Gabriel’s Naughty Game
Madelynne Ellis
“I want to see you with another guy.”
When Gabriel tells me his fantasy, I want to laugh it off, pretend it’s a joke. But I know it isn’t—he’s serious. I’m all for a little daring in the bedroom, but this is too risky. It gets even worse when Gabriel reveals who he wants me to sleep with: Nye, the only other man who’s ever tempted me.
I soon realize there’s more to Gabriel’s game than simple voyeurism. But whatever Gabriel wants, Gabriel gets….
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter One
“I want to see you with another guy.”
Gabriel’s staring at me from behind the heavy frames of his glasses, his brown puppy-dog eyes full of aching sincerity.
“Yeah,” I say, laughing between mouthfuls of cornflakes, “course you do.” What the hell sort of bloke wants to see his girl going at it with another guy. Only Gabriel doesn’t laugh along with me. His gaze remains fixed, watching me dip my spoon into the milk and lift it up again. He watches me chew and dab my lips clean.
“I’m serious, Em. I want to watch him go down on you, see him lick your pussy and then fill you with his dick. I want to watch everything, your blush, each caress. I want to hear every squeak and each word he makes you hiss. I want to see your eyes light up as you come.”
“Hmm…” I respond. It strikes me that he can do all of those things without involving another man. “What makes you think I want to have sex with another man? I’ve you. One cock is plenty enough.” Embarrassment makes me brusque, and I want to laugh this off, pretend it’s all a joke, but I know it isn’t. Gabriel’s voice is soft, and he’s still. Really still. Gabriel’s always composed when he’s serious, like he has to hold himself in check for fear of being misinterpreted.
He hops up onto one of the high breakfast stools and leans across the countertop toward me. His long fingertips steeple and tap the edge of my cereal bowl. “You’re quite sure about that? You’ve never dreamed about having two guys? I thought that was standard female fantasy these days.”
His cocky nonchalance is an act. He’s invested in this. I can sense it.
“So, we’re talking about threesomes now, are we?” I raise my brows, trying to keep the conversation light but failing. This is hardly our typical seven-in-the-morning subject matter. Normally this early, we converse in guttural grunts and yawns.
Gabriel thinks a moment, tapping the bowl again before pressing his index fingers to his succulent pout. “No,” he answers slowly, voice still steady. “I don’t want to be part of it. I just want to watch.” A smile creeps into the depths of his eyes as he speaks, and dimples appear in his left cheek. “Say you’re game. Please, Em. I really want to watch you.”
“Really?”
“Really, really.”
The thing with Gabriel is that what he wants he nearly always gets. I don’t know if it’s some weird-ass talent he has, or simple good luck, and normally I enjoy watching things unfold, but now that I’m slap bang at the center of that want, I’m not feeling quite so cool.
Breakfast done, I hop down from my perch and drop the bowl into the sink. A wan smile still plays upon his lips and his gaze never leaves me as he follows me into the living room. I’m all for games and a little daring in the bedroom, but this seems particularly transgressive. He’s asking me to fuck someone else, after months of being only with him. I don’t know. Part of me is alarmed; the rest is lining up fantasy candidates like cruising for extra cock is part of my normal routine. I can’t help it. We all have our rainy-day guys, right?
I slip on my coat, ready to head out the door. “Was there someone you had in mind?” I throw at him as a parting remark. I figure there must be someone. He’s obviously been planning this out. Gabriel doesn’t do spontaneity, not that I’ve witnessed anyway.
Gabe waits until after we’ve kissed goodbye and I’ve one foot over the threshold before he replies, “Yes, absolutely. I think you should do it with Nye.”
Holy hell!
The notion hits me like a sucker punch to the groin. I gulp goldfish style and wobble down the steps in my ballerina flats as if they’re three-inch heels, before tottering off toward the car, mouth dry and my heart racing. Nye—that’s just unfair. I squirm on the driver’s seat once I’m inside, giving my girly bits some welcome friction before pulling off. Nye—it’s a ludicrous suggestion, but the thought is now lodged in my head, and my pulse starts to tango.
