Gabriel David's White Horse

by Gina Watson

  When he started to pick up the pace he placed his fingers between her legs and massaged with expertise, driving her higher and higher with each stroke. Her voice was knotted and thick as she called out his name.

  “Mirabelle, you’re so beautiful like this.” Massage—thrust—squeeze. “I’ll never get enough of you.” Slow pull—massage—thrust—squeeze.

  She placed her hands on his bare shoulders and gripped hard before she scratched. She had an irrepressible urge to mark him as hers. She was too old to play this game but God, did she want him to be exclusively hers. More than that, she wanted him to want her to be exclusively his.

  “Gabe,” she whispered, and then she was falling. While she uncoiled, his fingertips traced her collarbone. Then he rested his palm against her heart, beating in her chest like it would be capable of cranking and speeding off.

  She felt him tense and release against her while staring at his hand that covered her heart.

  “Gabriel?”

  His sage green gaze hit her and narrowed to precision while he came inside of her. “If I’d had you ten years ago everything would have been different now. You would have loved the ugly out.”

  She palmed his jaw. “There’s nothing ugly about you.”

  His head tilted as he stared off into the distance. “I’ve needed you.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve needed you when I didn’t know I needed you.”

  “I’m here now.”

  “I need more.”

  “More?”

  “I need all of you.”

  Mirabelle didn’t speak guy so she wasn’t sure she understood what he was saying. “You want to be exclusive? Exclusively seeing each other and no one else?”

  “We’ve shared intimacy on levels I didn’t know existed.” He reached for a kitchen towel and began to wipe her neck and chest. “I just assumed we were exclusive.” His voice was sharp.

  He was so right. She’d felt their connection ten years ago. “We are. Of course, we are.” He continued wiping her until her fingers closed around his wrists. “Hey”—she waited for confirmation that he was listening. When he stopped wiping and they were eye to eye she said, “I want to be exclusively yours. It’s what I’m asking and it’s what I want.” Shit! What had she just gone and done? She’d never been exclusively anyone’s. He’d surely break her. “Oh, God.” She cupped her face with her hands.

  He pulled her hands from her face, kissing her fingertips. He reassured her in the warmth of his tight embrace. “Mirabelle, you’re lovely.” He kissed the top of her head.

  She laughed. “I’m sure I look so lovely right now.” She wiped her tears and snorted. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying.” She did know. She’d experienced a connection so strong and deep with him that she’d been sad for it to come to an end. Would she ever feel him like that again?

  She hopped off the counter and pulled on her jeans. He’d already dressed and watched her intently. Suddenly she felt shy. “So, would you like a shower or a frittata?”

  “Both, but not in that order.”

  Chapter Eight

  The days with him turned into weeks with him. For the first time in her life, Mirabelle experienced having a man adore and care for her and Gabe seemed to enjoy being near her. He’d even started following her to the nursing home where she played the piano on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He danced with the female residents at the home and just about sent one to the hospital when her pacemaker proved ineffective next to the perfection that was Gabriel David.

  This particular Friday had started out better than any in her existence. He’d known of her love of hibiscus flowers and had left the house to go grab breakfast and returned with donuts, coffee, and a hibiscus tree with large red blooms. They’d eaten and then planted the tree in the flowerbed by the mailbox.

  As the dusk settled in, Mirabelle walked outside and watered the plant. Since it was almost dark the flowers had closed up to prepare for their slumber. She yawned, feeling more like slumber than dance herself. The cloudy skies weren’t helping. Thunder rolled in the distance and Gabe emerged from the house to catch her admiring the hibiscus tree. He walked toward her, unblinking. His intensity coiled tightly between her legs, warming her.

  He grasped her hands in his. Still eyeing her he said, “Stay home tonight.”

  God, she wanted to, but she was too old to be calling in sick to work. Wasn’t she? She’d called in before when she really had been sick or hungover. She bit her lip while she thought about his request.

