“Now we are just two grown adults enjoying each other’s company. Although, I may be the only one who can admit it. Fun fact for you, Angel, I am a grown ass man who has zero problem saying what I want. And I want you. Yesterday, tomorrow, and right fucking now. My dick is hard from having this argument with you, and I can see your nipples tight as hell right through your bra and shirt, so you can lie about it all you want, but I think you want me too. If not, say the word and I’ll back off. But if you do, tell me, Angel. Don’t pretend like you hate me.”
Who was this man? I had no idea, but he was right about one thing, my anger had turned to something else, and my attraction to him wasn’t something that lingered from fifteen years ago. The Gabe standing in front of me was a sex dream made reality, and I clenched my thighs together to clear my mind and remind myself that I had to be in control. It was hard, though, with him standing there, the collar of his shirt messed up and the smooth skin of his throat exposed. And the way he talked. Oh my God, how could he say those things so easily?
“Angel,” he was stalking towards me now, slowly unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and moving to the buttons in the front. I backed up as he advanced, but I couldn’t stop watching his fingers as they worked those buttons free. This was too much for me, this Gabe was too intense. I didn’t think I could keep up with him, not like this. Holy shit, I couldn’t stop looking at his hands, though, why were they so mesmerizing?
“Angel.” He was almost singing it now, his voice so sexy and deep. Warmth began to pool at the juncture of my thighs. If I didn’t get out of there soon, I was going to be a puddle on the floor. “I’ll tell you what, Angel, leave if you want to. If that is what you really want to do. Or you can stay, and be honest with yourself. Then we would be on even ground, according to your standards, right?” He’d finished unbuttoning his shirt and pulled it free from his pants, sliding it over his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. He was in just his undershirt and slacks now, and the combination of under and outerwear was making my brain slow. Gabe Anderson’s body was a masterpiece, and he was clearly using it as a tactic to turn my brain to mush and make me bend to his will. It was working.
But I had to keep my wits about me. I had to stay in control. I was too proud to admit that my body was responding to Gabe’s strip show; that I wanted to watch him take everything off. That I wanted to see with my eyes what I had felt with my hands the night before.
Move feet, move! I commanded my body, and they actually shuffled backward a couple of inches in response. Gabe was getting closer, his hands unbuckling his belt and letting that fall to the floor as well. He was going to take his pants off, fuck I had to get out of here before that happened, because something inside of me knew that if I saw him, swollen and hard for me, there was no way I was going to have the willpower to say no. I felt my tongue dart out and lick my lips, completely against my will. God, I wanted to taste him, to bite him, to lick the salt from his skin.
“Gabe,” I said, my arms out in front of me in a weak attempt to ward him off. “You are in my personal space.” It sounded pathetic, even to me, and the words were my own. He just smiled, like a man who had won a bet, and the sought after prize was in front of him, ready for him to grasp.
“Angel, if you don’t run right this minute, I’m going to swallow your personal space.”
Oh my God, yes, please.
Oh no, I couldn’t think like that. I had to preserve the shreds of control I thought I had in this situation. I reached behind me and felt the knob of the office door. All I had to do was turn around. Open the door and walk out. I would be free. Painfully turned on, but free and out of the clutches of this tantalizing man who threatened to break me down. I turned, faced the door and twisted the knob. It turned in slow motion like everything I did was underwater.
Inside of me was a war zone. My pride and sense of self-preservation demanded that I turn around and run, save myself from reopening old wounds. But my heart and every other part of my body was on fire with the need to see how far he would take this. Did I look as hungry for Gabe as a felt? Probably. He was giving me every opportunity to deny him, but I couldn’t even force out the words. I could barely muster the halfhearted effort to open a damn door. It was hard to run away when my entire body was engulfed with the blazing need to let him catch me.
Then I was thrust back into reality as two hands slammed against the door on either side of me and a fully naked Gabe pressed against me. I felt the warmth of his chest against my back and the iron length of his cock pressed against my ass. I was pinned to the door now, cheek and breasts pushed to the heavy wood by the weight of the body behind me.
