Disavow

by Halle, Karina

  “You look beautiful,” I tell her, getting to my feet. “I suppose I better dress to impress.”

  “I don’t care what you do,” she says, turning to walk back to the house. “As long as you’re quick. I don’t know what it is about this place, but I am absolutely starving.”

  “Sea, sun, and sex, baby,” I tell her with a wink, following her inside.

  I quickly shower and get dressed into tan linen pants and a dark-blue collared shirt, putting just a little bit of product in my hair and slipping a couple of condoms into my pocket. I observe myself in the mirror and again I’m struck by how distant I seem from myself. But this time it isn’t a bad thing. I may not know who I am, really, when it comes down to it, but the guy in the mirror is a handsome fucker, and he has lightness in his eyes that was never there before. It’s not quite peace, but in time it could be.

  We’re back in the car, and I’m taking her on the road to the city of Palma, where one of my favorite sushi restaurants is.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” I tell her. “If you don’t eat sushi, there are plenty of options.”

  “I like sushi,” she says. “There was a great place near me in New York. A total hole-in-the-wall, but the fish was fresh and it was cheap. I would fill up on cucumber rolls and miso soup when I was broke.”

  “Did you work in New York?”

  “Of course,” she says, frowning in a way that says, Come on. “I had to. Who would have paid for me? I had saved up some money working for you guys, and then I just worked my way around Europe. Renting houses and apartments with tons of sketchy people, sleeping on couches, living out of a suitcase. Once I was in New York, it was the same deal. I had multiple jobs all the time and barely had enough to get by. I’m a connoisseur of ramen noodles.”

  “Well, you’re in luck, because this restaurant has the best ramen noodles in the world.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “By the way, about the letters,” I say, and I can’t help but notice her stiffen out of the corner of my eye. “I texted my mother earlier. There’s been nothing.”

  “Well, that’s good.”

  “Is it? It’s been over a week since that last letter was sent, and it was the most threatening out of the bunch. They could be waiting.”

  “Does it make a difference, though?” she says. Then she twists in her seat to face me better. “Does it even make a difference at all? The letters are for your father, not for you. You’re keeping the letters from him . . . why? Because you want him to get what’s coming to him.”

  This isn’t exactly the conversation I want to have with her, especially if we’re on a so-called date. It’s funny how we’ve only been here twenty-four hours, and yet any mention of the reality back home feels like a harsh intrusion.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather we talk about something else.”

  “But we’re going to have to come back to this subject sooner or later.”

  “Then let it be later. Please.”

  She seems to hear the strain in my voice because she sits back. “Sorry.”

  “That’s fine. Now, can we go back to me wooing you again?”

  “Pascal,” she says affectionately, a slow smile creeping onto her lips. “You know you don’t have to woo me. I’m already wooed.”

  “I don’t know about that. We got home, and you went straight to have a nap.”

  “And you went straight to have a wank.”

  “Because you were napping!”

  She shrugs and looks down at her hands. “I just need time to figure some stuff out.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “It’s all moving so fast.”

  My heart sinks as I say, “We can pull back if you want. We can go back to the way it was.”

  She gives me a furtive glance. “Do you really believe that?”

  “No,” I admit. “But I could try. For you, I would. Anything to make you comfortable, anything to make you happy.”

  Gabrielle watches me for a moment and then places her hand on top of mine on the steering wheel. “Thank you for that. But when I’m with you, I am happy. Even if I don’t seem it, even if my brain is stuck on worrying about other things, I’m happy. Or it’s the closest thing to happiness I’ve felt.”

  “You didn’t seem very happy when you jumped into the sea today.”

  She sighs and gives my hand a squeeze. “Like I said, I’m figuring things out. Just be patient with me.”

  “I am,” I assure her, and in that moment, I know that if she wanted to call it off, if she wanted to wait forever, I might just have to do the same. There’s truly no one else. Either she’s my future or it’s nothing at all. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here.”

