I keep the car at eighty and let the wind whip through the interior as I drive to Jensen's.

I left the airport hours ago. It's eight in the evening now; the stereo is off and I'm lulled by the hypnotic sounds of the Malibu roads through the open windows.

My desire to see Jensen spikes. I miss the warm spark that flows between us whenever we occupy the same space, the thread of common yearning and affection we've shared for the last month. Almost five weeks of waking up next to him, and I still shiver at my luck.

Each hurried, desperate tryst with Jensen echoes hours of suppressed longing, making up for lost time and the difficult task of masking our forbidden relationship to the public. We're a little scared, a lot hungry, and possibly insane with desire. And the double shot of testosterone guarantees that it's never, ever been vanilla again since the hotel.

It was never like this with Vicki. Which is probably a good thing, because I'm too old for the excitement, for the rushes of adrenaline and the blistering kisses and the scorching heat of deprivation until skin meets skin again in the cover of darkness. She would literally, physically, break.

Anytime, anywhere, no matter how exhausted, we seize every opportunity to spend another stolen moment in each other's arms. Hotel rooms, washrooms, our trailers, the freaking woods - doesn't matter.

People are used to us sneaking off together. Occasionally, some new guy will notice, frown, and ask what's the meaning of this, to which he or she is typically met with a very deadpan the meaning is that they be fuckin'. Like the others couldn't give less of a shit. Or maybe they're just so convinced it isn't true that joking about it comes ridiculously easy. Oh, Jensen and Misha? They're totally just two bros bro-ing it up platonically. Just a couple of bros who about break the bed every night...platonically. Right.

I let the sensation of the road, the mild wind, overwhelm my senses. I'm thankful for the drive, as it clears my head. But all too soon, Jensen's mansion comes into view and I feel my nerves ratcheting up again. You've been here a hundred thousand times, Misha; this visit shouldn't be any different.

But I wasn't having an affair all those times.

It's 9:03 P.M. when I arrive, and the golden lights of the mansion are warm and beckoning. I park in my usual spot, Jared's car pulling in behind me.

I'm road-weary and atypically subdued, but I brighten when I see Jensen and Dani waving from the front steps. I lift the fingers of my right hand from the wheel and wave back.

Jensen's at the window before I can remove my key from the ignition, and I catch myself right before my gaze drops the length of his body. Dani is greeting Jared and Gen.

"Hey, how were the roads?" He rests his arms in the open window, face mere inches from mine. Jensen went home early to help Dani prepare the house for our visit, so I haven't seen him in a few days. Our first moments back are anything but private, so I can't exactly leap into his arms.

"Not bad," I mumble, glancing at my GPS.

I relish the brief whiff of cologne as he leans in close to my ear, shiver when our breaths mingle in the inch of air separating us. If I tip my face forward one, maybe two-

"The second I get the chance," he murmurs, voice low and rough. "I'm going to get reacquainted with that smoking hot ass of yours."

I feel my face flush hot as heat rushes to settle low in my stomach, grinning when Jensen walks around to the back of the car. His is no eyesore either.

Jensen takes my bag out of the trunk and slings it over his shoulder. Despite my repeated offers as we trudge from the driveway to the entrance, he won't let me carry it.

Jared apparently fell asleep in the car, and stumbles groggily into Jensen's waiting embrace.

"'Bout freakin' time, sleeping beauty," Jensen grouses, thumping him on the back.

Jared blinks and gives the mansion an appraising onceover.

"I like what you've done with the place, Jenny. Serial killer chic."

"Home decor is Dani's department," Jensen retorts playfully. "And since when do you let Gen drive?"

"Since he drives like a geezer and turns on talk radio," Gen laughs. She rushes forward to give Dani a warm hug. Vicki wasn't able to make it because we couldn't get a babysitter for the kids for two weeks.

The open floor plan of the mansion's interior is expansive, with colossally high ceilings and a wide wall of windows offering a panoramic view of the city. I can smell Jensen's aftershave in the air as I walk down the lengthy upstairs hallway towards my room. It's the same one I always spend my extended stays in.

I make quick work of unpacking my bag and spend a few minutes freshening up in the adjoining bathroom.

On my way back downstairs, I encounter a sleeper-clad JJ, and she leaps into my arms. I twirl her around and pepper her with kisses before giving her a piggy back ride into the kitchen.

"Did you settle in alright, Misha," Dani asks, giving me a quick embrace.

"Yes, thank you." I give her a peck on the cheek before setting JJ down.

I greet Gen likewise, and Dani insists that we get some rest to recover from the long trip. Jared accepts enthusiastically; Gen practically has to carry his lazy ass upstairs. I follow suit.

One side of my room features a large sectional sofa and two oversized chairs, all upholstered in a deep, dark red leather that forms a nice contrast to the dark brick of the walls. The other, a large bed.

I walk over to the windows and peer out at the night with a soft smile. The city lies before me, sparkling like a sky full of stars. I've missed Malibu and it's bustling beauty.