I felt his breath, hot on my skin a second before he bit down on that soft place between my neck and shoulder. Not deep enough to break the skin, but hard enough to leave a mark of possession. His low voice growled in my ear and the desire I had tried so hard to hide trickled from between my legs as he spoke. “Too late, Angel.”
Self-control, what was that? Nothing I needed apparently, because that bite, those words whispered into my skin—that was all it took to shatter my resistance and have me arching back against his body, away from the door. Away from freedom. I didn’t want to be free. Not really. What I really wanted was to be owned by the man behind me, consumed by his mouth and destroyed by the hands that were grabbing at me roughly, exactly how I needed them to.
“Jesus, Fuck Gabe, what are you doing to me?”
“Whatever I want to,” was all he said, right before he spun me around and pressed me to the door again. This time it was my back pressed against the wood, and my breasts pressed against his chest. His mouth took possession of mine, and there was no pretense on my part, I responded in kind. Attacking his mouth hungrily, trying to crawl in him, through him, and out the other side.
Rough, yes, tear me apart.
My own thoughts were scaring me. Sex had never felt so intense before, like I would burst into flames if I couldn’t relieve the pressure that was building inside of me. Gabe’s hands were on my breasts now, plucking and scraping at the tight buds of my nipples through my shirt, through my bra, leaving trails of heat everywhere he touched. I was too sensitive, and if he didn’t stop and start touching somewhere else I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold on. I’m one of those few women who can have an orgasm just from nipple play, and I was so turned on that it was a near thing. I had to get him to move or I was going to finish before we started, but it just felt so damn good, I couldn—
I screamed as he ripped my shirt up and sucked the tip of one breast, bra and all, directly into his mouth, scraping the nipple with his teeth and tongue right through the satin cup. “Fuck!” I shouted, and the shock waves that had started in my chest and thighs rippled out like water and extended through my arms and legs. Pleasure like lightning shot through my fingers and toes and I sank to my knees, head down, lacking the strength to even stay standing.
“Angel,” Gabe said from somewhere above my head, sounding a little breathless himself, “did you just get off to me touching your nipples?”
“Yes.” I had a hard time speaking, the euphoria of a screaming orgasm still making it difficult to make words. “I’m…kind of strange that way.”
“That’s not strange at all, that’s amazing. Angel, your body is amazing. I want to touch more of it. I want to taste more of it. Get up off the floor, I’m not done.” I still had all my clothes on, and as I lifted my head and looked up at Gabe I was reminded that he had none. A work of art, he was, standing above me. As I looked up the line of his body, my mouth watered at the sight of him, bobbing thick and strong in front of my face. If he was doing whatever he wanted, then it should stand to reason I could do whatever I wanted, right? And right then, I wanted to take him into my mouth, to experience the taste that was uniquely Gabriel.
“No.” That was all I said to him before I took him in my mouth, as far as I could, which wasn’t that far because he had much more than I had any experience handling. It didn�
�t matter, my lack of skill, I could tell he was into it as he fisted his hands into my hair and his hips moved against my face.
Power. That’s what I felt in that moment. Some women might have found it degrading to be on their knees like that, but not me. In that moment, I owned Gabriel Anderson and the feel of his silken hardness as it slid in and out of my mouth, the sound of his low moans of pleasure echoing above my head, all worked to get me right back to the fever pitch I was at just moments ago. I wanted to make him feel like he made me feel. Desperate. Crazy.
But Gabe wasn’t having it.
“Too much, Angel. Your mouth feels too good and I don’t want to let go so soon. I’ve been thinking about being inside of you again since I pulled out the last time, so stand up. I need to get you naked.”
Holy fucking shit, his shameless way of speaking made me feel like I could do nothing but obey, so I stood up. I had barely gotten my shirt pulled up over my head when it was Gabe who went down on his knees and took control of the situation. No sooner did he have my jeans unbuttoned and zipped then he pulled them down a couple of inches and started kissing my lower stomach, sucking the skin in his mouth and leaving what I knew was going to be a trail of red hickeys.
