by JB Salsbury
I pull back enough to get her eyes. “And what about you?”
Her brows pinch together. “What?”
“What will it take to convince you?”
Her smile falls a little, and her gaze darts around. “I don’t understand.”
I run my hand up her back and slip my fingers into her hair. “I like y—"
“Well shit,” Coleman says, interrupting, as I’m sure was her point. “I seem to have forgotten my reading glasses at home.”
“That sucks.” I turn back to Gabriella.
“Kingston?” Coleman shifts forward in her seat and nods to the menu in front of me, a cunning glimmer in her eyes. “Would you mind reading me the top few bottles on the red wine list?”
Gabrielle tenses beside me, and her gaze sharpens. “I’m sure the waiter could pick something nice for you.”
Coleman smirks. “I’d like Kingston to do it.”
I look down at the wine list in front of me. The letters are too small and crushed together.
Gabriella flattens her palm on the menu. “Don’t,” she says softly.
The waiter shows up to get our drink order.
“We’ll take a bottle of the Château de Beaucastel.”
Coleman bristles, clearly unhappy about being bested.
I’m not stupid enough to think she’d back down now. If anything, I’d expect her to double her effort to exercise her control over me.
“You two are an… odd pairing,” she says, making an obvious statement by letting her gaze linger on Gabriella’s scars. “Where did you meet?”
My legs tense to push back from the table, grab Gabriella, and get the fuck out of—
“The naked yoga place on ninety-fifth,” Gabriella says. “In the Buff. Have you heard of it?”
My frustration ebbs only slightly, and I turn toward my date, looking forward to what she’s going to say next.
“Technically, you’re not supposed to check out the other yogis. But he was only a foot in front of me. How could I not? I mean, look at him!” She makes a sweeping motion from my head to my lap. “It was the downward-facing dog that sold me.”
I clear my throat to avoid chuckling out loud.
“Is there anything sexier than a man’s chode?”
I prop my elbow on the table and cover my mouth with my hand. Judging by the bursts of red on Coleman’s cheeks, I’d say Gabriella has successfully done the impossible—she’s knocked my arrogant boss off-center.
Coleman opens her mouth to reply, but Gabriella gasps and folds forward. She clutches her head. “Oh no,” she groans.
“What is it? Are you okay?”
“No, I’m sorry.” She rubs her temples. “This happens sometimes.” The corner of her mouth ticks up. “I have Repelabitchaphobia. Sudden migraines.” She stands so quickly that her chair rocks back on two legs. “I’m sorry. I need to get home and rest.”
I jump to my feet, trying hard to play the worried boyfriend rather than laugh at the stunt she’s pulling. “Oh, yeah, these hit hard and fast. I’ll get you home.”
“I can’t say goodbye. All the evil vibes are hurting my head.”
Coleman doesn’t seem to buy Gabriella’s lie, which only sweetens the victory.
“Enjoy your dinner, Ms. Coleman,” I wrap my arm around Gabriella.
“Yes, please,” Gabriella says with feigned weakness. “Don’t choke on it.”
We leave the snake woman speechless as we walk out of the restaurant, and I’m grateful I ordered the $150 bottle of wine for her to pick up the tab.
“God, she’s awful,” Gabriella whispers into my shoulder as we walk, connected at the hip, to the valet outside.
“Careful,” I say close to her ear. “You’re in danger of me falling in love with you.”
Her steps stutter and stall. She cranks her head around to look at me.
“What.”
She swallows hard, and her smile is a little shaky. “I just had the weirdest déjà vu.”
“Do you want to go home?”
She blinks up at me, those big, blue eyes trying to look beyond what the world sees. To look into my soul. “No.”
I feel myself smile. “You up for a walk?”
She hooks her arm into mine. “Sure, but I’m still hungry, so keep your eyes peeled for a hot dog stand.”
“No fucking thank you.”
