by Tracy Wolff
He took advantage of her turned back, reaching up and unhooking her necklace before she realized it. She turned back, eyebrows raised. “What are you doing?”
His grin was wicked. “I have a better use for these.”
“Better use?” As his words sank in, she knew her eyes widened in surprise. “Really? That’s not just a myth?”
“Definitely not. Now lay down.”
She followed his directions, her eyes both wary and excited as he began arousing her all over again. His lips were everywhere at once—her face, her breasts, the back of her knees, her shoulders, her ankles. Every place he touched caught fire and soon she was thrashing against him, as desperate for him as he seemed to be for her.
Gabe reached a finger between her thighs, tested her readiness. When it came away soaked, he grinned before toying with her for a little longer. “Are you ready?” he asked, rolling the pearls slowly over her breasts and stomach.
Her eyes met his, clung, and she knew he saw the beginnings of trust there. Taking a deep breath, she tried to relax, to ignore the sudden nervous flutterings in her tummy. She was out of her element, out of control. Uncomfortable doing something she’d never done before with this man who was pushing for everything.
Before Gabe she had thought she’d tried everything once—why then did it surprise her that Gabe was the one showing her something new? It shouldn’t, not when he’d already shown her more about who she really was than she’d ever wanted to know.
Taking a deep breath she reached for him, running a hand over the short, tight curls on his scalp. “Yes.”
Her eyes met his and clung. As if he sensed her sudden uneasiness, he stopped for a moment and lightly kissed her cheek and the corner of her mouth. “I love you, Annalise.”
And then he began slipping the necklace, pearl by pearl, inside of her, murmuring encouragement until only a few remained outside. “How’s that feel?” he asked, brushing soft kisses over her abdomen and upper thighs.
Annalise wiggled her hips experimentally, more nervous and more turned on than she’d ever been in her life. The pearls shifted inside of her as she moved and she gasped, awed by the pleasure the simple movement sent shooting through her. “Wow,” she answered, looking into Gabe’s bold, beautiful eyes.
His grin flashed, dark and dangerous. “Good.” And he then thrust a finger inside of her without warning, manipulating the pearls against the walls of her vagina as he did so.
She gasped, arching off the bed as a wave of ecstasy more intense then anything she’d ever felt before rocketed through her. The pearls were everywhere, touching every single spot inside of her. Gabe found her G-spot with his finger and rolled pearl after pearl against it until she screamed with frustrated abandon.
“I can’t take it, Gabe. I swear I can’t.”
His grin was dangerous. “You want me to stop?” His voice was low and teasing, his eyes glazed and sexy.
“Yes.” Her hips arched against his hand. “No. Oh God, I don’t know. Do something. Do something!” Her hips jerked with each word, her voice growing louder and louder as he continued to torment her.
“How about this?” Gabe leaned down, blew against her clit and Annalise jolted, her hips coming completely off the bed.
“Finish it,” she begged. “Please. Don’t leave me like this. I can’t take it. I can’t—” Her hips jerked against him, again and again, as her head thrashed back and forth on the pillows. “Gabe!”
He grinned, watching as she undulated against the sheets, desperate for release. Then he closed his mouth over her clit, sucking until she was at fever pitch. Her hands grasped the sheet greedily, her legs moved restlessly against him, and tears poured, unnoticed, down her cheeks.
She’d never felt anything this intense before, never imagined that pleasure could be like this. Insidious, never-ending, taking her higher with every breath she drew. Orgasm beckoned, the ecstasy so intense that nothing else mattered. She couldn’t think, couldn’t worry, couldn’t control herself at all and she didn’t care. All that mattered was the pleasure, and the man giving it to her with every move he made.
Suddenly Gabe reached between her legs and slowly, slowly, began to pull the string of pearls out. One bead at a time, letting each slip against her clit as he did so. She began coming with the third pearl, clutching his hair and screaming his name loud enough to wake half the apartment complex. But he didn’t stop—he continued to draw the necklace out slowly, steadily, making sure each bead rubbed both her G-spot and her clit as it came out.