“I thought you wanted me naked,” I said with a nervous laugh. “What is your obsession with this specific part of my body?”
“I love it,” he said with zero hesitation. “It’s soft and sweet, and you know I can’t resist sweets.” He smiled and looked up at me from his position down on his knees. The look in his eyes was hot and hungry, and desire shot straight through me again. I would do whatever he asked, as long as he kept touching me. Gabriel Anderson was magic. At least, he had some kind of spell over me.
Without warning, and while I was still looking down at him, he yanked my jeans the rest of the way down my body, burying his face his face between my legs and lapping at the soaked fabric that was barely hanging on to the definition of panties.
“Gabe, no.”
“Angel, yes.” He pulled his head back just enough to look up at me. I had my hands fisted in his hair and for a moment, the sight of him on his knees, worshipping my body was so beautiful, I forgot what I was going to say. Then the trembling in my legs reminded me I was about to fall down and I had to get him to stop or I would tumble and crush him.
“I can’t stay standing when you do that,” I said, laughing again. Not because I was making fun of him, or me, even. More so because I loved every second of this. Knowing that as much as I wanted him, he wanted me too. I wasn’t a pity fuck. He wanted to touch me even more, if possible, than I wanted to touch him. I wasn’t afraid anymore, to ask for what I wanted—no—to demand it. There was no shame in telling Gabe what made me feel good, and what I wanted him to do.
I stepped away from him, dropping my panties, and reaching around, I unclasped my bra and let it fall to the ground as well. His eyes followed my breasts as they jiggled, free from their restraints. I loved that he loved that part of me. I loved that there was something about me physically that transfixed him, because every part of him was mouthwatering to me.
I walked over to the couch and knelt down on it, bracing my arms against the back and letting my ass stick out in an invitation. “I want you inside of me, Gabe,” I said, and watched his chocolate brown eyes bleed to black as he got up and stalked towards me again.
He slid into me with zero hesitation. This was what I wanted, to be filled and connected to Gabe on the most basic level. But he was gentle, and I didn’t want gentle right now. I wanted hard quick thrusts, I wanted to be pushed into as I pushed back at him.
“Harder, Gabe.” My words came out in gasps as he increased his thrusts slightly.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Angel.”
“But I want you to.”
And that was all he needed to hear from me. Gabe held me down with one hand on my shoulder and plunged into me, over and over, my hands braced on the back of the couch, the only thing keeping me from sinking into the cushions.
Yes—this. This was what I needed. To be lost in the sensations so strong they couldn’t be ignored or forgotten. To have Gabe slam into my soul as hard as he could and leave his mark there, so I would always remember this moment, when Angel the teenage girl splintered apart and let go of her feelings for Gabe the teenage boy. When Angel, the woman, gave herself permission to accept the loving of Gabe, the man.
16
Angel
I was getting a whole lot of not shit done today, just like yesterday and the day before. Well, in my defense, two days ago I had let myself lay around all day and recuperate from the extra wild sex Gabe and I had in his office. I was never going to be able to sit on that couch again without thinking of the things we had done. I was willing to bet Gabe thought the same thing.
But I couldn’t stay locked in fantasy when I had bills to pay and work to do. Playing gigs was fun and I did get paid for it, but my real money came from my writing, and my extra-curricular activities of late had put me behind on my projected word count. As in, I hadn’t written shit in a couple of weeks and my readers and my bank account were going to start bitching soon. Gabe had agreed to give me space to get my work done, on the grounds that I didn’t keep trying to avoid him and let him take me on a proper date on the weekend, which sounded awesome, so I said yes. I asked him where he was planning on taking me and he told me Affini’s, which was great, because their food was the bomb diggety, but I hardly ever went there because it was kind of expensive.
“Wear a low cut shirt so I can stare at your boobs over dinner,” Gabe had said boldly as he kissed me goodbye when I was leaving his office.
“I’ll wear a turtleneck and you’ll like it.”
