I jerk away and stalk to the steps to sit down and watch the waves. I can’t look at him. Because I love what he said, how he’s made himself out to be such a good guy, giving me time to heal and not being able to resist finding me when his brother’s in trouble. I’m so fucking flattered and touched that he heard about me through Dan and liked what he heard enough to consider actually asking me out. But it doesn’t jive with one thing, doesn’t make any sense when I consider just one single fact that negates any semblance of a relationship or intended relationship. “You’ve never even kissed me,” I accuse softly, unwilling to let it go.
“I know,” he says quietly as he steps down to sit beside me, his wide shoulders vastly reducing my personal space. “And there’s a reason, I swear.” He plucks a piece of tall beach grass from between the wooden slats of the steps and twirls it between two fingers. “It’s not a very good reason, but…” He shrugs. “It’s all I’ve got.”
I watch him but he won’t meet my eyes, just examines the grass spinning in his fingers. I make a motion with my hand, a rolling motion meant to express my readiness to hear whatever he’s got to say.
He looks at me from the corner of his eye and sighs. “Look, I’ve bared my soul enough for one day, don’t you think?”
I try to lift an eyebrow at him. One corner of his mouth tilts up but relaxes so quickly I’m not sure if it was meant to be a smile or not. If he’s laughing at me, I want to know so I can be mad about it, but he wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer to press a kiss against the top of my head.
“My ex-wife is a cunt of the first order, but when we first met and got married eight and a half years ago, I mistook her for a very effective Domme that was willing to switch on occasion, which is what I thought I wanted. I was way off. Miles. She used affection—specifically, kissing—as punishment and reward. I hated our relationship and everything she did so much that when I finally broke free seven years ago, I had a distaste for anything that reminded me of her. And kissing is one of those things.”
What. The. Actual. Fuck. I jerk away from him and stumble down the remaining steps until I feel the warm sand between my toes. He stands and holds a hand out to steady me, but it only makes me pull farther away.
“Luna?”
“Did you seriously just tell me that you won’t kiss me because of your ex-wife? You want to try having a relationship with me, but she’s got enough control over you, enough of a hold on you that seven years later you won’t kiss me?” I throw my hands up in frustration when he just sits there watching me in silence. Still nothing. I press my fingers against my temple and squeeze my eyes closed. “Gabe, I can’t deal with drama. I won’t deal with it,” I stress. “And this,” I gesture to him, with all of his issues, “this is drama. I am thirty-one years old. I have two children. I don’t have time to pamper a grown man that can’t work out his own issues. I won’t waste my time struggling with a relationship that’s doomed from the start because you’re stuck on some wannabe dominatrix bitch that happened to screw a ring out of you once upon a time.” I start up the steps to go inside and get my things together. I can’t handle this, and the stupid, stupid tears are barely held in check. I know, knew better, than to put my hope in any man, especially one that started as a one-night stand.
But he grabs me as I pass and stands, swinging me into his arms with a deep throated laugh. “Moon goddess, if I was still in contact with her, I’d tell Janet that you called her a ‘wannabe dominatrix bitch’ just to see the look on her face.” He carries me inside and starts up the stairs, tightening his hold when I struggle. “No, I’m not done.”
He sets me down at the top of the stairs and puts his hands on my hips as he leans down until his nose touches mine. The low rumble of his voice, laced with an edge of laughter, sends an infuriating tingle down my spine and straight between my legs.
Fucking bastard.
He whispers, “I am not hung up on Janet. I’m hung up on you. And I haven’t kissed you because…” He exhales quickly through his nose, an irritated sound. “Because the last woman I did kiss was Janet, so it’s been a while. When I kiss you, I want it to be because we have an emotional intimacy, not just physical, and I don’t want it to be tainted with any leftover feelings from my marriage or yours. It’ll be us, Luna. Just us.”
I swallow hard. That was a nice little speech, heartfelt and passionate without being too over the top or mushy. God dammit, I’m going to fucking cave eventually. But that doesn’t mean I have to go easily, or give up the chance to get some answers.
“So what we’ve been doing isn’t intimate?” The question comes out in a husky whisper, and I resist the urge to clear my throat and try again. He heard me.
“Emotional and physical intimacy are two very different things. Physical intimacy is something I can have with anyone. Emotional though, that’s harder to find. We’ve been physically intimate, but we’re only just beginning to cross into emotional territory.”
It makes sense, but still isn’t enough. Not yet. “So if I told you that if you want to have a relationship, we can’t have any more physical intimacy until we achieve emotional, what would you say?”
He groans and presses himself against me, grinding the hard ridge of his erection into the soft flesh of my stomach. “I won’t be fucking happy about it, but I’ll agree to it if that’s what you want.”
Is it? No, it’s not. I don’t want to give up sex when I’ve just started having the kind of sex I’ve always wanted. But this isn’t about what I want. It’s about what I need. And a relationship will eventually lead to Gabe meeting my girls. And that can’t happen until I know beyond a shadow of doubt that he’s worth it, and sex will cloud my thinking.
“Yes, that’s what I want. No kissing, no sex.”