We can’t make this real. Hell, there’s too much risk. Nye’s already on my “approach with caution, and only while wearing steel panties” list. Actually, he’s the only person on that list. Give me reality over a movie star any day—my A-list fantasies ended along with high school.
Dear God…I love Gabriel, I genuinely do, but if there’s one man out of the thousands that live in this town that I’d ever been tempted by, then Nye’s the one. God help me, he’s the one. And clearly my boyfriend knows it.
I spend a week gnawing my fingernails worrying over what this means. Is Gabriel testing me? Is he offering me the chance to walk away? Does he want me to walk away? Is he simply telling it to me straight—it’s his fantasy and he genuinely wants to see me squirming with sexual fever in another man’s arms? My emotions are in knots by the time the weekend comes.
“I’ve invited Nye over tonight,” Gabriel says as I sigh under the shower spray, washing away the office grime.
“You’ve what?” Soap bubbles sting in my eyes as rivulets cascade over my naked body. “Why did you do that? What have you told him?”
“I want to see you fuck,” Gabriel hollers along the landing.
I come tearing out of the shower, soap suds still clinging to my skin. “No, you can’t do that.”
“Babe, I already did.” He turns his head to look at me, his thumbs hooked into the belt loops of his low-slung jeans. “Don’t go denying you want him. Let’s at least be honest with our fantasies. If all the guys in the world were lined up and you could fuck any of them, I know you’d choose him over me.”
I try to deny this, but Gabriel waves away my protests. “I’m cool with that. It’s no biggy. I get that his presence wets your panties. All I’m asking is that you let me be part of it.”
“You’re going to sit back and watch, while I get hot and sticky with another man.” Doesn’t matter how hard I try, I still can’t get my head around this, and it shows in the incredulous tone of my voice.
Gabe remains patient and smiling. “No, Em. I’m going to wank myself silly while I watch you.” He holds my gaze as he tells me this, making sure I know there’s sincerity within his words. “It’s not a trick, babe. Nye knows the score.”
Okay, somehow that’s the hardest bit for me to comprehend. Harder even than accepting that Gabriel really, honest to God wants to go through with this. Nye, drop-dead gorgeous, fantasy fodder, sexy butt, actually wants to get off with whale blubbery me. Who the hell, besides Gabriel, has ever wanted to get down and dirty with me? Okay, there’s been one or two, but mostly with their beer goggles on, and they’ve been as hairy assed as werewolves. Nye and I aren’t remotely in the same league. We’re not even in the same rowboat.
And there I was thinking Gabe was a quantum anomaly for wanting me. Now it seems he might not actually be alone.
I spend extra time in front of the mirror while drying off, not preening you understand, just staring, and wondering what it is they see that clearly I don’t. It ain’t my boobs which, being overlarge, are inclined to sag a little when they’re not holstered, and I’m pretty sure it’s not my rather extensive butt. Maybe it’s my calves—I always kin
d of liked those, or my speckled, mismatched, green-and-tawny eyes. No one else has eyes like mine. Everyone else is uniform, green, blue, brown and gray…. This is getting me nowhere.
Nye’s agreement has to be a mistake. He probably though Gabriel was larking around.
That’s it. This is all a big ol’ foolish joke.
Nye isn’t coming round. We’re not going to fuck one another silly, and Gabe absolutely isn’t going to watch. Except, I get such a thrill in my gut at the possibility of it happening, I know this isn’t a fantasy I have a hope in hell of being able to resist.
My conviction holds right up until the doorbell rings.
He’s here—yes! Oh, my God! He’s here; we’re really going through with this. It’s not just a dream.
Gabriel politely yells up the stairs after he lets Nye in, but when I still haven’t come down after the third call he thunders up to our room and the en suite to call me to heel. “You’ve gotta come down, babe.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Do.”
“Don’t.”
“Fine, I’ll invite him up.”
