by Gina Watson
Oh, God. She leaned forward and placed her elbows on the counter. He was young to have experienced so much pain and anger.
“He was fifteen, so thankfully he didn’t get into trouble with the law. I think the girl was fourteen. It was consensual, but obviously not a desirable situation.”
She nodded and sipped from the teacup.
“Not long after that Max left to go after Zach. As you can imagine, my aunt was not happy with any of us. The tension was ripe and I felt completely unwanted and alone, so I left. “
“God, how old were you?”
“About to turn seventeen.”
“A minor?”
“It wasn’t so bad. I rented an apartment in New Orleans.”
“Oh, my God. How did you get money to eat and live?”
“We uh…my family has money. I managed. But I ended up doing odd jobs just to pass the time and keep my mind occupied. I eventually became Wes Anderley’s personal assistant.
“Hey, I’ve got one of his prints.”
“In your bedroom.”
“That’s the one.” She sipped from the mug. “Zach seems okay now, huh?”
“Zach was so young when our parents died. I don’t think he’s ever come to terms with what happened.”
“I guess you two never talked it out.”
He chuckled. “No. We’re not close like that. The only thing he wants to talk about is sex or comedy.”
“Comedy?”
“He thinks he’s a comedian.”
“What does he do?”
“He runs a production company. He makes adult films.”
She wiped the counter down while she processed his last statement. “Wait, you mean like porn?”
“Yeah, he makes the videos, uploads them to his website, and then members can watch. You have to pay a monthly fee to be a member. He’s got over two hundred thousand members.”
“So he’s really successful.”
“He is. I think he must have funneled all of his anger and hurt into that endeavor.”
“Is that what you did with your painting?” He frowned, and then tipped his mug up to finish off his tea.
After placing his mug in the new dishwasher he’d installed for her, he came up to her. His wrists closed around hers and he pulled her into his chest. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“I’m just trying to figure you out.”
“Best way to get to know me is in bed.”
“I agree.”
“Good.”
She squealed when he swept her off her feet and into his arms. Carrying her to the bedroom she thought she’d go into this with her head, not her heart, and hopefully escape with all of her sanity when it was over. Take that, Cara!
* * *
Gabriel carried Mirabelle in his arms, her weight a welcome comfort against his bones. Seven days had passed and not one of them without sexual chemistry. They’d ignored it for as long as they could, but tonight he’d sensed her need. Her lighthearted giggles of appreciation whenever he did the smallest of tasks made the gorge she’d carved in his heart fill a little more with her spirit.
He laid her on the bed in her bedroom and then turned on the bedside lamp. Her eyes followed him as he removed his shirt and shoes. He unbuttoned his jeans, “Get undressed.”
She shook her head where it laid on the pillow. God, not again. His libido had suffered from her indecision.
She pointed her index finger at him, “I want you to take them off.”
He froze at his task of removing his jeans. Leaving them on he climbed over her on the bed and straddled her body. He’d been dying to lay her bare and reveal the lines she’d make.
She pushed up from the bed so that he could remove her T-shirt. A pretty silky coral-colored bra was the perfect contrast to her light olive complexion. He spotted the clasp between her breasts and then his fingers magically worked it loose. The bra fell away to slide down her arms leaving him face to face with the most perfect set of breasts he’d ever seen. Their natural swell and puffy tips had him biting the inside of his lip to keep from devouring her. She leaned her back against the headboard. His hands wanted to be filled with her and he placed his palms over each globe. Her skin was soft like Egyptian, high-thread-count cotton. His thumbs feathered over her nipples, and then she reached for him. Her fingers tightened in his hair and tugged hard as she gasped.
Her fingers slid down to the planes of his chest and explored the muscles there. Suddenly she pinched his nipples hard between her fingers. When he gasped she bit her lip, but he could tell she was smiling. Damn, he was in love. He leaned in and sucked her lips, jumping when she bit into the flesh.
“You bit me.” He touched his finger to his bruised lip. He could feel it swelling, and yet she just kept her intense stare on him. Her normally light eyes churned with the danger of a rough, deep sea. She was trying to express a need and he wanted to accommodate her more than he wanted his next breath.
He reached for the buttons on her jeans and unhooked them slowly, one by one. “You shouldn’t provoke a man. Didn’t your mother ever teach you that?”
She didn’t speak, but lowered her chin to her chest while shaking her head. She inserted the tip of her index finger into her mouth and sucked. It was a move so erotically innocent it had him creaming in his shorts.
Slowly he slid the denim down her hips and legs until he had them off. She wore silky coral panties that matched the bra that now graced her bedroom floor. Her hips swelled and her legs were long and shapely. Her body was classic, like the Italian movie stars from long ago that his uncle liked to watch.
He slid her down so that her back was on the bed and her head on a pillow. “My lip is swollen.” He flipped her to her stomach and was delighted that she’d worn a thong. “There’s a penalty for your insubordination.” He cupped one thick globe in each hand. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing but he didn’t want her to know that. Ten? Too many. Four? Not enough. “Six. Count them.”
He continued to squeeze and massage, lifting one hand and bringing it back down. She yelped and rasped out, “One.”
