her thighs, she didn’t rush. A single finger eased inside, curling with intention, her thumb brushing over Jenna’s clit in soft, coaxing circles.

Jenna opened under her, legs falling wider. Her breath came faster, but her eyes stayed locked on Michelle’s, even as the rhythm built.

When Michelle dipped her head and replaced her thumb with her mouth, Jenna gasped, hips arching. The first brushof Michelle’s tongue sent a tremor through her. It wasn’t just pleasure; it was the sensation of being cherished in a way that unraveled her from the inside out. Michelle wasn’t rushing to finish her. She was savoring her, coaxing her open little by little.

Warm, wet, slow. Then firmer, the rhythm syncing with the thrust of her fingers still buried deep. Jenna's thighs trembled, her breath catching in a stuttered rhythm that matched Michelle’s own—slow inhale, soft exhale, and the press of her tongue again, circling, flattening, flicking with just enough pressure to make Jenna forget everything but this.

Her fingers found their way into Michelle’s hair, anchoring her there, not to control her, but to stay connected, tethered to the grounding warmth of her mouth, the slick glide of her fingers, the way her other hand rested on her hip with gentle steadiness.

Every nerve felt like it was lit from within. The tension in her belly coiled tighter, not sharp but deep, blooming wide across her body like heat rising through her limbs.

Michelle shifted slightly, adjusting her angle to reach just a little deeper, and Jenna cried out. The pleasure rolled through her in waves now, impossible to hold back, each one stronger than the last.

Afterward, they lay facing each other in the dim light filtering through the curtains, the silence comfortable rather than charged. Michelle's fingers traced idle patterns along Jenna's shoulder, her expression thoughtful.

"You asked earlier how it felt," Michelle said softly. "To solve the case. I'm curious…what does success feel like for you?"

The question seemed simple, but Jenna recognized it as an invitation to something deeper. She considered her answer carefully.

"Professional satisfaction, of course. But more than that," she paused, gathering her thoughts. "Like finding solid ground. Mychildhood was filled with movement—my parents building their bookstore from nothing, constantly adapting to stay afloat in a changing market. I learned early that security comes from what you build, not what you're given."

"Tell me about it," Michelle prompted. "The bookstore."

Jenna smiled, memory softening her features. "Seabreeze Books. It sits on a cliff overlooking the ocean, this charming old Victorian my parents renovated themselves. My father built the shelves by hand, and my mother organized books by how they made her feel rather than traditional categories. It drove my more logical brother crazy, but customers loved the system."

"It sounds wonderful," Michelle said, genuine warmth in her voice. "Is that where you developed your ability to read people?"

"Partly. Watching my parents with customers, learning which books would speak to which souls." Jenna's fingers found Michelle's, intertwining naturally. "What about you? Military family, always moving…that must have shaped you profoundly."

Something shifted in Michelle's expression—surprise at being read so accurately, perhaps, or at Jenna remembering this detail from her personnel file.

"Twenty-six moves before I turned eighteen," Michelle confirmed. "My father was a Marine Corps officer with specialized training, so we rarely stayed anywhere longer than a year. Mother was a military nurse: rigid, disciplined, but endlessly compassionate. They both believed in service above self."

"Your guiding principle still," Jenna observed gently.

"It was all I knew," Michelle admitted. "Structure, duty, sacrifice. Personal happiness was never discussed as a goal."

"And your marriage?"

Michelle was quiet for a moment, her gaze distant. "Taylor was a patrol officer when we met. Smart and dedicated to community policing in a way I admired. We married after eightmonths, divorced three years later when my dedication to the job became the third person in our relationship."

"She couldn't understand your commitment," Jenna guessed.

"She understood it perfectly," Michelle corrected, surprising Jenna with her honesty. "She just wasn't willing to always come second. Can't blame her for that." She sighed softly. "The divorce was finalized the week I was made captain. Career triumph alongside personal failure, a pattern I've maintained since."

Jenna's hand moved to cup Michelle's cheek. "Not everything has to be a sacrifice, you know. You're allowed happiness alongside duty."

Michelle leaned into the touch. "A radical concept for a military brat."

"Let me introduce you to another radical concept," Jenna said, her tone lightening. "What brings you joy beyond work? Something small, something just for you."

Michelle hesitated, then offered a surprising confession. "Classic literature. I have a first-edition collection I keep hidden behind military history texts on my office bookshelf. No one would ever think to look there."

Jenna's delighted laugh filled the space between them. "Captain Michelle Reyes, badass cop with a secret weakness for...what? Austen? The Brontës?"

"All of the above," Michelle admitted, a rare blush coloring her cheeks. "And Virginia Woolf, Kate Chopin, and even some Mary Wollstonecraft . My father considered fiction a waste of time, so I learned to hide what I loved."

"Sharing secrets already," Jenna teased gently. "What's next? Your mysterious tattoo?"