He sits up and grabs my shoulders. “Eyes on me,” he snaps. When I meet his fire-blue eyes again, he waits a moment before nodding. “Don’t apologize, Luna. Don’t ever apologize to a man for anything again. You are beautiful and sexy and anything you do for, with, or to a man is an honor to him.” He shakes me a little and whispers furiously, “Don’t ever forget that.”
I smile at him and nod slowly. He watches me for a moment then releases my shoulders.
“Lie on your back and hook your elbows under your knees.”
I situate myself as he shucks the pants before rolling on a condom. He positions himself between my legs and drags a blunt fingertip through my folds. “Nice and wet. Good, Luna. Very good.” I turn my head, embarrassed by how open this position leaves me, spread so that there’s nothing left to hide, even the little rolls of skin left over from my two pregnancies. But he doesn’t seem to notice, just pushes his cock inside me before stretching over me, one hand positioned on each side of my head. I’m covered by him, completely surrounded until all I can see is him; the hard planes of his chest in front of me, the strong chin that’s finally getting a touch of stubble, the thick biceps on either side…it’s overwhelming, but I think he means for it to be. Once again, he makes me feel delicate and small.
“Eyes on me,” he bites out between gritted teeth. When I meet his gaze again, he continues, “Don’t take your eyes off mine again. Don’t close them or lose focus.”
“A-all right.” The command makes me nervous because it exposes me in a way that goes far beyond the physical, and I don’t want that, don’t like it.
“So brave,” he praises, and I try to keep the satisfaction caused by his words at bay. It means something I’m not comfortable with, hints at insecurities I’m not ready to face. “Tell me when you’re close.”
Before I can tell him that the likelihood of another orgasm in the next twenty-four hours is slim to none, he’s pounding into me so hard I can’t breathe. His hips slam into mine with rapid, brutal lunges. I can’t decide if it hurts or not, but it feels as good as the measured, gentle strokes from earlier with a hard edge of discomfort. The length and width of him is a wonderful fullness, driving between tissues still swollen and tender from our last session. But it’s an exciting ache, if that’s what it is, both arousing and gratifying. Each thrust is accompanied by a hard, rotating grind that massages and rolls my clit into a burning pleasure.
“Eyes on me,” he barks, and I realize my eyes have closed, but don’t remember doing it. I pry them open and stare up at him. “Focus on me,” he gasps out.
It’s intimate, far more so than sex with a stranger should be, but once I see the glittering desire in his eyes I can’t look away.
“Good girl,” he purrs, still plunging into me so hard it’s almost painful. He kneels, changing the angle and pressure of his cock stabbing into my pussy, but not the pace. He bends and takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard for a few seconds before nipping his way to the other. He pulls away, watching my breasts bounce for a few seconds before resuming his previous position and forceful pounding.
This time he tilts his hips slightly, and the swollen crest drags across nerve endings that send my legs into spasms. I nearly drop them, but a warning flashes in his eyes and I tighten my grip.
The combination of forcefulness, stimulation on my clit, and the drag of his cock in me pushes me right to the edge of orgasm and he stops, pulling out completely.
I cry out, trying to arch into him, but unable to because of my flayed open position. The flared head slides between my folds and against my clit as I unsuccessfully attempt to put him back where he belongs before I melt into a puddle of hormonal goo.
“Ask nicely, moon goddess,” he pants, sweat sliding down his temples.
“Please,” I whimper. “Please let me come.” I remember to say “let” instead of “make.” I hope he notices.
“Such a brave, beautiful warrior woman,” he grinds out before shafting into me again. “Come for me, my goddess of the moon.”
I scream this time, the twinge of pain accompanying his final strokes a sweet accompaniment to the ruthless orgasm ripping through my pussy, gripping him relentlessly to relieve the internal pressure of so much pleasure at once.
He growls and slows, holding himself inside me as he jerks and shudders in release. He exhales slowly as he comes back down.
His gaze never leaves mine.