He will, and that will make things a whole lot worse. Already the bed has taken on a whole new meaning. Gone is any association with rest, replaced only with erotic potential. I see myself sprawled between them, entwined around Nye, Gabriel positioned to my rear, a little apart from us, his brows tightly furrowed as he watches. One of his hands lies possessively upon my hip.
“I can’t do this. It doesn’t sit right.” Yet even as I say the words, deep down I know them to be a lie. I’m excited and fearful, filled with the same anticipatory butterflies that flap so wildly at the top of my favorite roller coaster right before the plunge. “You know it’s fucked-up. It’s not normal.”
Gabriel lets me ramble.
“Why are you so set on this?”
The corners of his eyes wrinkle and a smile plays upon his lips. “Because,” he replies.
Yeah, because what, you dolt? I come within inches of deliberately clonking him on the head with the toilet brush. My ploy for why I’m not downstairs. I still don’t get it. I’m not sure I ever will. Can’t he spell it out to me? What’s so hot about watching me? I mean, wouldn’t he rather do the deed? Is this the prelude to some kind of admission, or simply a way of saying goodbye? Doesn’t matter how I wing it, I can’t put this down to plain ol’ good luck.
My good luck means finding a coin in the gutter, not a night of hot stuff with Mr. McSexy and Gabe directing.
Maybe it’s a total wind up, and we’ll get downstairs, chatter and down a few bottles of chilled wine and nothing will come of all this hype. Maybe… The possibility makes it even more difficult to put one foot before the other. Deep down I’m reveling in this, I don’t want it to be a rouse. I want it to be every bit as erotic and scandalous as the vision of the three of us sprawled upon the bed.
“Gabe…”
“Sweetheart, it’ll be as sexy as hell.”
“I’m scared. Are you sure we should do this? What if it backfires?”
He holds his hand to me, and when I take it, he clasps me tight. “Shh—trust me. It won’t. It’ll be okay. Relax, live a little.” He runs a hand through my hair before kissing me long and slow. “Think of it as a game.”
“Yes.”
The brush of his hand through my hair is soothing, and I continue to lean into his body, seeking heat and his fantastically familiar touch. “Trust me, babe. You’re really going to enjoy this. I wouldn’t invite just any old fool home to play with us. I trust him to treat you right. And you do want him, don’t you?
I look up at Gabriel, right into the dark hearts of his hazel eyes. I love him and I trust him, but that doesn’t make me blind to his little foibles and faults. “If I say I don’t want him will you send him home?”
Gabriel’s smile falters, and disappointment colors his eyes, but despite the scowl he still nods. “If that’s truly what you want, and this isn’t just nerves talking. I’m not interested in forcing you. This is supposed to be fun.”
The furrows in his high brow spark a giggle, and I strain onto tiptoe to kiss them away. “Can’t deny that I fancy him.” I dig my teeth into my lower lip.
“There’s lots about him to like.”
“Yeah.” I take a deep, deep breath. “Okay. I’ll be down in a minute. Just as soon as I’ve got my sexy undies on.”
“Not the red ones,” he says. “They make you look like a whore. Maybe the blue ones or the dusky-pink.”
“Maybe Nye would like whorish.”
“I like whorish,” Gabriel growls. I grin at the warm fuzzy glow the reaction provokes in my chest. He likes whorish, and he’s claiming that little bit of kink all for himself. Blue or the dusky-pink it is.
“Hey.”
Nye is sitting upon our sofa, knees splayed wide when I enter the lounge. His easy good looks are transformed into something special by his mop of golden hair and the faint shadow of stubble around his jaw.
“Hi,” I squeak back at him, flushing with embarrassment. I try to hide behind Gabriel, but he takes up a position of silent power in the backlit armchair, making it difficult to see him without being dazzled by the lamp. He’s relaxed with this, completely unphased, while I’m as jumpy as hell. I can’t settle enough to sit down, so I dance about, not sure where to position myself or what to say. If I sit in the obvious, logical place next to Nye on the sofa, then I’m forced into physical contact with him. If I perch next to Gabriel, or opt for his knee then Nye might think he’s under interrogation. The floor looks tempting, except it’ll look weird if I hunker down and besides, nimble ain’t my middle name. More importantly, I don’t want to end up stuck down there should I need to make a sharp retreat.
