I lean in then and kiss her, my hands finding her backside, my lips her ear. “I’m not going to spank you. Not tonight. I’m just going to make you wish I did.”
“That’s not possible.”
I laugh, deep and soft. “You sure about that?”
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
I run my hand down her spine and over her butt cheek before sliding my fingers along her slick sex. She lifts into the touch, and I start patting her sex and then stroking it. Patting and then stroking it. My lips return to her ear. “What do you want?”
“I don’t know,” she pants. “I just—I—”
I pat her sex harder and then give her backside a small smack. She pants out, “I thought you weren’t going to spank me!”
“That’s not a spanking, Abbie,” I assure her, dipping fingers inside her and then starting the patting of her sex yet again, in between stroking and finger fucking her. I give her another smack, and she arches into me.
“Oh God,” she pants out, my fingers diving into her, but I don’t have her where I want her.
I lay down on my back and pull her into a sixty-nine position with no intention of receiving any favors. I just want my hand on her ass, and her clit on my tongue with a goal: her orgasm on my tongue while my hand makes her want that spanking.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Gabe
We’re still in that sixty-nine position I placed us in, with Abbie on top of me.
My hand is on her backside, my intent with that placement is to promise more than a resting palm, I lick Abbie’s clit, and then squeeze her plump, perfect, ass. Her hand flattens on my rock-hard cock and she begins to stroke while her lips find my stomach. My cock expands against my pants, but I refuse to give into the pulse of need burning inside me. I refuse to let my mind go crazy with the idea of her mouth on my cock. Her tongue on my cock. And holy hell, I want her sucking me off, but not now. Now is about her. Which is exactly why I smack her backside and not gently this time. It’s close to a real spanking, but not quite there.
I suckle her and she gasps, arching into my mouth. I add some finger action, working her with such intensity that she ends up laying her head on my stomach, soft, sweet sounds of pleasure sliding from her lips and that’s it. She’s gasping again and then, “Oh God. Oh—Gabe, I—” She spasms around my fingers, the sweet, salty taste of her orgasm on my tongue and I swear when she collapses on top of me, I’m smiling. Orgasm number three, and enough trust to get me a whole lot further than I expected. I roll her to her side and kiss her clit.
She flattens on her back. “Oh God,” she pants out. “What are you doing to me?”
“Not as much as I plan to do to you,” I promise, already naked and rolling a condom down the thick pulse of quite possibly one of the hardest hard-ons I’ve ever had.
She raises up on her elbows, all that red hair wild around her face and shoulders, her breasts high and full, nipples puckered, her gaze raking over my erection before she says, “You spanked me.”
“I gave you a few love taps, sweetheart,” I correct, joining her on the bed, and rolling us both to our sides, my cock pressed into the warm, wet sweet spot between her legs. “When I spank you, you’ll be across my lap and you’ll feel it a whole lot more than you just did.”
“I’m not ever—”
I press inside her, raising her leg to my hip. “Never say never, Abbie,” I say, cupping her ass and driving deep inside her sex, all that wet, tight heat squeezing the hell out of my shaft.
She pants and moans into my mouth as I kiss her, making damn sure she tastes herself on my tongue. There’s going to be a whole lot more of her on my tongue, too. I lick deeper and pump into her. She arches into me and I squeeze her ass. “Tell me what I did made you feel good,” I order.
“You know it did,” she whispers, fingers digging into my shoulder.
I tangle my fingers in those soft red curls of hers. “You liked my hand on your ass. Say it.”
“I’m not—”
I kiss her and thrust hard. “Say it,” I order.
“Why do you want me to say it?”
“Because there’s nothing wrong with owning what you like. There’s nothing wrong with us doing what we like together.”
“Gabe,” she breathes out, a plea to let her off the hook, but I don’t.
“Did you like what I did to you?” I demand.
“Yes,” she whispers.
“Do you want me to do it again another time?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
“Then we agree there’s going to be another time.”