Jordan’s on the River is close to Pier 25, near Hudson River Park. I point us in that direction and throw my arm over her shoulder to pull her close.
She grabs my hand that is hanging over her left shoulder. My stomach flips at the feel of her fingers clasped to mine. “Nice night.”
I can’t wipe the grin off my face. “It really is.”
We walk in silence, taking in the view of New Jersey’s lights reflected off the dark river. A calmness that makes no fucking sense settles inside me. The usual chaos of my life—specifically, all things North Industries—dissolves when I’m with Gabriella. When we’re together, I feel like nothing can touch me. Like the world could crumble to ash all around us, and none of it would matter because we’re together.
She squeezes my hand. “We’re far enough away now.”
“Huh?”
The breeze blows her long hair and gets it stuck between her lips. She plucks the locks away and tucks them behind her ear. “Ms. Coleman.” She ducks out from under my arm and puts a foot of space between us. “She can’t see us. You don’t have to keep pretending like I’m your girlfriend.” She turns away from me and heads to a nearby bench overlooking the water.
I stand there, stupid, without the right words to express what I want to say. Slowly, I make my way to the bench and sit beside her. People pass by, most paying us no mind, and I search for the right words to say.
“Can I be honest about something?” Her eyes are forward, her brows pinched. She doesn’t wait for my answer. “I know I said I’d be your wingman, but…” She shakes her head and drops her gaze to her hands, which are currently balled together in her lap. “I feel like I’m not being fair to my heart.”
My chest swells with what feels like excited anticipation for what she might say next.
“My brain knows it’s all fake, but my stupid heart just…” She chuckles softly. “He’s an overachiever, ya know? Just throws himself face first into the act until he doesn’t know what’s real and what’s fake anymore.”
The corner of my mouth twitches. “Your heart’s a he?”
She frowns, those brows still tight. “Yes. I think so.”
I’m smiling, but it’s not because she’s being cute or because I’m happy to simply be near her. I’m grinning because what she’s trying to tell me is… “You’re falling for me.”
“Oh, my God.” She laughs and avoids my eyes.
I rest my arm on the back of the bench and scoot closer to her. “Tell me I’m wrong, and I’ll back off.”
Her expression sobers, and she blinks while still staring ahead. She finally turns toward me, and I see my future play out in her blue eyes. Us, together. Forever. Fuck, I am so in love with her. I always have been.
“You’re not wrong,” she whispers sadly. “I’m so sorry.”
Her apology knocks me back an inch. “Sorry?”
She folds forward and puts her face in her hands. “Oh, God, Kingston. I’m totally screwing this up. You needed a friend, and I—”
I slip my hand over her lap to her hip and tug her closer. Her eyes are wide, confused, but she comes to me easily. I hook a knee beneath her thigh and pull her onto my lap. She gasps and grips my shoulders. I imagine what it would feel like to slide her tiny skirt to her hips and open her completely to me. I push her hair off her neck, press my lips to her throat, and groan. “Bee.” The warm, sweet taste of her skin creates a hunger for the more delicate places of her body.
I run my lips against the warm, pink skin below her ear. She shivers and tilts her chin up, opening her throat to my mouth.
Fuck yes.
“I wa
nt to eat you,” I whisper.
The tiny gasp that falls from her lips goes straight to my dick. There’s no way she can’t feel how hard I am against her ass.
Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I know we’re not alone, that people are milling about all around us, and we have no privacy. But I could give a flying fuck. As far as I’m concerned, only a natural disaster of epic proportions could separate us.
“Kingston, you’re not playing fair,” she says breathlessly.
“Playing?” I kiss along her jaw. “This isn’t a game to me.”
She pulls back. My hand lashes out to cup the back of her neck for fear of her moving too far away. “Don’t lie. Remember… my heart.”
“I know. I’m not lying. I’m into you. I have been since…” I swallow hard and can’t hold her eyes. “Since the beginning.”