* * * *
The sunlight drifts through pale, gauzy curtains, sending vague shadows dancing across my feet. I look around the bedroom and stretch as I wake and memory returns to me. Gabe woke me twice after his “savage fucking” to make love to me “like a gentleman” again.
I need to get some pearls.
I stop my roaming regard when I see my dress hanging on the back of the bathroom door. I sit up and blink sleepily, trying to focus. I look around again. My underwear and bra are neatly folded on the chair where he waited for me last night and my shoes and purse are neatly sitting beside the chair’s leg. I look at the pillow next to me. There’s no indentation to indicate he slept with me.
I try not to be hurt by that. I try to remember that this was a one-night stand. But such a profound sexual experience, one that has me slightly sore in the morning light, feels like it should be more. I breathe deeply through my nose, trying to push away the little inner voice chanting “slut” to the tune of thousand lectures about self-respect.
The air conditioning kicks on, and I hear a flutter next to me. A small note vibrates with the air current and I crawl across the ridiculously soft mattress to grab it.
Goddess of the Moon,
From the bottom of my heart, thank you for sharing yourself with me. It was truly an honor to be your humble servant last evening. Your clothes have been cleaned and pressed, hopefully to your undoubtedly high standards. I have arranged a car to convey you home and my staff are at your disposal. Now, I’m afraid comes the unwelcome and uncomfortable part of our time together. I am not, as I suspect you know, available for a relationship. While I hold nothing but the utmost respect and concern for you, I fear this is where it must end. Please make no attempt to reconnect with me, as it will not be met with kindness or affection. I trust you understand, moon goddess, since I believe this is exactly what you sought last night. Remember what I said about how your attentions should be met by men. Do not underestimate your value.
Regards,
Gabriel O’Malley
PS-Since you seemed to enjoy them so much, I hope you will accept my gift. Do not turn it down or I will be highly insulted.
Charming, really. I fold the note up and look over at the nightstand again. A blue jewelers’ box sits open with the short strand of pearls from last night resting against the navy velvet.
I grin, a hearty, happy grin and swing my legs over the side. Of course I’ll accept them. No way they’re real, right? I scramble to get my clothes on and call Sierra. She has got to hear about this. Well…maybe not all of it.
I clamber off the bed and I am completely dressed before I realize…he never even kissed me.
Chapter 6
One year, three months, and some odd days later
I rotate my ankles, working out the ache of an eight-hour shift spent on my feet. Before my shift I had class today, the last one this semester before I get nine glorious weeks of free time that won’t really be free time. Now it’s just one more year before I finally finish my bachelor’s degree…a degree that’s been more than twelve years in the making.
“Night, Luna.”
I glance up to see Jessica hefting her Volkswagen sized purse over her shoulder and waving as she walks out the door a full seven minutes early. “Night, Jess,” I call after her.
Closing shift at Corybelle’s version of Denny’s—Sammy’s, it’s called—sucks for two reasons. First, the hours run until two a.m. instead of twenty-four hours, meaning that I get four and a half hours of sleep during the school year before I have to get the
girls ready for school and head to my own classes. Second, we don’t make enough in tips to feed a grasshopper. But on the upside, with all the downtime I’ve become moderately close to everyone else on closing shift in the past year and I have plenty of time to get my homework done.
Silver lining, and all that.
The chime above the door sounds, and I check the clock before groaning. It’s one fifty five and the owner—whose name is Phil, not Sammy—insists that we serve up until the last minute. I slam my locker closed and tie the apron around my waist as I head back to the front to wait on the discourteous asshole that has the nerve to show up five minutes before closing.
“Mother fuckers,” Deshawn mutters as I pass through the kitchen. I give him a sympathetic smile. He already cleaned the grill and now he’ll have to fire it back up. Poor guy is just as tired and hard up as I am. He works two jobs to make ends meet, paying his wife’s medical bills for a condition he won’t tell us about, supporting his son and paying the monthly fee for his mother’s nursing home care. He’s got a full plate.