Immediately her skin pinked and became heated beneath his palm. He rubbed in the sting at the same time he lifted his opposing hand and brought it back down. She writhed, “Two.” The blooming color on her skin fiercely turned him on and added fuel to the slaps.
God she was responsive to him. While he massaged her she moved her hips to the tune of his hands. He lifted and slapped each cheek again. She counted them out with a low, lustful moan.
The final two slaps were harder than the previous slaps. Their sting made a satisfying sound that reverberated around the room and straight to his cock. He rubbed in the last two blows and then turned her onto her back while he still straddled her. She wouldn’t look him in the eye and her playfulness was gone. Shit, maybe he’d misread her signals. His palm cupped her jaw. “Mirabelle, talk to me.”
She looked him in the eye and her hand covered his on her jaw.
“What?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, I just…I really need you.”
“You need me?”
She used her hips to thrust her sex against his denim-clad groin. “Please.”
He could smell her arousal. Her plea was almost dire. He stood and finished the task of removing his jeans. He slid his shorts down with the denim. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of his full erection.
Her bed was several feet off the ground—higher than what he thought was average. “I like this bed,” he said as he pulled her by her feet to the end of it. He set her heels on the wide expanse of wood that made up the bed’s frame and slid her panties off. He spread her legs and then his feet so that he’d be at just the right angle to exact the most pleasure. He leaned forward, sliding his hands beneath her ass and pulled her snug against him. His cock rubbed against her slick sex. He was about to bring them both sweet release when he realized he didn’t have a condom. “Shit, do I need contraception?”
“No, I need you.” She pressed her feet against the bedframe and lifted her bottom from the bed, offering her swollen sex to him. “Please.”
He grasped her hips and she spread her legs wide as he slid into her tight heat. Inch by inch he filled her until the root of him was against her smooth flesh. She adjusted to him and wrapped each leg around his hips, linking them behind his back. He didn’t know what she was doing, but her cunt squeezed around his length so tight his vision blurred. He couldn’t move. The sensation was so pleasurable his body shuddered and his temperature elevated to the point that beads of sweat dotted his chest and neck.
Her fingertips went into her mouth and she sucked and moaned around them while she used her hips and thighs to ride him. He’d never experienced so much pleasure from remaining so still, but if she didn’t stop what she was doing to him he’d lose his load.
“Mirabelle,” he whispered.
“Hmm?”
She wasn’t letting him go, so he leaned over her and pulled her fingers from her mouth to kiss her. Instead of biting they aggressively explored one another.
She was strong and he still found himself unable to move. “Mirabelle, you’ve got me on lockdown. I can’t move.”
Her heat-filled eyes opened, piercing him with their intensity. “Sorry.” She immediately dropped her legs from his waist.
With his hands on her thighs, he pulled her legs back into place. “Keep them around my waist.” He stood and took her with him.
“Set me on the edge of the bed.”
He complied, placing her at the foot of the bed where she’d been earlier, but now she leaned back on her hands and rested her feet on the wooden frame of the bed.
“Show me what you’ve got, Gabriel David.”
Her low, lustful voice unmanned him. Taking position between her legs he fisted his cock and plunged into her depths. Her head jerked back on its neck and she let out a scream. She was the sexiest woman he’d ever met. He liked that she didn’t try to hide her enjoyment, but instead she demanded it.
“Fuck me, Gabe.”
He pumped hard, deep, and without restraint. He thrust so hard he had to grasp her hips and keep her pinned in position. She was up on all fours—her hands behind her and her feet on the bedframe. With each dive he made, she slammed her hips up to meet him.
“Oh, that’s it…don’t stop…I’m almost there.”
He wanted to satisfy this woman more than he wanted to finish the paintings. He knew she’d been distracting his progress, but for the life of him he didn’t care. He took one hand from her hip and used his fingers to massage the hard knot between her legs. It sent her over the edge and she pumped and screamed out her climax right under his nose. She was unbridled and reminded him of the wild, white horse. Her rolling waves around his cock squeezed him tight and he came inside of her, marking her with his sperm.
Once his cock quit twitching he crawled onto the bed and plopped down on his back. He was still short of breath when she rolled into his side and placed her head on the middle of his wet chest. She wrapped one leg over his and was as close to him as she could physically get. She purred and delicately rubbed her cheek back and forth over his chest. He guessed she was showing her appreciation for the otherworldly sex they’d just shared, but as the minutes went on he realized she’d fallen asleep atop him.
His eyes closed and when he awoke he realized three hours had passed. Mirabelle still slept burrowed into his chest and with her leg wrapped around him. He liked how she couldn’t seem to get herself close enough to him. He’d felt that way too and couldn’t wait to be wrapped in her. Right now though he needed to relieve himself, but he didn’t relish the thought of waking her. He tested the weight of the arm draped across his chest. A slight wiggle and a move had him able to ease his body from her touch.
When he returned from the bathroom she was wiggling into a pair of tight jeans. She’d already donned a cream-colored knit shirt. He imagined the T-shirt would be soft to the touch, but was completely thrown off thought when he realized the threadbare cotton revealed the anatomy of her breasts in the most provocative way. Her curves drove him to the brink of his sanity as a human being and it was there that animal instinct took over. All he wanted to do in the world was rip the clothes from her body, bend her over the bed, and take what his body demanded.