“But I thought—”
“I’m not gay. I’m not bisexual. I’m a heterosexual man, and I have wanted you. I want you.”
She blinks, looks to a tree, another bench, stares ahead at nothing. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Doesn’t make sense? Jesus, Gabriella, you’re fucking phenomenal. You’re smart, clever, stunningly gorgeous—”
Her head whips around. “Stop. Don’t say that.”
“I won’t stop. I will say that. Look at me.”
She doesn’t.
“Look at me.” I sift my fingers into the hair at the back of her neck and make a tight fist.
She gives me her eyes.
“Everything about you turns me on.”
She tries to look away, but I hold her tighter.
I bring her forehead to mine. “Your mind, your heart, and your face. I like everything about you.”
She closes her eyes and shakes her head.
“Scars and all.”
She dissolves against me. Her body falls heavy against my chest, and I wrap my arms around her as tightly as I can to hold her close. To hold her together. Her body melts against mine.
“You’re not gay?”
I laugh, overwhelmed with relief and pure fucking joy. “Not even a little.”
“You lied.”
“You assumed. I didn’t correct you.”
She pulls back to look up at me. “Why not?”
“Because I wanted to touch you from the first time we met. I knew if you thought I was gay, it would keep me from making a move. And it did… for a while.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t realize….”
“People have always assumed my sexuality. Culture needs to evolve.”
Music comes from my right. A Tribe Called Quest, the song familiar but dated. A man on a bicycle with an old stereo bungee-corded to his handlebars. I know the moment Gabriella hears the song because her entire body turns to stone. Her muscles tense. Her spine stiffens. She pulls out of my arms just as the bike passes in front of us. Her gaze follows the man on the bike and then swings to the river.
“Hey.” I lean forward to see her expression. She looks a little lost and confused. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” she says without hardly moving her lips.
“I should feed you and get you home.” I slide her off my lap and stand up, grateful for the momentary distraction that helps to manage what’s going on behind my fly.
“I’ll get an Uber,” she says absently, as if still in a daze.
I put a finger to her chin and move her head around to look at me. She blinks away the fog and focuses on my eyes. “Home as in home with me.”
Her eyes spark with a fiery need that ignites my blood.
“If you keep looking at me like that, I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself.”
“Would that be so bad?”
“Quite the opposite, Bee. I’d love every fucking second of it.”
Her arms wrap around my middle, and she lifts up on her toes to bring her lips as close to mine as possible. “Then please, Kingston,” she says.
I drop my chin to press my lips to hers, soft, slow, and without using my tongue. “Please, what?”
“Take me home.”
Gabriella
The walk back to the restaurant feels twice as long, and the drive from Tribeca back to Lenox Hill feels like a lifetime. He pulls into the underground parking and throws the car into a parking space.
He takes my hand and brings it to his lips. “You sure about this?”
“I’m sure.”
His responding grin—boyish with a hint of masculine mischief and a healthy dose of satisfaction—sends a shiver of excitement through me.
I still can’t believe he wants me. And that he has wanted me since the beginning. But why didn’t he ever say anything? Why pretend we’re in a fake relationship when we could be in a real one? And why, for the love of all things beautiful, would he let me believe he’s gay?
I have so many questions, but when his mouth comes down on mine in the elevator, all my concerns disappear. His lips part, and his tongue slips into my mouth with practiced ease. His lips are strong and demanding, his mouth as talented as it is pretty.
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. Kingston grips my waist and turns us so that my back is to the corner, his tall body blocking mine.
“Oh, um…” a female voice says from behind him. “I’ll just wait for the next one.”
The door closes, and I smile against his lips. “We should share the elevator.”
“No.” He runs fingertips along my hairline, from my forehead to my jaw, his hazel eyes ablaze as they follow the journey. “No one gets to see you like this except me.” The gentleness of his voice doesn’t match the sternness of his words.
I grin and hook my fingers into the waistband of his pants, then give them a little tug. “Isn’t that for me to say?”