“Maybe it’s just a cop looking for coffee,” I offer just before going through the swinging doors to the counter.
I freeze when I see who’s standing at my counter then jump and squeak when the door smacks me in the ass.
Him. Gabe.
His head is bent slightly, so he doesn’t notice me. I take a moment to look him over. He’s wearing a three-piece suit, the top two buttons of the shirt undone and his blue tie loosened. It’s so sexy, and so out of place. He stares at a menu with his lip curled, trying to rub ketchup off the drink list with a napkin. It’s been over a year and time has been much kinder to him than it has to me. I resist the urge to pat my hair down as I look as his somehow neat but slightly rumpled appearance. A new streak of grey has shown up just off center in the front of his hair, barely visible in the thick locks around it. If his hair was a lighter shade it wouldn’t be visible at all, but the ebony locks are such a stark contrast that it stands out.
I bet dandruff would be a bitch with that hair color.
“Anything I can get you?” I ask, trying to keep my voice low and friendly. Part of me wants him to look up at me, smile, and carry me out of this dingy restaurant Richard Gere from An Officer and a Gentleman style. Another part of me, a much bigger part, hopes that he won’t recognize me.
I was good. I stayed away, got a job, went back to school, and even started dating again. Hell, I’ve even had sex since him. Not that it was anything to write home about, but still…it counts. I haven’t pined after him at all, haven’t actually given him much thought.
Except under the covers at night. I shake the thought off before it can make me blush.
He sneers down at the menu, and I wonder why he came in if he’s so disgusted by it. “Is there anything edible here?” he asks, his lip still curled in disgust.
He looks up at me and for one horrific moment I think he doesn’t remember me. After all, I have blonde highlights in my hair now, and they lighten it at least two shades. I’m not wearing make-up or nice clothes. The lighting was poor in the club, and just about everywhere else we were that night. The car, the bedroom…and I don’t know if he even saw me by the light of day because he was gone when I woke up. So it would have been okay. No, really. My feelings would only have been hurt enough to go home and cry for a few hours.
Then it happens. I can almost see the memories cross his ice blue eyes and turn them to blue flames again.
“Luna,” he murmurs then smiles tightly.
“Gabe,” I return, wondering what should be next. I don’t ask him what he’s doing in a shitty diner in Corybelle at two a.m., even though I really want to. Nothing good happens after midnight, and it’s really not my business. But I’m curious.
His eyes flick down to the pearls resting on my collarbone then back to mine. A little smile tilts one corner of his mouth, but he doesn’t comment on it. I’m glad. I don’t wear them out of any misplaced sentimentality or kinky sex symbol. I just wear them as a reminder that I’m an attractive woman that has plenty to offer. Gabe reminded me of that, and even though I still have more moments of insecurity than not, these pearls help me along when I need a little push.
“Luna!” Deshawn calls from the grill, and I shake myself out of it. “If he’s gonna order he’s got two minutes before I shut down the grill. Again.”
“Thanks, Dee!” I yell over my shoulder without taking my eyes from Gabe.
He pushes the menu away, almost gladly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were so close to closing. I’ll just have water, please. In a bottle if you have it.”
We don’t, but I keep a few bottles of my own in the employee refrigerator. “No problem,” I answer, turning to retreat through the swinging doors.
“He gonna order?” Deshawn asks as I hurry through the kitchen.
“No, shut it down.”
He gives a gleeful whoop, and the sounds of the kitchen being closed echo behind me down the hall. I grab a bottle of water and hurry back, half expecting him to be gone.
He’s not. He’s still sitting in the same chair, his hands folded in front of him, watching as I approach. I put the water in front of him and fumble for something to say.
All I can come up with is, “No charge.” He looks like he’s about to protest and I wave it away. “No, really. We don’t have bottled water, but Sammy charges us for drinks and the tap water here sucks. So I bring my own.”