He muffles a grunt against the curve of my neck and rocks himself into me again. “I knew I should have fucked you before breakfast.”
Chapter 13
We spend most of the morning on the beach, splashing each other in the water for a few minutes then drying off in the sun. I find out we’re not actually in Orange Beach, but just outside. Gabe tells me about zoning and permits, and the aggravations of building a company that his stepfather adamantly opposes.
It says a lot about how much he trusts me that he tells me these things. Not that I really understand most of the industry jargon he uses, but I nod and smile as though I do, hoping he doesn’t notice the glazed look in my eyes as I try to listen.
I bore him nearly to tears when he asks why I want a degree in Social Work, and what I want to do with it. When I tell him I’ll eventually have to get a master’s, I end up trying to explain why I agreed to drop out of college in the first place.
All in all, it’s a very informative day for us both.
We eat lunch on the patio, tacos that Gabe went into town to pick up. Then we spend the afternoon in the water again. It’s all so boring and platonic for a day I thought was going to be a carnival of hedonistic delight, and though it’s by my request that we’re not touching, it’s still frustrating.
We watch the sunset in the living room, the orange light streaking across the deep black of his hair as he searches for a movie to stream instead of staring out the tall windows at the fading light. I’d like to be curled against him with my feet tucked beneath me. But he’s sitting stiffly on the other end of the large sectional, and I’m trying not to stare at the stripe of light across his chest that’s highlighting one nipple through the thin white T-shirt he’s wearing.
I can faintly make out the slightly darker crisp of hair on his chest. I follow the v-shape to the waist of his jeans and lick my lower lip, remembering the muscle there that flexes and tightens when he…
“You’ve got to stop looking at me like that,” he grinds out, low and husky.
I can only assume he means that I’m looking at him like he’s a chocolate covered sundae and I’m a very, very hungry…
“Luna!” he snaps, irritated.
&nb
sp; I jerk my eyes to his and shudder at the desire burning there, held in check only by my request.
“If you want me to fuck you, ask. Otherwise, don’t tell me I can’t and then look at me like you want to lick me.”
I take a shuddering breath and look back at the television, trying to focus on the movies he’s scrolling through. He’s silent for a while, nearly a full minute passing before he starts flipping through movies again. I don’t see what he’s looking at, couldn’t care less about the movie. I try to focus, think about something else and I latch on to the topic we’ve been avoiding since he brought it up this morning. One persistent thought parades through my mind, and eventually I have to give voice to it.
“If you like to be…” I pause, unable to use the word ‘dominant’ even in a question, “…in control, why did you marry a woman that…” God, I can’t even finish. Not because of embarrassment, but because it sounds so ridiculous. Grown men and women playing pretend?
He shifts in his seat, and I try not to look at his lap. He’s hard, his cock pressing tightly against his jeans, the length so clearly outlined that I can see the flared head. “She let me top her, but it was never real, never a true exchange of control. That’s part of why we got divorced. We weren’t compatible sexually anymore, especially when she started fucking college kids. I’m pretty big on fidelity.” I nod slightly, my eyes still locked on his erection. When his hand strokes over the bulge from base to tip slowly, I jerk my eyes to his. He’s watching me, a mocking smile on his lips. “There’s plenty we could do that isn’t sex or kissing.”
“No touching,” I whisper, all too certain that if he touches me he’ll be able to convince me otherwise. All day the heated glances and gentle brushes of his hand have been an extended kind of foreplay, bittersweet with the knowledge that I can’t have him.
“Baby, we can even do this without touching.”
For an instant I don’t understand. Then I realize he’s already unbuttoned and is in the process of unzipping his jeans. One leg stretches along the back of the couch seat and the other is in front of him so that his legs are spread wide when he pulls the thick length of his dick out. He grips himself tightly, rubbing a finger up and down the underside of the crest while his thumb strokes across the tip.
I squeeze my legs together, all discomfort and embarrassment gone as I watch him.
“Eyes on me, Luna.” His voice is soft, that darkly sexual tone creeping in. Husky, gravelly, deep…Jesus Christ it’s sexy. Like dark chocolate dripped onto warm, salted caramel.
I tear my eyes away from his hand and look up at him.
“I’m going to jerk off,” he tells me, as though I’d missed him pulling his cock out of his pants and tugging it. I nod and he continues, “Because you’ve reduced me to this, not because it’s what I want. Since you don’t want me to touch you, and by extension won’t touch me yourself, you can at least tell me how you want me to do it.”
I don’t understand. I frown at him, a little confused.
“Tell me what to do, how to make myself come. And if you want—and let me add that I’d really like to see it—make yourself come at the same time.”
Fuck. He’s getting around my no sex and the no touching rule. It’s not like I’m going to make a no masturbation rule. I’m fucking human, after all. I get worked up, I want to rub one out just like the rest of the world. But in front of him? While he does the same, following my instructions for his own pleasure?
A little thrill of anticipation hums through me, and I don’t know what gives me away. Maybe my eyes get wide, or I draw a funny breath…hell, I don’t know, maybe I tear through the living room screaming “kacaw, kacaw” at the top of my lungs. All I’m really certain of is that he’s pinned me with those pale, fire-blue eyes when he says, “Don’t be shy, moon goddess. Look what you do to me.” He nods toward his penis and I look—what a bad fucking idea—as he pulls hard, a stream of pre-cum flowing from the tip and dripping onto his shirt before he uses his thumb to smear it around the flared crown.
