“Believe me,” I say, gazing over his muscular body glistening with the water, “I think you got sexy claimed here.”
His eyes smolder. Literally, smolder with desire. God, it makes me want him. I crave him in ways I’ve never craved any man. It’s a hunger that’s as raw as it is intense, and I need to taste him. Knowing that Gabe has a thing for seeing me wet, I slowly lower to my knees, the water rushing across my face. I lean away from the stream only to smile at him when I grab his hefty cock.
“Yeah, baby,” he says, brushing his thumb across my lips. I take his finger into my mouth, sucking on him, showing him what I plan to do. His devilish smile tells me he’s excited.
When he drops his hand, I move back into the stream so the water is falling down my shoulders, giving him the visual I want him to have, and I angle my bottom out, so I tease him, tempt him. When I hear him moan, I take his dick into my mouth, sucking on the very tip, loving his louder moans echoing in the shower.
I glance up as I play, finding his head tossed back, and I can’t help but stare at the gorgeous lines of his body. Muscle after muscle, the desire rushing through me is why I stroke him harder, suck faster, until his hands are on my head, and he’s groaning as I enjoy every hard inch of him. But then his hand is there, and he steals his cock from me, stroking himself fast and hard, and angling himself up, showing me what he wants. I lower down a bit, sucking his sac into my mouth, playing with each testicle. After another low groan, he backs away, angling his cock out to me again and I stroke him.
I shiver at the way he’s watching me. I’ve never had anyone look at me like this, it’s beyond what I’ve ever known about sex. It’s ravenous and wild and rough, and his passion bleeds into the air between us as he begins thrusting his hips, fucking my mouth as if it belongs to him.
And when I do as he wants, taking him deep into my throat, he backs away and then leans down and seals his mouth across mine. It’s not a kiss that’s sweet and romantic, it’s hard and demanding and dominating in the best kind of way.
“Goddammit, you are so fucking sexy,” he growls. “Come here.” He assists me to my feet and turns me toward the stone bench in his shower. It’s then I see the condom that he must have placed there when he first entered the shower, and he reaches for it, applying the latex over his hardened flesh quickly.
With the condom in place, he grabs my foot, placing it on the bench, the water a steady stream on my bottom as he teases my slit with the tip of his cock before he’s sliding inside. One hand on my shoulder, the other on my hip, his fingers dig into my flesh as he begins thrusting his hips. The fullness of him is all that I need and more, and I’m soon bathed in darkness, lost in the pleasure he’s offering. But then his arm is sliding through both of mine, dragging me up, my back to his chest, and he’s pumping his hips with a force that leaves no misunderstanding that he loves taking me in the shower.
My eyes pinch shut, the hardness of his cock bringing an intensity that leaves my screams echoing the sound of his body slapping against mine.
“Christ, you’re tight,” Gabe groans, slapping my ass.
“You’re so hard,” I barely manage, while his shaft brushes against a perfect spot inside that steals all the control I have over my body.
He’s controlling me now, telling me what to feel and how to feel it.
As I begin to slip against the water-drenched bench, Gabe turns me slightly and hooks my leg onto his arm. I rest my hand on the bench, giving him the angle he needs, and with a growl he’s inside me again. Without a hitch to his rhythm, he’s pounding against me, and I’m screaming against the perfection of his beautiful cock. The water’s making our skin slippery and apparently, he likes that, because he’s never taken me like this. Not so rough, so feral . . .
His pelvis pounds against me, his cock so hard that it doesn’t feel real, his deep growls shivering against me.
“Look at me.”
I force my eyes open and meet a gaze that burns, as he adds, “Always look at me when we come.”
His brows are drawn, cheeks flushed, mouth parted, and with the water dripping off, I’m sure it won’t take much to send me over the edge. But truly, it’s his eyes that send me soaring. There’s a lot there burning in their depths, but most of all, I see the way he hungers for me. Somehow having a man like Gabe crave me so intensely tips the scales of my building pleasure. I force my eyes to stay open as his mouth pinches shut, and his expression becomes focused.