After a lengthy shower, I sink down under the comforter, bury my face in the downy fabric - soft pillow, we meet again - and succumb to my exhaustion.

***

I wake up at dawn and go for a run. The route is the one I regularly take when I'm over, and achingly familiar. The pounding of the pavement under my feet reminds me to breathe, focus, live. The run relieves some of my tension.

When I return, the house is quiet, so I shower and trudge downstairs alone.

I head into the cavernous, stylish kitchen. I usually do the cooking while I'm here because I love it, and Dani welcomes the relief.

I paw through the cabinets for a while to refamiliarize myself with the kitchen layout and the whereabouts of essential ingredients. Then I set the coffee machine to brew, grinding a fresh measure of beans, and start scrambling eggs in a cast iron skillet.

I'm in my element, humming softly to myself, when I hear footsteps approaching. I feel a pair of arms sneak around my waist and lean back into them.

"Good morning." Jensen flutters the words across the back of my neck, and the corners of my mouth lift in a smile.

"You're up early." I hold the skillet in one hand, the other stirring the eggs with a wooden spoon to prevent them from burning. I'm wearing my apron to prevent the splatter of hot oil. Also, Jensen has a thing for it in a major way.

"I want sex."

I sigh and look heavenward. Every fucking morning.

"Sorry, Jensen, I'm getting breakfast ready." I divide the eggs between two plates and then set the skillet back on the stove, clicking the burner off. My jaw is tight, my posture rigid, as I scoop a bite of eggs onto my fork and blow on them gently.

"You can do that while I suck you off," Jensen whispers, running a hand down my spine.

I choke on a mouthful of egg.

"Somehow, I think your wife would have a problem with that."

"She's asleep." He begins to rub a slow circle into my lower back with his thumb.

"Wait 'til she wakes up. I'm sure she'll be happy to take care of your needs."

Without warning, Jensen reaches around me and grabs both plates from my hands, before making off with them. "Hey - why'd you have to go and filch my breakfast," I grouse.

Jensen sits down at the table with both plates and begins digging in with a gusto. I hip-check the fridge door closed after taking out more eggs.

"To piss you the hell off," he mumbles. He stretches his legs, scrolling through the five-day forecast while I sip my coffee.

I get out plates for the others and I'm setting them on the table when his phone chimes.

"And why would you pick a fight?"

"Because," Jensen waggles his eyebrows. "Sexy times always ensue." His eyes flick to my dirty apron, mind undoubtedly flicking to dirty places behind it.

Then he gives me that really big, gummy smile that makes him look like a child. He acts the part sometimes: petulant, jealous, needy. But he also has a childlike sense of wonder at the world and finds pleasure in little things, like marshmallows and good music and cheeseburgers and - though I'll never understand it - my ass.

"Well, you're shit out of luck. Dani will be up soon."

I hear the sound of footsteps on the staircase and the woman in question enters the kitchen right on cue.

She's delighted that I've taken care of breakfast, and I glow at the praise. I volunteer to make lunch too, because I really do love the hell out of cooking. It's therapeutic, relieving my tension and stress as I immerse myself in spices and flavours and unique combinations.

Dani protests - "you don't have to pull a Cinderella every time you come over, Misha" - but I shrug and assure her that I want to; I'll just need to go for a quick supply run to grab what I need.

It's the weekend so the store is crowded, teeming with couples arguing over dish detergent brands, harried families with children hanging off their oversized carts, running in to pick up bread or milk or eggs.

I'm unfamiliar with the store layout, somewhat intimidated by the extra wide aisles and oversize ceilings. I'm wearing aviators, not because I think I'll be flagged by a rabid mob if recognized, but because I need to get in and out quickly to prepare lunch and I don't have time for diversions.

I steer my cart to the aisle of bathroom essentials at the back of the store. It's quieter here, not a newlywed or helpful orange vest in sight. I slowly peruse the row of aftershave and my gaze falls on Jensen's usual brand. He needs a shave and he's all out so I grab the pack and stow it with the rest of my groceries.

I opt for barbecue. Leaving the others inside, I head out at noon to fire up the humongous outdoor grill that graces the back porch for lunch.

The meat I'm preparing must beckon to Jensen, because I whip around when I hear footsteps crunching on the cobblestone to find him watching me. I tilt my head in query; he's looking at me in that way that usually indicates I'm gonna get some. I sigh.

"Go. Find. Dani."

"She's not in the mood," Jensen grumbles. "Although she is in a bad one. Probably on her damn period or something."

"Jensen, she's pregnant," I deadpan. 

"And?"

"Pregnant women don't menstruate. And maybe you should try not leaving your dirty underwear all over the place," I suggest, waving the tongs in the general direction of the grill island. "It does wonders for women's libido."

Once I've finished with the barbecue, I stand in the kitchen and toss a quick salad. I add praline and dried cranberries to offset the kale and other vegetables, before drizzling pomegranate Vinaigrette on top.