  “Don’t be so quick to let go of moments you can never repeat.”

  Confused she asked, “What?”

  “This moment has wonder and awakening sizzling around the edges. Are you willing to give all of that up to go and do something you’ve done hundreds of times before?”

  Easy for him to say…he didn’t have a job as far as she could tell. “I need to work.”

  “You need to capture this moment before it evaporates.” With her hand in his he pulled her toward the house.

  Inside, he’d set the iPod to her bedroom playlist. She felt her face heat when Nine Inch Nails began to play.

  “Interesting music. I have to say I was intrigued by the title of this playlist.” His sexy smolder made the air thick.

  “I made it for dancing.”

  “Surely we can use it too, hmm? Dance for me.” His fingers massaged her right earlobe as if he were attempting to bond with a restless puppy.

  She nodded and looked away from the concentration of his moss-filled green eyes.

  She knew the kind of dancing that he meant, but she wasn’t that kind of dancer. To be completely honest with herself, his words had disappointed her. She’d thought him to be different from all the men before. Why’d he wait so long to ask? Usually it was something that came up during the first few hours of meeting a guy. “Why do you want me to dance for you?” She’d given him everything she had to give: her body, her home, and possibly even her heart.

  “I can think of nothing more spectacular than the beauty of your lines set to motion.”

  Oh! That was a different kind of reasoning. His fingertips traced her collarbone and down her arms. Yeah, she just might dance for Gabriel David. “Do you want me to dance provocatively?”

  He sat on the loveseat and placed an ankle on the opposite knee and stretched his arms across the back. “I think that would be lovely, but you should only do what feels natural.”

  “Natural?”

  “The atmosphere is speaking to us, Mirabelle. I know what it’s saying to me. What I don’t know is how you’re interpreting it.”

  Was it guy mentality or his artistry that caused him to speak like that?

  “Tell me what you feel.”

  She shrugged one shoulder not completely certain this wasn’t weird. What did she feel?

  “Come sit.” He patted the space next to him on the couch. “Close your eyes.” She did. “What do you hear?”

  “Paula Cole.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Your voice, your breathing.”

  “What specifically?”

  “It’s deep, needy maybe, a little breathy.”

  His warm hands started to rub the bare skin of her arms. “And what do you feel?”

  “Heat and energy.”

  “What kind of energy?” he whispered.

  “Your breath on my skin is warm and there’s an electricity in your fingertips.”

  “Now you are seeing things as an artist.”

  Her eyes opened, flashing at him. “I’m not an artist.”

  “Of course you are. Your beauty and the way your body moves in space are more beautiful than anything I could ever draw with a pencil or paint with a brush.”

  This was good stuff. She wondered if he said this to all women. His hands cupped her jaw and then his lips were on hers. The caress of his lips and hands consumed her as the warmth of his soul seeped in through her pores. Slowly he slid beneath her and she was straddling him. His hand
s skimmed under the cotton of her knit dress. Her head was in a fog, but her body knew exactly what it wanted and her hips started to move in time to the sultry, breathy music.

  He gathered and pulled her dress over her head, leaving her in nothing but a pair of sheer panties. Her hips continued to work them both into a situation where they sought release in one another.

  Leaning back, he used the back of the couch to take the weight off of his hips. “Help me take off my jeans.”

  She stood, feeling sexy in the lack of clothing when his heated gaze appraised her. Her breasts swayed with her movement and a growl emitted from deep within his throat. Once she had him unclothed she continued to move sensually with the beat that filtered into the room. With every move she made, his growls and moans became louder and more desperate. She’d never danced suggestively for anyone before and she felt provocative and powerful.

  When the song ended, Lil’ Wayne took over the airwaves and started singing about licking lollipops. Gabriel grinned. “This song was written to fuck to. If you wanna make love, you better change it.”

