“Let’s play a game.” He slides one across the table, and I lean forward, grabbing it.
I cross one leg over the other, meeting his eyes. I can already feel a buzz from the shots. “What kind of game?”
“It’s a drinkin’ game.”
“Okay…and what are the rules?”
“I ask you a question, and you have to answer it honestly. If you don’t want to answer the question or it’s too personal, you have to take a shot. Same goes for me.”
I sit up higher in my chair. “Well, this will be interesting. There’s a lot I want to ask you.”
“All right, well, let’s see if you can get the answers. Go ahead. You start.”
“Okay.” I clear my throat and place the plastic shot cup down. “Do you really not have a girlfriend?”
“Nope. Don’t have one.” He smirks.
“Why not?”
“We get one question each round, Miss Gabby. Look at you. Already not playin’ fair.”
I can’t help but giggle. “Okay, fine. You go.”
“Why did you want to make tacos for me so badly?” He narrows his eyes, like he’s challenging me, daring me not to answer and take the shot instead.
I answer.
“Because I owed them to you. And I feel guilty about what I said to you while I was under the influence the night you dropped me off. I’m sorry for that.”
“Under the influence? Hmm. Okay.” He fights a laugh then tips his cup toward me, giving me the mic. “Only reason I’m acceptin’ your apology is because of those damn good tacos. Your turn.”
“Okay. Why are you such a dick sometimes?”
“Oh, man!” He breaks out in a laugh, sitting back in his chair. “You think I’m a dick?”
“Yeah, you are!” I laugh with him. “Now answer it honestly!”
He laughs a few seconds longer. “All right. Well, maybe because the world can be a shitty place, and I’ve been dealt a lot of bad shit in life.” He lowers his gaze to his shot cup, his smile slowly fading. “Life has never been easy for me, so when I see that some people are wastin’ their time, I say it. No point in holdin’ my tongue, ’cause I may not get the chance to tell that person the truth again later. Sometimes tellin’ the truth hurts. And sometimes knowin’ the truth saves a few lives.”
His gaze latches with mine. We look into each other’s eyes before he looks away, toward the ocean. “All right. Since you wanted to ask such a serious question—my turn.”
I wait for him to ask, and judging by the devious smile that sweeps over his lips, I know he’s about to ask something that I won’t want to answer.
“Why did you marry Kyle?”
He’s staring right at me, folding his fingers together on top of the table, gauging my reaction. I look down at my shot. He’s challenging me again, but I don’t like to lose. “Because I love him,” I say matter-of-factly.
“Okay…but that’s not really answering the why. Lots of people love someone, but there has to be enough reason behind it to marry them.”
I look away, then pick my cup up to chug it down. The burn takes over, and I wince.
Marcel lets out a belly-deep chuckle. “Wimp.”
“Okay. Game on.” I reach for the tequila and refill my cup. “Were you about to kiss me the night you dropped me off at home? After the club?”
“Sure was.” He doesn’t even hesitate.
I roll my eyes and fold my arms.
“Did you want me to kiss you the night I dropped you off?” His smile is faint but smug. I want to slap it off his beautiful face.
I down my next shot. He laughs so loudly that I want to hit him upside the head. I don’t like him very much right now, but I’m not loving myself too much either. By taking the shot, I pretty much told him that yes, I did want him to kiss me that night.
“Any woman would think you were probably just horny after smoking and drinking. When’s the last time you had sex?”
“Couple weeks ago.”
“With who?” I ask, and I don’t know why I feel a tingle of jealous flare up inside me when he says that.
“One question at a time, little thing.” He puts on an arrogant smile.
My face is hot now, my mind searing with curiosity.
His turn. “When’s the last time you had sex?”
“A few nights ago.” I smirk at him. His smile collapses.
“Who did you have sex with?” I ask.
He glares at me, his blue eyes swirling with frustration now. If I weren’t mistaken, I’d also say there was a hint jealousy in there too. Assuming he can’t answer it truthfully, he picks up his cup and chugs the tequila down without so much as a blink. He’s still looking at me.
