by Paige North
It takes him no time at all to align himself with my entrance; I feel his cock at my pussy, my lips spreading for him, and then with a sudden surge of power, he enters me— not by thrusting up into me, but by lowering my body onto his cock. The result is that he’s deeper in me than he’s been before, his reach extended by my weight, by gravity, by how he’s pulling me down harder onto him. I moan in pleasure and uncertainty, tilt my head forward— the stream of water soaks my hair, runs down by face. I don’t want to orgasm just yet, I still want to hold off, I need to breathe—
But Gabe doesn’t give me a moment to catch my breath— he lifts and lowers me again, driving himself into my pussy with heaving, hungry breaths. I finally lift my eyes to his, hair soaked and hanging in my face— they’re glinting with satisfaction. He slides his hands down my wet body until he’s supporting me with his hands under my ass, a motion that necessitates me falling forward and wrapping my arms around his neck.
Water runs over my clit in this position, making it that much harder to keep myself from coming. I won’t be able to last much longer, I’m sure of it—
“Gabe,” I whimper in his ear, unsure if he can even hear me over the water and the steam.
He doesn’t answer— but he does begin to fuck me harder, twisting his hips with each push in a way that makes my pussy feel electric. He slides one hand between my ass cheeks and rubs the side of his finger against that entrance in a way that makes me jump away from him…and means that when I come back down on his cock, it stretches me at new angles, in new places, in new ways that make me unsure if I’m already orgasming or not— it all feels like one long, tingling, glorious sensation, and I tilt my head back and groan.
“You’re trying to hold back,” Gabe mutters into my ear. “You think you can stop yourself when I’m the one fucking you? No chance.”
“Gabe, I—” I begin, but I’m not even sure what I’m trying to say because he’s fucking me harder now, he’s gripping me tight against him, he’s fingering my ass lightly with one hand and gripping my ass cheek hard with the other. My legs squeeze hard around him as I bounce up and down on his cock, unable to quiet the need to scream that’s rising up in me.
“You’ll come for me when I want you to,” Gabe growls in my ear, and I know he’s right, that I can’t stop it. I let go— my muscles flex and contract on their own, my lips part and a high, long whimper emerges from them as my orgasm— my real orgasm, not the intense build up I’ve been experiencing— hits me. It crushes me in its intensity, contorting my body around Gabe’s and rushing through me like fire.
Gabe continues to fuck me as I cry out in torturous pleasure. The steam, the heat, the sensation, it’s all too much— I let my eyes drift shut and hang against him as I finish, until his strokes slow and the sound of my voice own voice goes quiet.
Gabe is still in me, my body still wrapped around his, but he’s still now, stroking my back affectionately— not romantically, exactly, but more like he’s proud of me. The water is still on, the sound of it now quiet when compared to the noises I was making a moment before.
He gives me another second to collect myself, for my breathing to slow, and then he’s fucking me again, hard and fast with a ferocity even that wasn’t there before. He’s taking my body, using it for his pleasure, and after about a minute or so of this, I feel him tense under me, unloading his come as he orgasms.
Gabe puts an arm around my lower back to steady me, then opens the door and walks back into the steam area. I moan when he lifts me off his cock and helps me onto the bench on one side.
I pull my legs to my chest and stay on the bench. My energy is spent.
Gabe ducks into the shower to cut the water off. I’m not sure where, exactly, he produces the two towels from, but they appear, and I dry myself off with as little movement as possible. I can tell I’m going to ache from this particular encounter, though I’m far from bothered by that fact. Gabe is already pulling his clothes back on; he towel-dries his hair then tosses the towel onto the floor of the shower.
“Should we take them with us? So no one knows we were here?” I ask, finally blinking myself back to life. I sit up and wrap my towel around my body.
“It doesn’t matter if they know,” Gabe says shortly.
“Um…I mean…what if they have a camera, and they think to check it?” I ask. “Then they’ll know it was us.” Not caring about someone finding out what we’ve done seems cavalier, even for Gabe.