  His anticipatory look had him waiting for her to change the music, but instead she stood her ground. When he arched a brow she asked, “What happens if I don’t change the music?”

  “Then you need to get your mouth on me now.” He lifted his thick cock. His command both verbal and of her body sent a flash of fire to her sex. She took a round throw pillow from the couch and placed it on the floor between Gabriel’s feet.

  She lowered herself to her knees, using the pillow as padding. With her nails she teased the skin on his thighs bringing blood flow to the surface and further enlarging his cock and his moans. Grasping his heat in her fist she jerked him, swiping her tongue over the tip where he leaked. His hands slid into her hair and lightly fisted. He looked reverently down at her as she worked him over with her mouth, cradling the underside of him with her tongue and pumping with her hand at the root.

  “God, your mouth feels so good.”

  She moaned her response around his thickness in her mouth. His abs tensed and he grew even bigger in her mouth. One of his hands slid from her hair to her jaw, “Hey, being in your mouth is too good. I’m about to come.”

  She looked up, connecting with is electric green gaze. The intense glow darkened as she continued to work him in her mouth. In a few moments thick, warm threads of cum slid down the back of her throat. She’d never swallowed before, but she’d not wanted to waste a drop of him. Everything he had to offer had been of the highest quality and the finest talents. If he were a fine wine he’d be…well, she didn’t know since most of the wine she drank came from a screw top bottle, but he’d be something aged and French. The taste of him was no different. It was as fine as every other part of him that she’d experienced.

  He rested the head of his spent body on the back of the couch and breathed deep. She stood and placed the pillow back to rights. When she attempted to put her dress on, he took it in his hands and pulled it gently free from her grip. His fingers slipped into her panties and found their way between her legs. When he felt her wetness his eyes flashed wide before they narrowed. In one swift move he had her in his former position on the couch and he was now on his knees between her legs. They’d switched roles. Bruce Springsteen’s I’m On Fire started to play and he slid her panties off. Looping his arms under her legs he pulled her to the edge of the couch and spread her wide before him. He placed her legs over his shoulders and hummed a sound of content.

  She wasn’t opposed to receiving oral, but she’d never found it as fulfilling as sex. The guy always seemed to want her to do the reaching and try as she might she could never find what she was reaching for.

  As soon as his fingers spread her and his head went down between her thighs, she knew this ride was going to be different. His highly skilled tongue feathered against her, distributing warmth that his fingers used to bring her from smoldering intensity to shear, blood-boiling climax. It hadn’t taken long, mere seconds, and she was releasing on his tongue. His exploration grew more exhaustive. He was almost inside of her, pleasuring from the inside out. She would surely lose her tether on this world…be lost in some eternal pleasuring abyss if he didn’t let her up soon.

  “Ah, Gabe, I can’t—” her climax still lingered. How long had it been?

  He pulled back, his nose and chin glistening with her juices. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

  “No, you pleasured me.”

  “You’re so fucking sweet. I so easily lose control when I’m with you.” He stood and carried her to the bedroom. On her bed, beneath him, she was in heaven. These moments with him made her wonder how she’d survive once he was gone. Wasn’t there a saying about this type of situation? To have loved and lost is better than to never have loved at all. That’s all well and good, but life after Gabriel would leave her exposed—naked—because having experienced him she knew there would never be any greater love than his.

  * * *

  They’d made love again and Mirabelle had fallen asleep in her usual position—with her head on his chest and her body entangled with his. The best thing about sleeping beneath her was the lack of nightmares. She saved him from desolation and he’d been happy to repay her in some way. Gabriel smiled; eating her out hadn’t exactly been a chore for him. God he loved her flavor. She’d admitted to not being able to climax with oral and he’d been happy to make a liar out of her. She’d been so giving and sweet on the couch tonight he couldn’t imagine only seeing to his needs and ignoring hers.

  He’d become a master at sliding from beneath her sleeping form.

  “Gabe?”