Nye shuffles along the sofa a fraction, relinquishing the space I need to sit without getting overly close.
“What now?” I whisper.
Nye gives a modest shrug that mimics my own confusion. Gabriel, however, comes to life at the question. It’s no surprise to realize he has a plan.
“Have you guys done this before?” Nye asks as I squeeze myself more firmly into the sofa corner.
“No!” I almost hop back out of the seat. “No, we haven’t. Absolutely not.”
“More’s the pity,” Gabriel remarks, and I squirm with embarrassment.
“I just wondered,” says Nye. “I thought maybe if you had you’d have a way of starting this all worked out. I mean, how do we begin? Do we need to set boundaries?”
Boundaries, like as in kinks and how far we’re prepared to go? I was all set to suggest beers and a board game, hoping to wipe away the current anticipatory tension with laughter and alcohol, but Gabriel’s not about to risk losing me to a drunken haze. Oh, no, he has this all mapped out. I can tell just by the way his eyebrows dip and a V-shaped furrow forms in his brow. He’s left off his glasses tonight, opting for contact lenses instead.
“I don’t think alcohol and sex mix, do you?” he says, smiling at me.
So true, Mr. Practical. Drat the man.
“How about we agree that anything goes until one of us says otherwise?”
Nye nods. He’s fine with that, which just leaves me, grinning and nodding like a bobbly headed toy dog. I can’t speak properly now. I’ve no chance later.
“Why don’t you touch him, Em? Peel away a layer or two, get to know him a bit?”
Oh, yeah…absolutely, because diving on someone and stripping them naked is the obvious way to get to know someone. I must remember that one for our next interpersonal relationships training at work. Of course, it doesn’t change the fact that mentally, I do exactly that. I fantasize climbing astride Nye’s lap and undoing the tiny buttons of his powdery gray shirt, slowly, one by one, stopping between every one to appreciate each sliver of skin that’s revealed. Knots tighten in my stomach as I anticipate the exposure of his nipples. I mentally tug the tails of his shirt from the waist of his jeans, while in fact I sit on my tingling fingers and gape at Gabriel
in alarm. He can’t expect me to lead. I never lead. What’s more, he absolutely knows that.
Give Nye instructions instead, I yell at him as though we have a telepathic link.
“Babe,” he cajoles, giving me an almost grouchy get-on-with-it nod toward Nye. “You’ve got to stop living in your head. We can’t all peep in there to see what’s what.”
I swear he knows my every bloody thought.
“You know if you’re not sure about this…” Nye says directly to me. “Gabe gave me the impression you were keen.”
“Keen.” Gabriel rises to his feet. Dear God, he means business now. “Mate, she’s been gagging for you since the first time you met. The thing about Em is she likes to pretend that she’s all sweet, when really she’s kinky as sin. That’s right, isn’t it?” he says to me. “There are all sorts of dirty fantasies raging in that head of yours.”
I shake my head, but the motion is barely perceptible, probably just as well since it’s an outrageous lie, and I can’t maintain it the moment I make eye contact with Nye.
Desire zips through my innards. Any sort of connection with him is a bad, bad, bad, downright evil, impossible, I really should stop myself and break away from it thing. That is to say, he’s Nye. The most beautiful—with the possible exception of Gabriel—man I know.
By which I mean Nye is classical handsome, square jawed and dusky eyed with a wide easy smile prone to laughter, whereas Gabriel is chiseled, and interesting, with features that are too large for his narrow face. His thick brows cast his eyes into shadow although, when you get up close enough to see their depths, the blue of them haunts you like the azure of a tropical lagoon.
Niall looks back and forth between us, clearly bemused. “If you guys aren’t sure about this…”
“We’re sure,” reassures Gabe, but Nye’s gaze remains fixed upon me.
I can’t quite look at him. Forget my tingling fingers; my whole body is alight, waiting for the first touch of his hand. I picture him tracing a caress around my nipple.
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