His cock is hardening and widening inside me, and that’s when I can’t look at him, no matter how much I want to. The pleasure taking me under drowns me completely, and I know nothing but the euphoria blasting across my soul.
Sometime later, I realize that he’s lowered us onto the bench. I’m sitting on his lap, my head resting back against his shoulder, the water rushing over our knees, his chest lifting and falling quickly behind me.
I laugh softly. “So, you like shower sex, huh?”
He shifts me a little so I can meet his gaze that, while softer, still holds that dominant edge that I’m growing to feel very fond of. “No, I don’t like shower sex. I love you sex.”
I chuckle as he slides his hand across my face, and his expression intensifies, his smile gone. “I want this, you know that, right?”
“You want more shower sex?”
A hint of a smile curves his mouth. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t object, but what I meant was I want this to work out between us. I’ll fight like hell to make sure nothing comes between us.”
I place my hand over his and lean into his touch. “You and me both.”
And I can only hope it’ll be enough.
Chapter 10
McKenna
Minutes after noon the next day, I follow Gabe through the underground parking garage of a high-rise in the Financial District. I’m still nursing my second cup of coffee after a quick egg sandwich at Gabe’s place, and I’m wondering why he insisted we get dressed and leave his apartment, instead of staying tangled in the sheets until Ryder called.
When we pass beneath an overhead fluorescent light that’s flickering, the heaviness in my eyelids reminds me I’m not quite myself, a bit on edge, and this second coffee isn’t hitting the spot. I sip it anyway, hoping for a miracle, and glance at Gabe striding next to me. “Care to enlighten me on why we’re here?” I ask him.
“Business,” is his curt reply.
Which tells me wherever we’re going is the last place he wants to be right now.
Tense and unusually quiet, he stops in front of the elevator and swipes a key fob against the scanner. When the elevator doors begin to open, he glances sideways at me. “I apologize that coming here is necessary. I know you’d rather be at home, but I want you with me. This won’t take long.”
By the look of forced responsibility and definite irritation on his face, I take a guess where we are. “Is this O’Keefe’s headquarters?”
He nods and steps inside the elevator.
I follow him inside as he presses the button for the thirtieth floor. Now I’m taking a better look at my surroundings, realizing that I’m in Gabe’s baby. All his sweat, hard work, and endless late nights made this building what it is today. Sometimes I forget that Gabe isn’t like me. He not only comes from money, he is money. Hell, this fancy glass elevator currently shooting up to the top floor only reminds me just how different we are in this aspect.
“You do realize it’s Sunday, right?” I ask, trying not to let that thought run away with me too much. Too many reminders of how different we are can’t be a good thing. We have enough stacked against us. “Will anyone even be here?”
“No, and that’s the way I like it.”
I frown. “Why?”
“Because it’s quiet, and I’m not in the mess of things, so to speak.”
“Oh,” is all I can think to reply. I’m more fascinated by what I’m looking at as the elevator doors open. Suddenly, I feel like I’m in a different world. Up ahead, there’s a reception
ist desk. Behind that desk, there’s wood paneling that mirrors what Gabe has on the pub walls, and in the center of that wood paneling is the burgundy O’Keefe’s Pub logo with the gold Celtic knot.
In awe now, I follow Gabe as he leaves the elevator and turns right past the empty receptionist desk. Offices line the hallway as we make our way to the very end. Marketing, accounting, we pass each door with an employee name and their job title beneath. This is the brainchild of O’Keefe’s Pubs, and only now do I realize how badass Gabe’s business truly is.
He vanishes into the last corner office on the left, and as I enter, I notice brad morgan on the door. “Who’s Brad Morgan?” I ask.
“CEO of O’Keefe’s.”
I stop at the doorway and shake my head. “What? Aren’t you the CEO of your own company?”