“Do you enjoy fucking him?” His tone is no longer playful. It’s dead serious.
“Sometimes,” I admit, folding my arms.
“Only sometimes?”
“One question at a time, remember?”
He sits back, breathing hard through his nostrils, jaw tight now. Why is he so upset about that? Does he not expect me to do anything with the man I married? “Why are you so mad?”
“Because, I—” He stops talking just as abruptly as he started. He shakes his head, then grabs the tequila for a refill, drinking it right away. “You asked your question. My turn again. Why do you only enjoy fucking him sometimes instead of all the time?”
“Because there are things I want to happen while we have sex that he isn’t comfortable doing.”
“But you knew that before marrying him, yet you stuck with lame sex and now you have to settle with it.” He scoffs, shaking his head and looking at the ocean again. “Blows my mind.”
“What does?” I demand.
“The fact that you settled with that motherfucker.”
“Why does it matter to you, Marcel? I’m just the client, remember? You don’t even give a damn!” We’re both staring at each other, no longer playing the drinking game. He’s fuming, and I’m annoyed now. “You know what, this game is over.” I grab the half-empty bottle of tequila, tuck it under my arm, and then collect the empty plates.
I take it all into the house, abandoning the plates in the sink and putting the tequila bottle on the counter, letting out a frustrated huff.
I hear his heavy footsteps, and he comes inside without knocking, which is a first. He shuts the door behind him and runs his fingers through his thick, dark hair. But he’s coming my way quickly, his boots crunching on the marble, his eyes locked right on my mouth.
“What are you—”
“None of this shit is over until I say it is,” he growls, and then his hands are on my waist. He picks me up and drops my bottom on the counter, sliding his large hands down my hips and over the cotton fabric of my dress.
“Marcel, are you crazy?” I breathe out, but he ignores me, watching my eyes for just a second.
“Stop actin’ like you don’t want me, Gabby. I’m tired of playin’ games.”
I start to protest, but he lowers his head and plants his mouth right on top of mine, not even giving me the chance to try.
TWENTY EIGHT
Gabby
Marcel pulls me closer toward the edge of the counter and cups my ass in both hands.
I moan, my palm pressing on his chest, but I don’t have the strength in me to push him away. Every single muscle in my body feels like it’s melting, turning into the same Jell-O I’d prepared for him.
My body is buzzing, swimming with tequila and lust. My nerves are a frenzy, all of them screaming ecstatically, pleased this is happening.
When he realizes that I’m not going to push him away, he deepens the kiss, moving deeper between my legs, and forcing me to spread them wider. It’s instinct to wrap my legs around his waist, and he groans as he drinks me all in.
I moan, clutching a handful of his black T-shirt. He tastes like a mix of silver tequila and lime flavor, and I’m drinking it from his lips too. His erection is growing, anxious as it rests on my lower belly. He feels
so big; I’m dying to know what he looks like.
One of his hands comes up to cup one side of my face, and he keeps kissing me like he can’t get enough—like I’m filling him up with so much desire that it hurts, but also feels too good to pull away.
This is crazy—so, so crazy—but I can’t stop.
I don’t want to stop it.
God, what is wrong with me?
I moan as he picks me up off the counter, like I weigh nothing more than a pound of sugar, and carries me away. I don’t even know where he’s taking me to. My eyes are closed as I kiss him back, then my back lands on a hard, cool surface and I open my eyes. I spot the chandelier above me, knowing exactly where I am. Right on the dining table. He wouldn’t.
Marcel pulls his mouth away and then stands tall, running his palms up the insides of my thighs. “You wore this dress, hoping I’d rip it off you, didn’t you?”
I shake my head.
“Stop lyin’ to me.” He pushes the hem of the dress up, revealing my panties. They’re white lace, and he hisses. “Goddamn it, Gabby.” A guttural groan fills his throat. “How do you expect me to resist you?”
“We can’t,” I breathe as he works his way between my legs again, like he belongs there.
“You mean we shouldn’t,” he mumbles, lowering his chest and stealing another kiss from me. Every single one of these kisses are stolen, because I don’t belong to him. I belong to someone else—a man who would lose his mind if he ever found out.