  She always stirred a little but would hush at his coaxing words.

  “Shh, go back to sleep.”

  On his way back from the bathroom his breath caught in his throat at the sight of her bare cleft on display in the bed. He walked to the living room to retrieve his lamp, sketchpad, and pencils. He only hoped she’d stay in position long enough for him to accomplish his wish.

  In the corner of her bedroom Gabe set up his lamp, ensuring the light was low and concentrated on his page to keep from waking her. His location gave him an unadulterated view of her the feminine lines created by her body. He began to sketch and the minutes started to fall away. He felt the exhilaration in the tips of his fingers and the pressure applied to his pencil. His focus was acute. Inspiration always hit him in the gut and spread outward. Nothing mattered but the pencil and the page. With each stroke he recreated her image on paper. Sketch after sketch he drew, harnessing the chance she’d given him to capture her beauty. By the time she began to stir at ten-thirty he’d completed five sketches.

  She slid her legs from the bed, her every movement graceful even fresh from slumber. She covered her nakedness with a black silk robe. It called to mind his own nakedness and he smirked. Maybe he should invest in a robe. Currently, the sketchbook covered his lap. Mirabelle walked over to his make-do station.

  “Hey, you.” She offered him a sleepy smile.

  “Good morning, Mirabelle. Sleep well?”

  “Extremely.” She tilted her head to better view his sketchpad. “What are you drawing?”

  He passed her the sketchbook. Recognition of the image before her bloomed on her face and her jaw dropped on a gasp. She flipped the page and took in each picture he’d drawn. She snapped the book closed and regarded him with wide eyes and heightened color in her cheeks.

  “They’re exceptional, but we spoke about provocative drawings. You said you wouldn’t—”

  He stood and placed his hands on her shoulders. “They’re all for you, Mirabelle. Only you.”

  He placed a kiss on her forehead, and then went to his room to dress. The cogwheels in his mind spun as if powered by an infinite number of hamsters. The last time he’d been so inspired was when he’d drawn the horse and landscape. He planned to go by Max’s and gather all of the canvases. He couldn’t wait to get to his New Orleans studio. He’d lock himself in to ensure he
’d be undisturbed and he wouldn’t come out until he had all of the paintings finished.

  He had to finish this albatross if he were going to be able to crawl from beneath the weight of it. It was a sign that he’d seen the horse and Mirabelle the first time he’d been home since the deaths of his parents. He was sure she’d been sent to save him. He’d seen beauty so perfect it had captured every facet of his mind and cleared it like the sun coming out after a week of clouds and storms.

  When he couldn’t capture Mirabelle’s beauty he’d gone into a period of extreme mental block that he thought he’d never break out of. Worse were the nightmares that had haunted his sleep. It had gotten so bad that the very bed where he rested his head represented pure torture and evil, so much so that he hadn’t been able to sleep in a bedroom or a bed until he’d been at Mirabelle’s.

  It was time for him to finish the paintings he’d begun more than ten years ago. Then he could finally let go.

  Chapter Nine

  Mirabelle emerged from the shower and wrapped herself in a fluffy yellow towel. She inhaled deeply, picking up the nuances of Gabe’s scent. The only towel in the bathroom had been the one he’d used for the past week and it smelled of him. She walked to her bedroom where the drawings he’d completed were displayed across her bed. She hummed in satisfaction while she thought about having the sketches framed and hung around her bedroom. They captured the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. Was that how he saw her? Sated, but pure and real with ample curves and beautiful lines. In the drawings thick curls hung across her forehead and a delicate nose with high cheekbones rounded out the face. The provocative pose was an afterthought to the beauty that took center stage.

  Her stomach rumbled and she thought if she were hungry then he must be starving after the performance he’d given her just a few hours ago. To keep the color theme going, she donned a yellow knit dress and teal shrug to keep her shoulders from getting too cold. She placed her feet in sandal wedges and started drying her hair.