“No, and yes, the answer for why I’m not the CEO is complicated.” He lowers down onto the white leather couch in the seating area, where there’s a pile of papers on the coffee table and a pen, clearly important documents that need Gabe’s attention.
Seeing Gabe begin to read the paperwork there, I take a quick look around the office, with the white leather chairs next to the couch, glass desk, and leather swivel chair, then I move to the floor to ceiling windows, with a view that drops my mouth open. For as long as I’ve lived in San Francisco, I’ve never seen a view like this. In photographs, yes. But not for real. The sun glistens off the high-rises; the street is busy below. It’s like a person could feel they own the world up here. “Wow,” is all I can think to say.
“It’s quite something, isn’t it?”
I glance over my shoulder at Gabe and nod. “That’s a little bit of an understatement, I think.”
His eyes are firmly glued on the paper he’s reading. I turn fully and lean my shoulder against the wall next to me, studying him, and laughter bubbles up.
Slowly, his head lifts, one eyebrow arches. “Something funny?”
“I’m sorry.” My mouth twitches. “But you look like a fish out of water here.”
Warmth slides over his expression, and he winks. “And that, Kenna, is what I like about you.”
“What do you mean?” I move to where he’s sitting and drop down into the chair kitty-corner to the couch.
“I don’t like this life.” He signs his name to two documents then addresses me again. “Office life. It’s never suited me.”
“Ah,” I say, now understanding. “So that’s what you meant by ‘complicated,’ and it’s why you don’t run your company yourself?”
“I do run the company,” he corrects. “I have complete control, and at the end of the day I approve all major ideas. But I trust Brad implicitly and he runs the day-to-day within the corporation.”
Back to business, he lowers his head again, reading a document before signing it. I examine him and pride suddenly warms cold parts in my soul. Gabe could be a powerhouse, and yet he works behind his bar because he loves it. “You’re pretty amazing.”
His head lifts, both his brows raise. “Am I?”
“Yes.” I give a firm nod, crossing my legs, resting my coffee cup on my thigh. “To be honest, I never see this side of you. The Gabe I know runs a quaint but successful Irish pub. But this”—I wave out around me—“this is another ballgame that I guess until now I really didn’t think about.”
“Again, I like that,” he says. “I don’t want to be seen as this guy.”
“But why? You are this guy, too.”
He drops the pen on the table and leans back in his seat, running a hand through his hair. “I was this guy.”
“What exactly does that mean?” I ask, then sip my coffee.
“It means that when O’Keefe’s began to take off, I was the man who ran the show. We had a smaller building then, but I was the face of the company.”
He picks up the pen again, scans one of the papers, and then flips it over, reading the back side before he signs his name. I’m sure he thinks I might give up on this, but I’m nowhere near done. “I can’t even imagine you sitting behind a desk in an office. Did you wear a suit?”
“Yes.”
“Crazy.” I shake my head, trying to picture that. Impossible. He always wears his O’Keefe’s T-shirt and jeans, and I bet if I looked now he probably had one suit in his closet and that was only in case someone died or something. “So, how long did you do the whole office thing?”
“A year.”
“Just a year. What happened?”
“I hated every goddamn minute of it,” he bites off, and he lifts his head, creases of tension around his eyes. “Being a CEO is what I was raised to do. Christ, I went to Harvard for business. It was an expectation that I would grow up and get into business like my father did.”
“You followed in his footsteps?”
He smiles, the tension in his face gone just that easily. “I did, yes, but I was miserable.”
I cock my head, regarding him, unable to picture Gabe as miserable. The stable nature of his mood is one of things I like about him. He never grumbles too much, seems to take life not too seriously. Well, not lately, of course. “So, what changed?” I ask, staying on point.
“One night, I went to the pub to have a drink,” he explains, eyes glossing over, lost in a memory. “When I got there, Joey was understaffed. One of the bartenders had got into a car accident on the way to work, and the other bartender we had was sick.”
I smile, knowing exactly what he’d done, because it’s what I would do, too. “Let me guess, you jumped over the bar and helped out for the night?”