He laughed, I laughed, we both knew a turtleneck wasn’t happening because it had been in the low seventies for the past few weeks, but I could tease. And that was fun. The freedom to have playful banter with someone who I wasn’t in the stage of “trying to get to know.” I could say what I wanted around Gabe, there wasn’t that awkward “what will he think of me” stigma hanging over my head.
The problem was I struggled with relationships. I wasn’t kidding when I said that my most lasting relationship was with my vibrator. The closest person I had ever connected with on an emotional level was Gabe, and I had a hard time letting anyone get close to me since then. I knew it was some screwed up part of my own psyche holding me back, but I just didn’t know what to do about it. So I went through a lot of shallow, quick relationships, because I didn’t know how to be a partner. I specifically chose men who didn’t want that from me either, because then I wouldn’t have to go through the effort to let them in, to give them the power to hurt me.
Gabe had that power, though. He’d already had it before we became physical, and that was what had me scared. That was what had me sitting in front of my laptop for the last three days, unable to write a lick of romance—because my own love life had me twisted.
I had writer’s block. Goddamnit.
It had happened before, though not for the same reason. I did have a backup plan for such occasions, and it involved two elderly ladies and copious amounts of tequila. I opened my apartment door and yelled down to the first floor. Well, not yelled, really. I didn’t even have to raise my voice much to be heard, but I did project a bit.
“Hey, Jolene!” At first I didn’t think she heard me, but then I heard jiggling noises as she opened her door and I heard her voice project back at me.
“What Angel dear?”
“I have writer's block. Want to do a story time or do you have something else going on?” She didn’t answer, but I heard her footsteps shuffling back into her apartment before she came back out in the hallway and shut her door.
She banged on the door of the apartment next to hers, and I heard her yell through the door, “Gerta! It’s storytime. Bring the blender.”
Laughing to myself I went back into my apartment to clear some space for everyone to sit. I was a writer, so I had a tenden
cy to be a bit scattered in my cleaning. Okay, I was a clutter hog, whatever. There weren’t any dust bunnies or dirty dishes lying around, I wasn’t a dirtball. I just had a lot of stuff and didn’t organize very well. I didn’t really have people over to my apartment besides Jolene and Gerta, and my mom lived in Florida now, so it wasn’t like I needed to keep it clean for her. I would probably have to clean better if Gabe was going to come over, though. Ugh, all of my issues revolve around Gabe. I needed a hobby.
I’d barely got the loveseat and the recliner free of the books and notebooks that usually covered the tops of everything before there was a knock on the apartment door. I didn’t bother answering it, and Jolene didn’t bother waiting for me to, she just swung the door open and walked inside, Gerta following close behind.
Gerta set the pitcher down in the kitchen and began assembling the margaritas immediately, as was her normal job during story time. I opened the freezer and cupboards to see what we could eat to go with them. If we were going to be pounding tequila—and we would be—we would need food to go with it.
“All right ladies, I have tater tots, bagel bites, crackers and cheese in a can. Pick your poison.” I really needed to get to the grocery store, but in my defense, I had been pretty damn busy what with all the kidnapping and assault and kinky office sex going on. It was amazing I was running out of things to write about, as insane as my real life was getting.
“I vote no on bagel bites, dear, the tomato sauce aggravates my hiatal hernia.” I wanted to point out to Jolene that the tequila would probably also aggravate her reflux but I knew that it would fall on deaf ears. Jolene was in her eighties, she knew what she could handle and what she couldn’t.
“I’m actually not hungry, Angel.” Gerta’s soft voice behind me was almost too low to hear. “I’ve not much of an appetite lately, but you go on and make what you want.” And she pushed the button on the blender, all I heard was the whirring of the blades as they mixed the booze and crushed the ice. Gerta looked okay, but I was just as protective of my elderly neighbors as they were of me. I didn’t want to think of any of them in failing health, but Gerta was also old enough to know what she needed and didn’t. She didn’t need me harping on her like one of her doctors to eat more.
Gabe (Glass City Hearts Book 1) Page 11