“Ah,” he says, unscrewing the cap. He takes a healthy drink and I watch his throat work as he swallows.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not hung up on the guy. But watching his Adam’s apple bob makes me want to lick it. Then go south from there. He’s sexy, and I’d have to be dead not to notice.
He lowers the bottle and recaps it. “Thanks, then.” He twists the bottle between his hands and watches me thoughtfully. “How have you been?”
I snort. “We don’t have to have idle chit chat. It won’t hurt my feelings if you get up and walk out. I’m a big girl, Gabe. You don’t have to—”
“Did you remember what I told you?” he interrupts me, the soft tone halting me far more effectively than anyone else’s raised voice.
I just stare at him with my mouth open until he lifts an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah. I did.” I remember, and I’m still working on believing it. But I’ll get there.
He takes another swallow of water. “Brave, moon goddess. Very brave.”
My stomach flutters and I beam at him, basking in the praise and the nickname. He really does remember me. Awesome.
Silence again. A horn blares somewhere, a dog barks, and the old grease covered clock behind the counter ticks away. I glance up at it. Four minutes past closing. I lean back to look in the window to the kitchen. Just like I thought, Deshawn is leaning against a counter, tapping away on his phone. He won’t leave until either Gabe does or I give him the okay.
“Go ahead and go, Dee. This guy’s an old friend.”
He looks up at me with a frown. “You sure, baby girl?”
“Yeah, go home. Get some sleep. I’ll lock up.” He shrugs and waves as he walks away.
I take my time turning back around. I’m not afraid Gabe is going to rape me…can’t rape the willing, and I’d be completely willing if he’d just crook his finger. But I haven’t forgotten how he made me keep my eyes open, exposing me all the way to my bones. I’ve never, before or since, felt so completely naked. So…taken, cheesy though it sounds. Being exposed like that, so open isn’t something I’m comfortable with, then or now.
Besides, there’s Andy to consider. Two dates with the guy in three months isn’t enough to consider it a relationship, but still…I’m seeing someone.
Instead of fully facing him and making eye contact, I take the coward’s way out, even though I berate myself for it. I grab a dish towel from the stack beneath the counter and start wiping absolutely nothing. It’s clean. I did this already.
“So, Sammy’s, huh?” He’s
almost done with the water and I don’t know if I’m relieved or upset. Both, maybe, in a strange way.
“Yeah. Just until I’m done with school.” I keep wiping and focus on a little brown spot that’s been there since before Phil bought the place.
“Are you going back to school or working on a higher degree?”
I hate this question. He might as well say “aren’t you a little old to still be in school?” He just has better manners than that. I slap the towel down and glare at him.
“I dropped out of college to get married. I got divorced a little over a year ago and had to go back.” I gesture around the dingy little diner. “The retirement plan here sucks.”
He grins at me. “No Roth IRA, huh?”
I fight it, but just for a second, before grinning back. “Sure there is.” I grab the tip jar for customers who sit at the counter and show it to him. Years ago, a grizzled old waitress named Sally washed an industrial sized mayonnaise jar, cut a hole in the lid, and taped a piece of paper to it that reads “Sally’s 401K.” Someone in the past few years tried to change the l’s in “sally’s” to m’s to make Sammy’s. It didn’t work well, but the general idea was plain to see.
He chuckles with me and I stoop to slide it beneath the bar.
“Hold on,” he says, reaching into the inner pocket of a suit jacket that could buy and sell Sammy’s ten times over. I pause and watch as he pulls out a wallet and removes a crisp stack of bills.
Holy shit, they look like hundreds.
And I realize what he’s about to do. “No,” I snap, shoving the jar back under the counter and knocking over a row of salt shakers in my haste. “I don’t take charity.”
He halts, the bills still in his hand and looks up at me. “I don’t consider it charity, Luna. And you took the pearls easily enough.” He looks pointedly at the necklace.
“Well those aren’t real and I’m pretty sure that stack of Benjamins is. So, no.”
He lifts an eyebrow and looks at the pearls then back up at me.
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