He cringes and smiles. “You’re right.” His grin falls, and he steps closer, his long leg wedged between my thighs. He dips his chin to brush his lips against mine. The move is dominant, possessive, and thrilling. “Do you want anyone else to see you like this?”
“Explain like this.”
He cups my jaw. “Flushed.” He runs his thumb along my cheek. “Swollen lips.” He brushes his thumb to my lower lip. His gaze drops to my chest. “You’re breathing hard. Your body is begging to be touched.” He licks his lips, and I swear I almost combust. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
The elevator pings behind us, and this time, when the doors open, we’re on his floor.
“I admit nothing.” I duck out from under his arm and run.
He doesn’t chase me but turns around, casually acting unaffected. If not for the obvious protrusion between his hips, I might actually believe I have no effect on him. When he meets me at his front door, he backs me against the cold wood and kisses me again. He kisses me as if I’d been lost and finally found.
His hands tangle in my hair. I push up on my toes, grip his shirt, and hold on while he consumes me. I expect his hands to roam. I expect him to pull at my dress with an urgency to get me naked. To get to the good part, as most men would say. Instead, his hands stay in my hair, and his kisses become worshipful.
I’m lost to the sensation of his lips, the mastery of his tongue, the way he makes kissing feel more like a marathon rather than a sprint to the finish. His thumb brushes against my jawline and against the puckered flesh of my scar. The sensation startles me. I turn my face away and break the kiss on the instinct to hide away and immediately feel childish for doing so.
“Hey,” he says and gently tilts my face up to his. “Don’t hide from me.”
I close my eyes. “It’s stupid, but… when I’m with you, I forget what I look like.”
Warm lips press against my forehead. “I don’t want you to be self-conscious around me. I know what you look like, and I like what I see. I like it a lot. I think that part is pretty obvious.”
I blush at the reference to his hard-on, which is pressed firmly against my belly. “Old habits, I guess.”
He backs awa
y enough to bend his knees, and he scoops me into his arms. “To do this properly, I’m going to need more room to roam.”
I lock my hands behind his neck. “I can walk, you know.”
“I know.” He unlocks the front door and kicks it open. “But why deprive me of the opportunity to go all caveman on your ass.” He takes me to his bedroom and places me back onto my feet just inside the doorway.
“I really hope that doesn’t mean what it sounds like because I am not ready to take that step,” I say through barely withheld giggles.
“Not yet, but we’ll work up to that.” He puts his mouth to my ear. “Turn around,” he says darkly.
I do as he asks but cover my butt with my hands.
He snort-chuckles.
I peer over my shoulder. “What? I’m being extra cautious—whoa.” My jaw falls open just as he pulls his dress pants off and tosses them onto a nearby leather chair. He tugs off his socks, unbuttons his shirt, and drops it on top of the rest of his clothes until he’s standing in nothing but black boxer briefs.
My own personal Calvin Klein underwear model.
Must be some pretty sturdy cotton to keep the massive erection contained within.
My hands slip back to my sides.
He eyes my backside, lifts his brows, and smirks. “Have a change of heart then?”
I swallow hard. My body’s need overwhelms any desire for caution. “I may have, yeah.”
He throws his head back and laughs, the sound so pure and joyous it gives me the confidence to know I caused it. “We’ll get there, but not tonight.”
I grip the hem of my dress and, with a quick shift of my hips and a wiggle, I manage to peel myself out of the skintight fabric. I shove my hair out of my face and find Kingston staring at me with wide eyes and wonder.
He crosses to me in one step. His gaze slides down my throat, between my lace-cupped breasts, over my ribs to my hip, and between my legs. He runs his finger along the line of my lace panties from my hip to inches below my belly button. I suck in a shaky breath, expecting him to tug my panties to the floor, but instead, his finger backtracks the way it came. Back and forth, he teases the seam of my underwear with a barely-there touch.