“Yes.”
“That’s what I want,” I tell her, rolling her to her back and driving into her, my mouth on her mouth, my hand on her breasts until that edge of need I’ve been banking won’t be banked anymore.
I press my elbows into the mattress and start thrusting, lifting her knees, pressing them into my chest, and driving harder and faster. She lifts into each thrust of my hips, taking more of me, taking me deeper, the sweet, floral scent of her teasing my nostrils, heating my blood. She wraps herself around me, makes another one of her sweet sounds, and I’m done. She ends me right there. She starts spasming around me and I come, one of those deep, hard orgasms that I feel from my cock and all through my damn body.
She collapses into the mattress and I roll us to our sides, facing each other again and stroke her hair out of her face. “Just to be clear,” I say. “I love my hand on your ass. I love my tongue on your pussy. I love being inside you. I love every fucking thing about fucking you.” I kiss her. “And I want more, which you agreed to, by the way. Don’t say one word that isn’t agreement.”
She laughs and it’s sweet and sexy as fuck. “I know what I said,” she agrees.
“Good. We’re making progress. And I really don’t want to pull out of you, but I have to because of this fucking condom.” I pull out.
We both groan and I roll to the edge of the bed and toss the condom in the trash. Not about to give her time to escape, I stand up and turn to find her sitting up. I pull back the blankets on the bed and snag her hand. “Come here to me.” She comes without argument and in a few quick moves, I have us under the blankets of my king-sized bed, back on our sides facing each other, our legs entwined.
“You gave me three orgasms,” she says incredulously.
“We gave you three orgasms. We spark together or it wouldn’t have happened. How do you feel?” I ask.
“Relaxed,” she says. “In a very unexpected way.” Her hand flattens on my chest. “Is it bad that I’m in your bed and can barely keep my eyes open?”
“No,” I say. “It’s not bad. It’s good. Turn over.”
Her eyes meet mine, the dim light in the room allowing the growing bond between us to expand. “I didn’t expect—”
“You didn’t expect what?”
“You. I didn’t expect you.”
“That makes two of us. I didn’t expect you either.” I kiss her temple. “Roll over, Abbie.”
She does what I say, and I wrap myself around her and hold tight, in my bed, where I never invite anyone even to fuck, let alone sleep. And I don’t spoon. At least not in a very, very long time. I swore I’d never want to fucking spoon again, and yet here I am, holding onto Abbie, and not wanting to let go. I listen to her breathing and wait for her to sleep but I can hear her mind working.
“What are you thinking?” I ask softly.
“That this is just sex. I’m not going to fall for you.”
I smile against her neck. “Are you trying to convince yourself or me?”
“I have an evil, filthy rich, ex-husband,” she murmurs, avoiding a direct answer.
I press my lips to her ear. “I’m richer than you think and far more skilled with evil assholes than you know, sweetheart.”
“I don’t want to know how rich you are. I don’t have good experiences with men with money. I don’t want you and me in a war with my ex. It doesn’t matter. We’re just having s
ex.”
“Really fucking good sex,” I add, my voice low, rough, my cock twitching just thinking about being inside her. “So if this is just sex, we’re going to need a lot of it for me to even try to have enough. Go to sleep, Abbie,” I order.
“I don’t want to go to sleep.”
“Why?”
“Because then morning will be here.”
I read where she’s going. She believes morning is the end of us. It’s not. Morning is when I start the process to end her evil, rich, asshole of an ex, and do so with the skills that I learned, and learned well, from my father. Abbie’s in bed with a man capable of saving her and destroying her ex, but I have to be cautious moving forward. If she finds out how much like her ex I am, she might run.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Abbie
I blink awake into the darkness with a warm heavy awareness. Gabe is wrapped around me, holding me. I’m in Gabe’s bed. I’m really in Gabe’s bed. And I like it. I like it way way too much. I’m dangerous. He doesn’t understand how dangerous. And, oh my God. I have to pee. I have to leave this man’s arms to go to the bathroom and once I get up, I know I need to leave. I don’t want to get up. Okay, I have to get up. Why do I have to choose now to be human?