“Tell me to leave, and this time I will.” His voice is thick, like he’s using every ounce of willpower to hold back. I’m sure if he acted on impulse alone, he’d rip my panties aside and shove his aching cock right into me, “I’ll leave you to it—let you live happily with a man who doesn’t even satisfy you. You can do whatever you wanna do.”
I bring my hands up and drag them over my face. “You can’t make me do that. It was hell when you weren’t around.”
“Hell? Really?” His eyes slide down to my chest. “You missed me that much while I was away?”
“Yes,” I breathe, and I don’t even fight it. I did miss him. I missed the bickering, the heated stares, the stolen glances. I missed his sultry, Southern voice and how he made me feel so damn beautiful. He made me feel good—still makes me feel good.
“Go on, then. If you tell me to leave, I’ll stop this and I’ll go. But if you don’t say anything, I’ll take that as a sign to stick around, and if that’s the case, it’ll be my absolute pleasure to fuck you right on this table.”
He would.
There’s a clench between my thighs, and my entire body pumps with way too much desire. I’m insane, not telling him to leave, but the longer I watch his intense, liquid eyes, the more I want him to stay. The lust is pouring out of both of us like fiery lava, and I’m wound up. I want him, more than I’d ever admit to him or even myself.
I grab his arm and reel him down. His erection slides over me, landing heavily on my lower belly. “I’m not telling you to leave,” I breathe on his mouth.
He studies my eyes, and as if that’s his cue, he kisses me hard on the mouth. I moan beneath him, and I soon hear the rapid zip of his jeans. When he pulls away, he’s stepping out of them, lowering his boxers next, and pulling his shirt over his head.
He yanks my panties off too, then pulls me to the edge of the table, positioning the head of his cock at my entrance.
“Should I get a condom?” he asks as I sit up and wrap an arm around the back of his neck.
“I’m protected,” I breathe on his mouth.
The head of his cock breaks through my entrance, but only that. I look down and hold onto him tighter. He’s much thicker than Kyle. Even the head of his cock is large and round. Veins are throbbing along the length of him, like he’s about to explode, but it’s a beautiful, mean cock. Nothing like Kyle’s at all, and I want it.
I want it more than anything right now.
He’s exactly like I imagined.
Marcel cups one of my ass cheeks, using his other hand to grip the base of his cock. He pushes the head of it into me completely, and I gasp.
“Holy shit,” I breathe. He’s bigger. So much bigger. I’m so used to what I had that I wasn’t expecting this one bit, but he keeps going, stretching me more and more to fit around him. Every inch takes my breath away.
“Fuck,” he rasps, squeezing my ass tighter. “You’re so fuckin’ tight and wet.” When all that’s left is the base of his cock, he pulls his hand away and thrusts his hips forward, working his way deep inside me.
“Oh, God!” I cry out, locking both arms around the back of his neck. “God, what am I doing?”
“You’re about to be fucked by another man,” he says on the crook of my neck. “And you’ll love every fuckin’ second of it.”
I hate that his words set my blood on fire, when in turn they should make me feel like a guilty bitch. My conscience is trying to scream at me to end this, but my buzz is louder. I’m on the borderline of being drunk after those Jell-O shots and the tequila. It’s no excuse, but I feel too good to stop. I can’t stop. It’s already done.
I expect him to start thrusting right away, but he doesn’t. Instead he removes my arms from around his neck and forces me to lie back down on the table. The wood surface is cool on my back, and he’s still fully inside me.
He bends over and his breath runs between the valley of my breasts. “How does it feel having me inside you?”
“Stop stalling and fuck me already.”
“I’ll fuck you when you beg me for it.”
“Beg you?” He’s tormenting me, moving his hips in light strokes back and forth, but they’re so slow that it’s torture.
“Yes. Beg me. You’ve wanted my cock since the day you met me. I could see it in your eyes. It was written all over you.”
I sigh when I feel his cock pulse inside me. It feels so good that I ignore the rational part of my brain that’s screaming for me to stop this before it’s too late.