  The subject in the car switches to lighter topics. Even though we’re not supposed to talk about work, I have been ignoring calls and emails from the company all day, so I work through some troubleshooting with her. She’s smart. Either that business school paid off for her, or she’s just that bright. By the time we reach the restaurant an hour later, I feel a million times lighter.

  The sushi place is big and spacious and completely modern—you’d think you were in Japan, not an island off the coast of Spain. The hostess recognizes me, either because I’ve been here many times before or because of the Dumont brand, and we’re seated at a table at the back, facing the teppanyaki chefs in the middle and the rest of the restaurant.

  I decide to sit on the other side of the table beside Gabrielle so we can both watch the chefs do their tricks together. She oohs and aahs in delight at everything they do, her pixie face alight with this joyous, buoyant enthusiasm as she watches them.

  “I take it the sushi restaurant you went to didn’t have this entertainment?” I ask, murmuring into her ear. There’s no need to whisper, I just like to do it. Gives me a chance to smell her, too, that rich coconut scent. It’s almost as good as the way she smelled earlier, legs wide open, pussy in my face.

  She shivers and turns her head to me slightly, gazing into my eyes. “No. Nothing like this.” Her gaze drops to my mouth, and I can feel the heat on my lips. Then she looks back to the chefs. “They’re amazing.”

  “You’re amazing,” I tell her, sliding a hand down her thigh to the edge of her dress.

  “You’re going to give me a big ego if you keep paying me compliments like that,” she says. For a moment I think she might bat my hand away, but instead she parts her legs a little more.

  “Maybe you deserve it,” I say to her. “Maybe you deserve everything.”

  I bring my hand up her thigh, slowly, slowly pushing up her dress and making my way up and up until my fingers graze the decadently soft skin of her pussy.

  Fuck me. She’s not wearing underwear.

  She wanted this to happen.

  “You little tease,” I say into her ear, nipping the bottom of it. Needless to say, I’m turned on as fuck, and I was already turned on.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says primly and then clears her throat, eyes forward. I see the waitress approaching with our bottle of cold sake, but I don’t move my hand.

  Instead I subtly slide my finger between her folds, finding her wet.

  She tenses up, especially as the waitress does the grand display of showing us the bottle and then asking who wants to taste it.

  “She wants to taste it,” I say, nodding at Gabrielle. “She’s the one with good taste.”

  “Very well,” the waitress says with a big smile just as I start to rub my fingers in circles around Gabrielle’s clit. As the waitress pours, Gabrielle tries her hardest to keep a normal face, but I can see the tick of her pulse in her neck, the way she’s holding her jaw like she’s trying to keep it together.

  “Here you go,” the waitress says as she pushes the glass closer to her before stepping back with the bottle in hand and waiting for Gabrielle’s approval.

  Meanwhile, Gabrielle gingerly reaches for the glass, and her grip around the stem tighten
s as I keep rubbing and rubbing and she keeps getting wetter and wetter. She somehow manages to bring the glass to her lips, and just as she takes her first sip and swallows, I gently thrust my finger up inside her.

  “Oh God,” she cries out softly, her eyes closed, mouth open.

  “That good?” the waitress asks, looking amused.

  The sake in Gabrielle’s glass is starting to spill from her shaking, so she opens her eyes and quickly puts it back on the table. “Yes,” she says in a hoarse voice as I continue to thrust my finger in and out. “Yes, it’s excellent.”

  The waitress nods and then gives me a bemused look before retreating.

  Once she’s out of earshot, Gabrielle turns to me and hisses, “She knew what you were doing.”

  “I’m still doing it,” I tell her, getting her wetter and wetter. “You’re going to make a mess all over the seat. You better come with me to the restroom so I can get you all cleaned up.”

  Before she can protest, I remove my hand and then grab hers. I lift up our hands until they’re at her lips, and then I probe her mouth with my finger. “This is the appetizer,” I tell her, watching as she tastes herself. I don’t think I’ve ever been so turned on, and I’m not sure how long I’ll hold out. The blood in my head is pumping harder and hotter until I’m almost dizzy from it.