“They do have a camera. But even if they check it, nothing will come of it,” he answers. His voice has softened the smallest amount— almost undetectable, really, but I spot it.
“Gabe, I can’t get caught doing something like this. If it gets back to my father—” Oh my god, we’re talking about a potential sex tape. I don’t even know what would happen. My stomach twists and I suddenly feel sick. What have I done? We broke into a fancy house, had sex in a shower with a glass door, and now Gabe knows there were security cameras? “Look, Gabe— maybe nothing will come of it for you, but you don’t know how valuable something like a sex tape can be in an election, even if it only involves the candidate’s daughter. Let’s take the towels and I’ll…I’ll come back and wipe down the shower. And no one will know—”
“Lucy, shh,” Gabe says, shaking his head, walking the few steps toward me. He puts his hands on my shoulders, but even his strength can’t hold back the panic attack I feel rising up. “Look, nothing is going to happen with any security tapes, okay? They likely can’t see who you are on them anyway. Besides, you weren’t this worried when we were in the wine cellar. Why now?”
I swallow. “I just— this is different. There we were sneaking around behind people’s backs. Now we’re…we’re not supposed to be here. We weren’t invited. We can’t just show up and have sex in a shower and leave.”
Gabe sighs. “Well. You’re right that we aren’t supposed to be here. But we can, actually, just show up and have sex in the shower and leave.”
“Gabe—”
He cuts me off with a stern look, then says, “Lucy, my father owns this house.
“Wait, what?” I ask, certain I’ve misheard.
“My father is the alumni who owns this house. So trust me— he’s not going to release any footage of his son having sex in the shower. It’d be bad for his reputation,” Gabe says with disdain.
“Wait,” I shake my head, still confused. “Your dad owns the alumni house? But I thought— you said you were from—you made it sound like you grew up poor, but this place—”
Gabe snorts. “My father owns this house. As in, Steven Wright. As in, the guy who impregnated my mom. I barely know the guy, and I want to keep it that way, but now that I’m at Harton he thinks he can just butt in and fuck up my life…” Gabe shakes his head, presses his tongue to his teeth.
I don’t know what to say, unsure what questions to ask and which to avoid. I say nothing in the end, opting to just tug my towel closer to my body, waiting to see what Gabe will offer on his own. It’s a few moments before he sits down next to me on the bench, which makes a few straining sounds under his weight.
“I don’t know the guy, right? He’s just this name that wrote checks to my mom now and again and occasionally sent me a shitty birthday present. But then…I wanted to go to Harton. He’s an alumni, so my mom called in some big favors he owed her and he covered my tuition. I thought that was all there was to it, but then…after that god damn game today, he shows up in the locker room.”
“Wow,” I say. I reach for Gabe’s hand, and his fingers entwine with mine.
“Yeah,” Gabe agrees. “He shows up and acts like some kindly alum coming to tour his kingdom, then gets me to the side all quiet— he wouldn’t want anyone to know we’re related, God forbid— he gets me to the side and tells me that I’m embarrassing him.”
“By getting into fights at games?” I ask.
“Yes. Even though, as far as I knew, no one knew he’s my dad, right? Well, turns out that he had big
plans to start telling his asshole rich buddies that I’m his love child, acting like we have this long beautiful relationship and that my mom hid me from him or some bullshit. You know— brag about having a boy who can play a sport, make him seem like a real tough guy. Only now that I’m getting thrown out of games, that story isn’t quite so glamorous. And now he’s worried I’m drawing too much attention to myself, and that people will start looking into my past…”
“Holy shit,” I say, eyes widening. “I mean, my dad is pretty bad sometimes, but he isn’t…I mean, that’s pretty terrible.”
“I should never have let my mom call in those favors. I should’ve just taken out some loans to come here. Or gone somewhere else. He hasn’t been involved in my life so far— why did I think I should let him get involved in it now?”