He stared at her, needy despite all of their amorous activity. Her stomach panged, announcing its needs. The sound was loud in the otherwise quiet room and her eyes bulged, causing him to laugh.
“My stomach has a mind of its own when I’m hungry.”
He wanted to capture her shy, sleepy smile and lock it away in his heart. While he was at it, he wished he could freeze this moment because he honestly couldn’t remember being this content.
“We should see what we can scrounge up,” she said, and then tossed his jeans at him.
He put his jeans on and followed her into the kitchen where he found her bent into the refrigerator, her tight jeans pulled even tighter over her curves. Parts of his anatomy throbbed as they longed to be caressed by her body.
She backed out and turned with an armful of ham and cheese and vegetables. “I hope you like to cook,” she said in a sultry, post coital voice.
“I actually do, but I’m not very good at it.”
She spoke as she laid out the ingredients, “I like to eat, so I had to learn how to make some stuff. I think I’m an okay cook.”
“I have no doubt that you’re an excellent cook.” He popped a cherry tomato into his mouth and took a seat on the barstool. He could think of nothing he wanted more than to watch her move around the kitchen in that curve-hugging denim.
* * *
How was it possible that the simple act of watching him chew a cherry tomato sent sizzling heat straight to her sex? The man was an art form. He was a Greek god and she wanted to be the goddess who served him in all capacities, be it hunger for food or sex or—dare she think it—love. She shook her head to clear it and cued up Van Morrison on the kitchen radio.
She pulled a cutting board and knife from the drawer of the island and placed it before him where he sat across from her at the attached bar. She then passed him a tomato, three green onion stalks, and a broccoli crown.
He picked up the onions and turned them between his fingers. “The cutting board, the knife, the vegetables…I assume you’re trying to tell me something.”
“Don’t just feel them up, start chopping.”
He gave her a sexy smirk. “I like feeling things up, especially when they have curves for days.” He picked up the bell pepper and caressed it.
It was hot, but she didn’t want him to know that, “Creepy.” She crinkled her nose at him.
“You didn’t think I was creepy a few hours ago.”
No, she didn’t “Just chop your vegetables.” While she whisked the eggs she watched him attempt to chop the onions. He was skilled in a lot of ways but cooking wasn’t want of them, and she couldn’t hold back a laugh.
He sliced a large tomato in half lengthwise, and then did the same to an orange that had been in a bowl on the counter. He walked toward her with a half of each in hand. “Are you laughing at me?”
His intensity was so different from any man she’d ever experienced. He used everything in his environment to pelt her with white-hot passion and she was powerless against him. She wanted to experience punishment at his hands so she said, “Yeah, I’m laughing at you. What are you going to do about it?”
He stalked behind her and she turned to allow her gaze to remain on his. A foot on each side of hers held her there with her back against the counter and his body so close she could feel the heat radiating from him.
“Apologize,” his voice rasped.
He had a gleam in his eye and she knew he was having as much fun with her as she was with him. At the moment she held all the power, but knew t
hey both needed her to be confrontational.
She leaned in close so that he could feel her breath against his lips, “No.” His brow arched at her refusal. His hands lifted, still holding the cut tomato and orange. He squeezed the fruits and juice dripped onto her neck and chest. His grip was strong and the juice abundant. When her top was sufficiently soaked he bent his head and lapped at the juices on the bare skin of her chest. He hummed as his lips danced across her skin. The passion was so great she thought her heart might explode where it chugged like a runaway train in her chest.
When his lips closed around her needy nipple she reached back to anchor her hands onto the counter, knocking the cheese and ham to the floor. She moaned out his name and he lifted her by the waist to sit on the counter. They both fiddled with the hardware on their jeans, each one hyper aware of the need created between them. His jeans were down in a flash and then he pulled her into his chest to aid in divesting her of her own denim.
He slid deeply into her without warning and yet again without protection, but she didn’t care. Her body was only capable of so much focus and right now it was all centered on the burning pleasure building inside of her. With each deep plunge he transformed her into a woman who no longer lived in a box, but who was free to enjoy the pleasures the entire world had to offer her. Free. She was finally free to be wild and she didn’t hold back.
Grabbing the bottle of olive oil she drizzled it over his head. It dripped down his face and neck and onto his torso. Several drops of oil landed on her breasts and he massaged them into her skin. His thrusts slowed and she leaned forward, her tongue following a trail of oil from his shoulder to his nipple where she lightly sucked.
Men had tried to change her before. After all, she worked as a pole dancer. The few men she’d allowed into her bed all thought they were going to be getting something exotic, something extraordinary. She hadn’t known what they’d expected—bedroom acrobatics—however, it was clear once they’d had sex that she hadn’t met their expectations. But with Gabriel it was like he’d adored her because of who she was, flaws and all. He’d demanded to know that he’d met her needs before he slaked his own. She’d found a true gentleman in the sack. Until she’d experienced Gabe, she’d thought it was a myth.