I gently lift his arm and set it on his hip and already I feel the cold spot where he once touched me and no longer does. His hands on my body give me so many feels, I don’t even know how to decipher what they mean. He unravels me. He undoes me. He puts me right back together in all kinds of crazy ways. I gently untangle my legs from his but right as I start to roll, he catches my legs, and his arm wraps around me. Despite myself, I smile, warmth spreading through me.
“You aren’t leaving,” he murmurs, dragging me against the hard lines of his naked body.
“I have to pee,” I say. “Really. I need to go to the bathroom.”
“That doesn’t mean leave,” he replies, nuzzling my neck. “I’m not done with you and you aren’t done with me.” He kisses my neck. “Agreed?”
“Yes. Agreed.”
He releases me and this time I’m even colder than last. This time I’m bothered in ways I wasn’t before. I scoot off the bed and stand up, naked but hidden in the dim lighting. I rush toward the room I believe to be the bathroom and when I get there I flip on the light and stop in my tracks.
“When will we be done with each other?” I ask, the word “done” taking me back to divorce and pain. I regret the question he can’t possibly answer, and I don’t wait for a reply. I enter the bathroom and shut the door, leaning on the hard surface.
When will we be done with each other? What kind of stupid question was that? What am I doing with this man? I told him we’d end after one night and I just asked him that question. I’m officially losing my mind. I’m losing my sanity over this man and I really wish it didn’t feel so damn good. Too good. I need to leave before he ends up under attack by my ex and I end up saying something else stupid.
I shove off the door and do what I came in here to do and then while washing up, I catch my image in the mirror. I look like a horror show, mascara zombie–fied under my eyes. I’m a freak show. I really am. My hair is wild. My body is all loose-limbed and sated like it hasn’t been—well, maybe ever. No one has ever made me feel like I do with Gabe.
I’m about to try to wash my face when there’s a knock on the door. I decide, screw it, I’m a zombie and I don’t care. I walk to the door and when I open it, Gabe’s standing there, his arm over his head on the doorframe, completely naked and perfect. So very perfect. The man, the muscles, that tattoo of the lion. The light stubble on his square jaw. “Right now,” he says, his voice this gravelly, sexy affected murmur, “I can’t imagine ever being done with you, and I don’t even know what to do with that.”
I suck in air that lodges in my throat. “Gabe,” I whisper.
“Tell me you feel it, too.”
I do. God, I so do, but to tell him that, to say that I feel what he says he feels, assures he stays in my life, at least long enough to gain attention from the wrong people. “I can’t—”
He drags me to him. “Don’t answer based on your ex-husband. I’m the only man in this room. Answer without thinking about him. Answer thinking about me. Do you—”
“Yes,” I breathe out. “Yes, and it scares me.”
“The only thing I’m afraid of is what you make me feel. Not him. Not ever.”
He’s afraid of what I make him feel?
He strokes my hair from my face. “I’m going to make sure you’re not afraid of him, either.” He kisses my temple and his lips linger there, in this tender, erotic, perfect way that is perhaps the best moment of my female life. It’s not anything I’ve ever experienced. Like he cherishes me and he barely knows me. Now I agree with him. I don’t know what to do with what he makes me feel.
“Come back to bed,” he says, walking backward and linking our hands until we’re back under the covers and he’s wrapped around me again. Perfectly wrapped around me. “You’re the only woman who has ever been in this bed,” he whispers.
The only woman.
He’s never been married.
And yet he’s perfect.
“You can’t be this perfect,” I accuse. “You’ve never been married. What don’t I know?”
He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t immediately reply. I can almost feel the tension radiate through him. “And your ex, who married you and fucked around on you—he’s perfect because he’s been married?”