JJ tromps downstairs just as I finish and jumps into my arms, so I let the dishes soak and sit at the table reading to her. It's an amazing bonding experience, which I've missed dearly. We laugh and talk and I catalogue all the ways in which she reminds me of her father.

I spend the evening in the kitchen again, making dinner. Dani lets me, having relented after my scrumptious lunch.

I finally set the food on the black granite countertops and pull sufficient plates from a cabinet, filling each from the contents of the platters.

Dani also grabs wine from the fridge and I raise my eyebrows when I recognize the label. It's excellent; I might qualify it as the best I've ever had, if I could pay more than scant attention to it. As it is, I'm discreetly watching Jensen across the table as we eat.

He's got his mouth around my Dutch apple crumble, snorting at some joke Jared just cracked. I smile to myself.

"Damn, Mish, this is good," Jensen says reverently. I blush with pleasure and isn't that ridiculous, that the man whose body I now know so well can still do that to me with some simple praise.

Dani looks less than charmed.

"It is, babe, just don't have too much. Remember your diet."

"Oh, Jared's been eating his weight in carbs too," Gen seconds, but her voice is affectionately fond. "Just let him be. Cheap pleasure and instant gratification - that's all these guys think about, I swear." The casual comment hits me about as well as indigestion.

"Hey, grown men need sustenance," Jared grouses, managing to ignore the sharp kick I administer to his shin with a dignity and grace that I actually admire for a grand whopping total of one second.

The food has no flavour after that.

We go outside to sip wine in the backyard. Everyone gets pretty drunk except Dani, and I limit myself to one glass.

The sun has set, and the vast backyard is illuminated only by the dim candlelight and the rising moon.

Jared and Gen head upstairs to the bedroom they share, and Dani excuses herself to use the washroom. Jensen heads inside.

I linger for a while to clean up the remains of our dinner, pausing to stare at the softly-lapping water of the pool, watching the near full moon's reflection bounce and shimmer along the surface as the breeze moves the water. The night is clear and warm, the soft whir and buzz of cicadas whispering in the trees.

I collect the wineglasses and stack the plates. The breeze keeps the humidity at bay, and the calming night sounds of animals and insects hang in the air. I chew the inside of my cheek, thoughts bouncing off each other like the moths launching attacks on the porch light. I'd love to stay out longer, but someone needs to - shit. JJ.

She's sitting on the couch, forgotten by the adults, waiting to be put to bed. I rush to her side, scoop her up and take her upstairs. She snuggles her face in my shoulder and wraps her arms snugly around my neck, her stuffed toy dangling over my back as I carry her.

When I pass Jensen and Dani's room, Jensen calls my name, stopping me in my tracks.

"Mish, c'mere."

"I'm taking JJ to bed," I say resolutely. "Sit back and rest; you're drunk."

I dress JJ in her pyjamas and tuck her in with a soft kiss to her forehead. I feel an overwhelming surge of affection for her, even though she's not my own, and I want to hold her lovingly through the night, but I'm not finished with the cleanup. I stop by Jensen's room on my way back downstairs.

He's lying on the bed, holding his arms out toward me, but I skirt his embrace and stand just out of his reach. My body is rioting in subtle little ways now that I'm with him again and I can't let myself lose control. Not with Dani here.

But then Jensen reaches across the bed, palm open and upturned, waiting, and my heart fills to bursting.

I've always found handholding to be a gratifying tether. It's a grounding force when I want touch but not necessarily sex and it feels good, intimate. Vicki spent years quietly assessing which touches evoked the most emotional response from me; she knows this small gesture appeals to me.

But not Jensen. He's always been hyper aware of chick flick moments, shying away from my hand outside the bedroom. He never saw the point of handholding, and has vocally scoffed at the very notion.

Jensen is blatantly sexual; he's affectionate too, but more so on the order of damn you're fine as hell and I can't keep my hands off you, not coiling an arm around around my waist or kissing for the simple pleasure of exploring the shape of my mouth. Or holding hands.

Less eloquently put, he's kind of a perv.

But at some point along the line, he lost his obstinate aversion to holding my hand.

And it may be the sweetest, cheesiest thing he's ever done. Or will do again, I think ruefully.

"Fine," I sigh.

Feeling my chest tighten, I lay my hand across the open palm and watch his fingers close around mine, warm and tight and soothing, those damn eyes like sunlight reflecting off a drop of dew on a softly green leaf. "And while I'm feeling real stupid..." I lean down and kiss him.

There aren't enough clothes between us. Kissing him is addictive and I'm never going to be able to stop. There's no time and no excuse, except want and giving in to the best and worst of myself.

When I pull back, Jensen's brow is knit in agitation and his lips are pressed so tightly together that they all but disappear.

"Mish, please," Jensen all but whimpers. He lowers my hand and presses it against his erection, which is tenting the sheets.

I shake my head and pull his hand to my face, rubbing my stubbled cheek against the warmth of his palm and hoping he can't hear my heart break.

Dani's footsteps echo down the hall. "Please-"

"Shhh," I whisper, blinking against the damp heat in my eyes. "She'll take care of you."