He nods, stretching out an arm across the back of the couch, flexing his biceps. “That’s exactly what I did, and that night changed everything for me. I felt happier in those hours than I had in years.”
“So that’s when you decided to leave all this behind”—I wave out to the office—“and work in the pub?”
“Simply, yes,” he says. “But, of course, things were more complicated than that.”
“What things?”
His mouth twitches. “My mother.”
I note the flatness in his voice, the hardness in his eyes. The times that I’d met her she seemed a little snotty, but more so just privileged. She expected a certain kind of treatment. I couldn’t fault her for that, she’d been raised that way. “I take it that your mother wanted you to stay in white collar?”
“Of course, she did.” He signs another document and then one more before adding, “Working in the pub hadn’t been something she’d ever supported. For a long time, I had to justify it to her, had to remind her what my endgame was.”
“Which was turning the pub into a chain?”
“That’s right.” He signs one more document before gathering up the paperwork. “The goal was to make O’Keefe’s a multi-million-dollar company, so that kept her quiet for a while.”
“But what changed?” I ask. “I mean, you eventually left this kind of life behind, living much simpler, and that was after you made O’Keefe’s what it is today.”
He draws in a long deep breath, visibly releasing all his tension, and grins. “I no longer cared what she thought.”
I pause and ponder all things Gabe O’Keefe. Knowing all this makes me look at Gabe a little differently. He’d been raised a certain way, too, and in all the time I’ve known him, I have never really seen this side of him. Seeing this, learning this about him, fills in all the missing pieces of Gabe I didn’t know.
His head suddenly cocks, eyes probe mine. “What’s that look all about?”
“I guess I’m seeing why you bought the sex club and needed that type of thing for yourself.”
He looks taken aback, brows furrowing. “What makes you conclude that?”
“Because you had to be someone you weren’t for a very long time,” I explain, feeling like I’m figuring something out about him I didn’t know before. “Maybe even long before that because your family wanted you to be proper. You were expected to be the successful rich kid, and be all the thin
gs that you didn’t want to be. And somehow in all that, you became this guy.” I pause, give a little smile and shrug. “I guess I’m just . . . getting you.”
He stands then, emotion crossing his face as he comes over to me and takes my chin, lifting my gaze to his. “Again, that is what I like about you. You’ve always seen me in ways others do not.” His eyes heat with sinful intentions as he lowers his mouth to mine.
And his kiss . . . well, that isn’t proper at all.
Gabe
Hours later, and into the darkness of the night, I sense McKenna’s tension as we leave my apartment in the Audi. It’s tension that’s been there all day, while we waited for Ryder’s call, and it’s been slowly becoming more intense as the hours click by, but his call finally came. I’m hopeful this will end tonight, and we can finally put this matter behind us, as I exit the car and meet McKenna at the passenger side.
She’s staring at the neon sign above the door. “Of all the places to hold an underground poker ring, they pick a skeevy strip club.”
“The entertainment is good,” I say.
She snorts. “Not funny.”
I chuckle, taking her hand and leading us up to the red velvet rope for the line that’s not there and toward the bouncer standing there. He gives us a quick look, but allows us to pass without problem. Once inside, I find exactly what I’d expect to find. It’s dark, the only lights being on the stage with mirrors along the back, and on the cheap set of tables and chairs there are fake candles giving off what I suppose is meant to be a romantic glow but looks nothing more than trashy. The focal point of this space is clearly the women, and there are many of them here tonight. Lingerie-clad young ladies, some looking only a day past twenty-one, stand out among the men. A couple of the dancers are on the stage, putting on a show. More are on the floor, either walking around or giving lap dances to the clientele. Smoke from cigars and cigarettes billows in the room, and the scent of old sex, sweat, and cheap thrills fills the air.
McKenna gives me a cute smile. “So, what’s our game plan here?”
Cuffed by His Charm: A Dirty Little Secrets Novel Page 11