  I get to my feet and pull her up with me and then lead her through the restaurant to the restrooms.

  “What about the waitress? She’ll think we’ve left without paying,” Gabrielle says as I check the door. It’s vacant.

  “She knows exactly what’s happening,” I tell her, opening the door and hurrying her in there.

  Once inside, I lock the door, and then I ravage her.

  My hands grip her face, driving her backward toward the wall until she’s pressed up against it. My mouth devours her, lips hungry for her lips, tongue thrusting into her mouth, playing with hers. She moans into my mouth, and I feel it all the way to my toes.

  I’m in a frenzy. Hot-headed, skin tight and on fire, cock begging for release. I reach down and hike up her dress until it’s bunched at her hips; then I slide my hands under her ass and lift her up so that her legs are wrapped around me.

  In a flurry, I spin her around and place her on the edge of the sink as she braces herself from falling with her hands on the black tiled wall. I crouch down and immediately bury my face between her legs, licking up and down her, drinking in every drop, careful not to waste any.

  “Oh fuck,” she cries out, legs spread wider for me while she grabs my hair like she did earlier. I fucking love it, fucking her with my mouth, tasting her, feeling her pulse beneath my lips, the way she pulls at my strands, sending sharp shards of pleasure and pain until I’m almost coming in my pants.

  Just before she’s about to come, her body tensing, I pull back and straighten up, quickly unzipping my pants and taking out my cock. It’s nearly painful to handle, I want her that badly. I can barely get the condom on quickly enough.

  I grab her around the small of her back, holding her there, and guide my cock into her. There’s a split second where all that anticipation and lust and raw, primal need hang in the air, and then I’m driving myself inside her, to the hilt.

  She cries out loudly, and I move my hand to her mouth, trying to keep her quiet. I don’t care if the waitress here knew I was finger fucking Gabrielle under the table, but it’s different if the whole restaurant knows. People can be gossips, and everyone has a cell phone now. Many, many times have I ended up in the tabloids and papers and internet sites because of my carelessness with women in public.

  I don’t want that to happen with Gabrielle. We have too much to lose now.

  Gabrielle nods beneath my hand, looking trusting, and I remove it as I continue to pump into her harder and harder. The sink digs into my hips as I fuck her against it, and her legs wrap tighter around my waist, holding me in place. Her hands move up and down my shirt, nails digging into my muscles and working their way down to my ass where she takes a hard hold, pulling me into her until I’m driven so deep inside her pussy, the breath is knocked out of my lungs.

  “Fuck,” I swear, grunting with each thrust, the sweat beading on my forehead and rolling off the tip of my nose and onto her collarbone. “Fuck, I’m not going to last long. I need you to come with me.”

  “So make me,” she says in a thick, throaty voice, leaving quick bites along my neck. “Make me come, Pascal.”

  Jesus. I’ve never heard anything sexier before.

  I start arching up, driving my cock up at an angle, trying to get her coming from the inside, and then when I realize it’s only making me want to come, I slip my fingers over her clit.

  The combination is all it takes. She comes, biting down on my shoulder to muffle her cries, her legs shaking as she convulses around my dick, squeezing and milking me until I have no choice anymore but to come.

  Almost there.

  Fuck.

  The release slides up my spine, and it’s like a bomb going off, blowing my mind and body apart as I come, shooting straight into her as my pumps begin to slow. I groan loudly, lost to the feeling, lost to the sensation of her around me, feeling her deep inside. All her secrets seem like they’ve been brought to the surface, for me and me only.

  If she’s not my salvation, if she’s not my redemption, then she’s something better and greater than that.

  I think I might be finding a better version of myself in her.

  A better man.

  “Fuck me,” she whispers, her hands coming to the side of my face. She holds me in her grasp, sliding her thumb around my chin in a blissed-out, thoughtful way.