“I’m really sorry, Gabe,” I say, daring to let my hand rest over his.
“It’s fine. I mean, it’s not, but it is because it has to be. I just…all these rich old guys are hanging above me, messing with my world like I’m their puppet. With your world too, Lucy. They’re so used to having everything go their way that they can’t handle people who don’t fit into their neat little universe.”
“Yeah,” I say, looking down. “I know what you mean. As well as I can, anyhow. Is there anything I can do?”
He exhales. “Unless you know of a way to throw the kings off their thrones, not really.”
“Let them have their thrones. So long as we get to have secret sex in their showers,” I say, daring to smile. I’m relieved when Gabe smiles back, then leans over to kiss me— though I’m less relieved when I can feel a sense of desperation on his lips, a worry, a fear. One that I don’t quite know how to name.
Chapter 12
When Buck Harrison calls, my father comes running— which, of course, means my mother and I aren’t far behind. A senator without his happy little family photo op, after all, isn’t likely to be re-elected.
The trouble is, the idea of spending time with Buck Harrison’s family makes me want to throw up in my mouth. It’s not just because Chandler told all his buddies he and I slept together. It’s because doing anything with him, even something as simple as a family dinner party, feels like an incredible betrayal of Gabe.
Gabe and I clearly aren’t just hooking up, not when he’s baring his family history to me so candidly. He’s given me a part of him, an important, secret part, a part he trusted me with…and now I’m going to go have dinner with another man, while my father desperately tries to set us up for a happily ever after?
I play with a text to my father for hours, making up excuses as to why I can’t go. I’m really sick and I have to take a friend to the airport and I just realized there’s a huge paper I need to work on. They won’t work, though— he’ll tell me to take some medicine, or he’ll offer to pay for an Uber, or he’ll email the professor to ask for an extension on my behalf. He’ll step in and make the decision for me, just like he’s always done. That, I think, is also the thing making me feel sick: Knowing that eventually, when my father finds out about Gabe, he’ll make that decision for me too.
I’ve got to start standing up to him sometime, don’t I? So I call.
“Hey, Lucy, what’s going on? Is it an emergency?” he asks upon answering. I can hear papers shuffling around in the background, the murmur of staffers moving around the room.
“No, not really. What are you doing?” I ask, which is a stupid question, and a stupider stalling tactic.
“Working,” he says shortly.
“Oh. On what?” A stupider stalling tactic.
“Lucy, can I call you back?” he asks impatiently.
“No, sorry,” I say, jumping a little. I’m sitting at my desk, and roll a pen back and forth under my fingers as I speak too-fast. “I don’t want to go to dinner with the Harrisons. Chandler Harrison was a real creep to me after the game the other day, and I don’t really want to see him again.”
My father clears his throat, then must put his hand over the phone, because when I hear him speak his voice sounds far away. “Give me a moment alone, please? Come back in eight minutes.”
There’s a long pause while the staffers leave the room; I just barely hear the door click through the line. My father returns to the call. “He was a creep to you? How so?” he asks carefully— but not carefully on my behalf. It’s on Chandler’s. I can tell he thinks I’m likely the one in the wrong, here.
Which means I need to be blunt about it. “He told all his friends we had sex— and we haven’t. They were joking about it. And then he wasn’t even sorry when I got mad,” I say firmly.
My father exhales. “Not particularly classy of him, I’ll agree. But Lucy, that’s just how boys talk when they’re together. It doesn’t mean he’s actually a bad guy, it just means he should guard his locker room talk a little closer, okay?”
I blink. “Dad, seriously? He bragged that we’d had sex and we haven’t even kissed!”
My father’s voice goes stern and patient. “Like I said, I agree that it wasn’t classy. But we’ve all said things we regret, haven’t we? Besides, I’m not asking you to go on a date with him alone. We’ll all be there together. This dinner is huge, Lucy— Buck and I were going to talk about the best way for him to contribute to my campaign. He’s the biggest donor I’ve ever had on board, and hey, if we’re being blunt, I don’t like him any more than you seem to like Chandler. But sometimes we have to do what we have to do.”