Jesus H. Christ, I can’t get my pants off fast enough. Even though a thousand stupid little worries parade through my head—did I miss a spot shaving, will he notice the cellulite, do I have an attractive pussy, I don’t smell do I—most of them are just whispers while the one, dominating thought of watching while he makes himself come from my instructions screams through my mind. I leap up and start tearing my jeans off.
But he’s going too fast, has already lured pre-come to the surface when I’m not even ready. “Stop,” I whisper, wondering if he’ll comply. I want to cheer when his hand freezes mid-stroke. “Wait for me.” My voice comes out still in a whisper, though I hadn’t intended for it to. But he doesn’t move, just keeps his hand there, gripping the turgid length, waiting for me to tell him to move.
It’s intoxicating, having that much power over someone like Gabe; someone who’s larger than life in his job, his personality, his social status…even his physical stature. To have him at my command, at my mercy…oh he’s good. Tempting me with things he must know I’ve never had, understanding how I need to be in control right now so I’ll know that whatever happens is my choice, not something I was pushed into.
Granted, for temptation he’s presenting me a big, beautiful cock that’s practically pulsing with every heartbeat. I settle back in my previous position on the sofa, but stretch my leg out on top of his, leaning back and mirroring his position. His gaze immediately zeroes in between my legs and the hand wrapped around his penis tightens and jerks slightly before stilling again.
“Slowly,” I tell him, sliding a hand into my wet folds. Masturbating for me is so common, so much the norm that I don’t even have to think about where my fingers go, what I want to do next. Before Gabe, this was the only way I ever got to orgasm. So I’m pretty good at it.
I watch his hand move up and down, squeezing and twisting the hard flesh. His breath is shaky and I glance up to see that he’s watching me just as much as I am him.
“Cup your balls with your other hand. Knead them a little.” It’s hard to say, to give voice to the words, demand of him what I want, and I know my face is red. But he’s not looking at my face as he complies.
“Just your fingertips now.”
He groans, but loosens his hand and trails his fingers up and down, barely touching, tracing the thick veins running the length of his penis. His hips arch rhythmically, a silent plea for more.
My own pleasure is mounting much more quickly than I expected. Normally it takes me at least a few minutes to get in the right mindset, then a few more to build myself up enough to even approach an orgasm. But now it’s building as though Gabe is the one touching me, so much faster than I anticipated, spurred on by the sight of those big hands working his cock.
His head falls back and his hips jerk upward. I think it’s involuntary, but can’t be certain. His control holds though, and he continues the light touch of his fingertips instead of the hard tugs I know he wants.
“Luna,” he whispers, drawing my attention back to his face. “I’m so close, sweetheart.”
I shake my head, wondering if he knows I’m getting close, wondering if I should tell him to come when I do. I don’t know what I want, but I know that I can’t stand the thought of leaving him hanging.
For an instant, he wraps his hand around the base of his shaft and squeezes, a tortured groan falling from his lips. Before I can say anything, he returns to the teasing strokes that will keep him on edge without letting him come.
I speed up the motions of my hand, the first tremors of release starting to build. Gabe pants, watching me with his burning gaze.
“Hard and fast,” I tell him, some part of me wanting him to come either with me or as close as he can.
He moves quickly, planting one hand on the back of the couch and kneeling on one knee between my legs. No part of his body touches me, but as he leans down he gets close, heat pouring off his body. He pumps himself almost violently, droplets of pre
-cum squeezing out and onto my stomach with each stroke.
And that sends me over the edge, my legs going into spasms as wave after wave crashes over me. My vision blurs, but I can still see Gabe, his face flushed as he lets out a long, harsh breath. Liquid heat splatters on my stomach and he looks down at the same time I do, watching the gushes of semen from his cock until they slow and stop. He squeezes from root to head one last time, drawing forth one more weak spurt before releasing himself and bracing his hand on the sofa next to me.
He’s probably going to have a cum stain on his sofa, but I can’t bring myself to care. Let his housekeeper figure it out. I let my eyes wander from his softening penis, up his abs and chest, and across his shoulders before getting lost in the soul-searching blue ice of his eyes. He drops onto me, pressing me into the cushions with his weight, and lowers his head to mine.
For an instant I think he’s going to kiss me. He tilts his head slightly and glances back and forth between my lips and eyes as his face draws closer to mine. But he just closes his eyes, kisses my cheek, and says, “Let’s get you in the shower.”
Asshole.
Gabe stands and holds his hand out, waiting for me to take it. I slip my fingers into his and let him pull me to my feet. He smiles down at me, tenderness in his eyes just before he sweeps me into his arms and proceeds to carry me up the stairs.
I haven’t walked up these damn stairs yet.
“That was so sexy,” he murmurs as we approach the master bedroom. “Thank you for sharing that, letting me watch you. It was beautiful.”
Luna Exposed Page 17