But it’s already too late. It was too late weeks ago.
“Did you picture me like this, with my whole dick inside you?”
“Yes,” I confess.
“Did you think you’d be this wet for me, creamin’ all over me like you are now?” He looks down where our bodies have connected. “You’re so damn wet, Gabby.” He pulls out of me, and I whimper. The absence is too much, I’m aching all over, and my body can’t stand it. “I bet you taste just as good as you look,” he groans, and I watch as he lowers to a squat. His head is between my legs, and I gasp as he runs his tongue through my slit, so feathery light that I clench and then quiver, everywhere.
“Oh, God,” I pant, my hips bucking, silently begging for more.
“Yeah,” he mumbles. “I can tell he doesn’t eat this pussy. Does he?”
I don’t respond.
“Answer me.”
“No,” I confess. And Kyle doesn’t. He thinks his cock or hands is enough. He’s gone down on me once, and it was the night we got married…and he was really drunk. He hates it when I bring it up.
Marcel stands back up and leans forward, placing a kiss on my pussy, right above my clit. Still teasing. I quiver again.
“Your pussy deserves to be worshiped, Gabby. Kissed. Licked. Fucked.” He meets my eyes. “And I’m going to do every single one of those things to you tonight.”
In an instant, his tongue has pushed though the lips of my pussy and has slid over my swollen, needy clit. He groans, and that groan vibrates up and down my thighs as he sucks and licks the bundle of nerves.
It’s all a shock, the way he grunts and growls like the true savage he is. I have no idea how he knows this is my spot, but he keeps going, circling his tongue in torturously slow circles, still groaning like the taste of me is unbelievable.
I’m writhing on the table, unable to hold back with everything that is brewing inside me. I squirm and buck so much that Marcel has to plant a palm on my stomach to keep me still. That palm i
s pretty much telling me that I’m not going anywhere. He has me, and he’s not letting me go until he’s finished with me.
“Oh, I’m close,” I breathe out, jerking my hips, but I shouldn’t have said that, because Marcel pulls away just as I’m about to reach my climax.
“What the fu—”
I can’t even finish. He’s inside me again, feeling even bigger than before. A sharp gasp shoots out of me as he picks up my legs and wraps them around his waist himself. His eyes are on mine as he thrusts. Hard—slow, but hard—and with each one, I’m building up all over again, gripping the edge of the wooden table. He reaches up to yank the top of my dress down, revealing my C-cup breasts. I can hear the fabric tear, but I don’t care.
“Fuck, you’re perfect.” His eyes are like fiery ice, boring into mine. He wants me to know that we are doing this—wants me to see what he does to my body. And he’s doing so much right now. I hear the sticky sounds our bodies make together, feel him touching my cervix. The table is scraping on the floor with each stroke his powerful thighs provide. Those same thighs are clapping against mine, going at a steady pace. His muscles jump and tense on his chest, his abs constricting, like this is too much for him, just like it is for me, but he doesn’t stop. He holds my gaze.
“I knew you wanted me,” he says. Another thrust. “From now on you won’t be his.” Another thrust. “You’ll be mine.”
His words. I hate them. I love them. I don’t know how to feel about them, I just know I want to come. I need it so bad from him. When he drops a hand, rubbing my clit with the pad of his thumb, it takes no time. None whatsoever.
“Come on my dick, baby,” he demands, and the demand in his deep, smoky voice sends me right over the edge. I cry out on the table, back arching, eyes rolling to the base of my skull.
Marcel picks me up off the table and holds my ass in his hands as I come all over him, bouncing me up and down the length of his cock. I’ve never heard myself scream so loudly before during sex. Ever. I’m almost afraid the neighbors will hear us.
“There it is,” he groans, still sliding me up and down the length of him. “This is what you wanted.” I hold onto him for dear life as he stands tall, listening to my moans fill his ear. “I’m not pullin’ out,” he growls, and something about that both terrifies and excites me. Before I can even say anything, though, a noise fills his throat—the kind of noise only a man can make—and he lowers his hands, clutching me tightly, completely buried inside me.
The Man I Can't Have Page 19