  “I think I just did,” I manage to say, my voice rough.

  She smiles at me sweetly, the kind of smile that radiates joy from her eyes.

  I lean in and place a soft kiss on her lips, smiling against them.

  Because I’m happy.

  I’m fucking happy.

  “We should get back to the table before our food gets warm,” I tell her with a smirk, grabbing my cock and pulling out of her.

  “Ha-ha,” she says in a goofy way, and I grab her by the waist and lift her off the sink. Her legs are a bit shaky as we quickly adjust each other, making sure we both look presentable.

  I kiss her on the forehead before we leave. “Let’s go have the second course.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  GABRIELLE

  For the first time in a long time, I wake up rested, like I actually had a full night’s sleep. The feeling is so strange to me that it takes me a while to wonder who I am and where I am.

  And then . . . who I’m with.

  I’m lying naked under the covers in a bedroom that wasn’t the one I passed out in on our first night.

  It’s Pascal’s room.

  And he’s sleeping in bed right beside me, on his back, head to the side. His eyes are closed, and he’s snoring ever so slightly.

  The sight of him makes me stop and stare.

  I still can’t really believe it.

  Yesterday was such a blur, full of things I didn’t dare imagine or dream for, that I’m still unsure if this is a dream right now.

  I mean, he’s here. I’m in his bed. We’re both naked.

  After he fucked me in the restaurant bathroom, we went out and had an amazing sushi meal. Then it was a long drive back to the villa. You’d think we would have gone straight to sleep, but instead he brought me to his bed and I went willingly.

  I wanted him.

  I want him.

  The more I have him, the more that need builds, that need that’s making me crazy, that’s clouding my thoughts and judgment and blowing it all into the wind.

  I adjust myself carefully on the bed, ignoring the inner voices, the ones that are warning me and telling me I’m going to screw up somehow. I mean, the fuck-up is imminent.

  But then there’s Pascal lying beside me.

  So fucking handsome. And in sleep, a bit more boyish, almost innoce
nt. His high cheekbones are softened somehow, his lips even fuller and rose pink. I’ve never had the chance to stare at him like this before; usually his eyes are so intense and arresting that they steal the focus. They demand you look at him, and he holds eye contact like it’s a sport.

  He looks like all his sins have been stripped away.

  Which makes all my sins even worse.

  How can I go through with what I’m supposed to do when I’m sharing a bed with him? Pascal hates his father, but that doesn’t mean he’d turn a blind eye if he found out what I want to do.

  Focus on your mother first, I remind myself. When you get back next week, you do what you can with her. Maybe even ask Pascal for help.

  But how do I do that without telling him what happened?

  “Are you watching me sleep?” Pascal asks, his voice groggy, eyes still closed.

  I can’t help the smile spreading across my face, and I reach over and let my fingers trail up from his flat belly, through the hard ridges of his abs, to his firm, golden chest. The man has a magnificent body, the kind that makes you wonder why he’s not modeling Dumont underwear instead of cologne.

  “Maybe,” I tell him.

  He opens his eyes and looks at me.

  There they are.

  Those saturated blues, that gaze that could launch—or destroy—a thousand ships.

  Even in the morning, he’s looking at me with the confidence of a man secure in what he has. Me. I’m his possession. And as much as that scares me, I also need it to be true. Just for this week, perhaps, until we return to the reality that’s going to drop-kick me to the ground.

  “How did you sleep?” he asks softly, reaching up to touch my cheek. “Better question is, am I still asleep? Because I had the most wonderful dream . . . I was fucking your brains out on the beach, in a restaurant restroom, in this bed . . .”

  “That’s funny,” I say as he runs his thumb over my lips, my eyes locked with his, sleepy and seductive. “I had the same dream.”

  He grins at me salaciously and reaches down, pulling the sheets off him, exposing his very large, very hard cock pointing straight up at his stomach.