I feel those words like the cut I delivered him, and guilt overwhelms me. I was unfair. I roll and face him, my hand settling on his jaw. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I just meant—”
“Yes. There are things you don’t know about me. Maybe even things you don’t want to know. We all have a story. We all have a history that shapes who we are and mine made me want to be alone. Forever, Abbie. I wanted to be alone forever. Maybe I still should, but you’re here now. And I can’t seem to want you to leave.”
His emotions punch at me. He’s been hurt, lived some kind of hell I want to understand. I want to be here long enough for him to trust me to share it. That time isn’t now and I know that. “I can’t seem to want to leave.”
“Go back to sleep,” he whispers, rolling me back around, and wrapping himself around me again. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“And I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“Yes,” he murmurs near my ear. “You will. And I will. And I do believe I’ll have you for breakfast.”
I smile and allow my lashes to lower, drifting into a warm, wonderful haze of a safe slumber. I truly feel safe for the first time in a very long time. My mind tries to pull me out of the moment, shooting images at me, memories of the past. For just a moment, I’m back in time, in my old bedroom, in the closet when Kenneth rushes into the tiny spaces and shoves me against the wall. “Don’t fuck with me, you little bitch!”
I jerk into awareness and when I would sit up, Gabe pulls me closer, his strong arms holding me tighter. “Nightmare,” he whispers. “But whatever it is, whoever it is, can’t have you. I have you now.”
I relax into the hard lines of his body and I let the sweet warmth of this man claim me again. He has me now. I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe. I fade into slumber and this time there is no nightmare to wake me up.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Abbie
I wake to the distinct scent of coffee.
I inhale and turn over to discover myself still in Gabe’s bed, while he’s not, at all. Lying on his pillow is a note that reads: Abbie, in neat male handwriting. Gabe’s handwriting. Abbie. He calls me Abbie and I like it. Despite the way it attaches to my father, I like it. I like him. I think. Where is he? I sit up and open the note and read: Orgasm, me, and coffee waiting downstairs. I’ll throw in pancakes if you promise to stay with me again tonight.
Heat rushes to my cheeks and my sex clenches with the idea of that orgasm, but a moment later, I re-read the part of the not
e that says: if you stay with me again tonight. He already wants me to stay again tonight? Which implies he wants me to spend Saturday with him. I shouldn’t. I can’t. I want to. I set the note on the nightstand and look around his room, which I barely glanced at last night. I was too busy focusing on the man, his tattoo, and orgasm number three.
The room is large. The furniture is oversized. Two navy-blue cushy chairs frame a fireplace in the corner. An arched window that is the center of the main wall must have internal blinds because I can’t see outside, but I wonder if the ocean and the Statue of Liberty are beyond. His safe place above the city. Our safe place last night and that was unique and special in ways that were unexpected. He’s unexpected.
I throw away the covers, naked inside and out with this man in so many ways. I scoot to the edge of the giant bed, and its size, well, that is the one thing with Gabe that I find to be as expected. Most men have giant beds, which I surmise to be some kind of macho alpha thing. Big bed, big cock, or something like that. Not that Gabe acts out that symbolism, but Kenneth does. I press my hands to my face. I’m comparing again. I’m the only man here, Gabe said last night. I drop my hands and press them to the bed. I wish that were true, but my ex is a monster who won’t allow that to be the case.
I stand up and hunt for my clothes, but I can’t find them. I scoop up Gabe’s T-shirt and pull it over my head, the spicy, earthy, delicious scent of him teasing my nostrils. This man smells like temptation and sin and satisfaction. My satisfaction. If I don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to forget to protect him from my ex and me from him. I hurry to the bathroom, use it, wash up, including my face and glance down to find another note.
I pick it up and find an unopened toothbrush underneath it. I open the card to read: I keep extras on hand and yes, I took your clothes. We both want you to stay. He doesn’t get to change that.
His Demand (Dirtier Duet Book 1) Page 6