I stop rolling the pen. My dad has always been demanding and controlling, but this is pretty next level for him. “Dad, I’m telling you I don’t like Chandler and he makes me uncomfortable.”
“And Lucy, I’m telling you that you never have to be alone with him again, but you are coming to this dinner, do you understand? You’re not going to throw the Harrison’s generosity in their faces just because their son acted like any red-blooded American college kid.”
“Dad—”
“Lucy!” my father growls— not snaps, because that would carry through the door to where his staffers are, I’m sure, listening in closely. “I don’t want to hear it. You are coming to dinner with us tomorrow night. That dinner will be at the Harrison residence. You will be polite, and cordial, and then we will leave, and once the checks are cashed you can never speak to Chandler Harrison again for all I care. But this is not an option. I am not losing this election because of some lovers spat between you and Chandler.”
“I—” I start, tears burning my eyes. Not in disbelief— I should have seen this coming. Still, though, hearing this stings. Though not nearly as much as hearing myself say what comes next. “Okay, Dad. Sorry. I’ll be there.”
“Right,” my father says stiffly. “You’ll be fine. Just keep your chin up and try to engage in conversation with Mrs. Harrison instead, if Chandler bothers you that much.”
“Okay.”
“Now, I need to get back to work. Call your mother if you need anything else,” my father says, and as soon as I’ve said goodbye, he hangs up the phone.
I don’t sob— that’s not really my style. I’m the quiet, bitter, angry cry sort of girl, so I sit at my desk, fists clenched, for the next half hour doing just that. I’m not sure who I’m really angry at— my father, Chandler, or myself. All three, I suppose? I could have just stuck to my guns. I should have just refused and refused and refused. What could he have done, anyway? Nothing, really. Nothing super serious. It’s not like a Senator can disown his daughter and not make it to the front page.
And yet, I’d given in. Because that’s what I always do, when my father is concerned. I let myself be crushed. I give in. Always, always, always.
So what will happen when Gabe is the issue on the table?
I’ll give in. I know I will. And that, that’s the thing that’s really pulling the tears from my eyes.
That evening, when I’m back from class and Gabe is back from a special teams meeting (oh, wow, I’m even learning the football meeting terms), he knocks on
my door. He opens the door shortly after and walks in to find me sitting cross-legged on my bed, working on a paper.
“Eight days?” he guesses.
“Twelve,” I answer, smiling. He tries to guess how many days it is until the paper is due, because he thinks it’s crazy how early I start working on them. He shakes his head, then walks over to me, placing a hand on either side of me. He leans down and kisses me, not hard, exactly, but intensely, like he needs to kiss me to continue breathing.
I find myself falling into the kiss, losing my anxieties so long as his lips are on mine, as long as his tongue is playing at the inside edges of my lips. He smells like practice— grass and sweat and the rubbery scent of sports equipment. When he pulls away I’m a little disoriented, as I always am when he sweeps out of my presence so quickly. There really should be some sort of Gabe Forest detox period, even if it’s just for a moment.
Gabe sits in my desk chair, dwarfing it, and says, “So, I know you were really worried about those security tapes. I took care of them.”
I frown. “Huh?”
Gabe shrugs. “I took care of them. After I dropped you off, I went by the house and reset the system.”
“You can just do that? From the camera itself? That’s a terrible design --”
“No. I broke in,” Gabe says with another shrug.
I stare. “Are you serious right now? You broke into the actual house, not just the backyard?”
Gabe rolls his eyes. “What’s he going to do, turn me in? Besides, he isn’t going to know. I popped the sliding door open and was in and out in minutes. There wasn’t even an alarm set.”
I don’t really know what to say. I mean, do you say thanks when a guy commits what I’m pretty sure is a felony to calm your nerves? “You just…you just broke into a house, then.”