When the last pearl was removed she was still coming, still screaming. He rolled her onto her stomach and pushed into her from behind. Thrusting into her again and again, harder and harder, he rode her through the contractions rhythmically milking his cock. She felt his orgasm approaching and the tension magically built within her again. He twisted his hips, slammed into her at a new and different angle and she shot unexpectedly over the edge again. Then, and only then, did Gabe finally let himself go. He poured every ounce of himself inside her and she couldn’t help hoping, praying, that she could give him just a little of herself back.
Chapter Five
Gabe was asleep. He’d given her the most moving sexual experience of her life and now he was sprawled across her bed, snoring. Annalise snorted softly before gently untangling herself from the arm and leg he had draped over her in an effort to keep her in place. Like she’d ever give a man even that much control.
After slipping into a short, leopard-print robe, she headed toward the kitchen to mainline some caffeine. It was ten on a Sunday morning and she should have been sound asleep—particularly after the sexual marathon of the night before.
But her mind refused to quiet—every time she closed her eyes she saw herself sinking deeper and deeper into a nightmare she couldn’t escape from.
After filling the tank of the coffeemaker with water and switching it on, she sank onto one of her kitchen chairs to wait. Gabe wasn’t like Michael. She knew that, absolutely. She could never have been with him, even once, if he was.
But just because he wasn’t an amoral alley cat didn’t mean he wouldn’t eventually betray her. Already he’d gotten a foothold in her heart and mind, something no man had been able to do for eight long years. Not since she’d thrown whatever she could grab into a tattered duffle bag and climbed into her Chevy with no other plan than to get as far away from her fucked-up family life as she possibly could.
How could she ever face herself if she let a man rip her hard-won confidence to shreds? Again?
Annalise heard a sound behind her and whirled around, her body tensed for a battle she hadn’t had to fight in almost a decade. Thoughts of Michael invariably brought back the pain and anger, leaving a metallic taste in her mouth and a chill on her skin that she could normally escape.
“What are you doing up?” Gabe’s voice was husky with sleep, his eyes half-closed as he settled himself across the table from her.
Even dressed in boxer shorts and more than half-asleep, he was attuned enough to her to miss her. She had to fight the urge to take a bite out of all that inviting skin. It was the same color as her favorite treat—hot chocolate—and the desire to taste him, to drink him in, was almost overwhelming.
What was wrong with her? She was usually done with a lover the second he so much as intimated the L word—in her experience it brought nothing but pain. But with Gabe, something was different. Everything was different.
“Nothing,” she shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.”
He raised one sardonic eyebrow. “I guess I didn’t do as good a job of tiring you out as I thought I did.” He reached a hand across the table and stroked her arm with one, gentle finger. “We could head back for round two.”
She snorted. “More like round fifteen. And even if I was up to it, I can’t see how you could be.”
His smile was almost mischievous. “You’d be surprised.”
She glanced down and was, indeed, surprised. How could he still
have a partial erection? He’d come at least six times in the last six hours, not nearly as many as she had, but still. He was a guy in his late thirties—didn’t he know his body wasn’t supposed to be able to do that? “Holy shit,” she commented, reaching a hand out to touch, shocked by how hard he was. Again. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you, guys can’t do that?”
His shrug was self-deprecating. “Yeah, well, you bring out the beast in me.”
She twisted her hand around until her thumb rested on top of him. Then she began the slow, firm stroking she knew he liked. “Is that what I do?” she asked almost breathlessly as he arched into her hand once, twice, a third time.
“Annalise, stop.” His hand covered hers, tugged it away from his suddenly raging hard-on. “Come here.”
He pulled her up from her chair in one smooth motion. Before she knew it she was curled on his lap, her knees drawn up to her chin and his arms wrapped around her while he rocked her slowly. His chin rested on the top of her head and his hands, his gentle, wonderful hands, stroked her back through the thin fabric of her robe.
“You think too much,” he said quietly.
She glanced up at him in surprise. “Moi? I think you have me confused with someone else, sugar. I’m the original good-time girl. If it feels good, do it—that’s my motto.”
It was his turn to snort. “You wish.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She drew just far enough away to look up at him through her lashes.
“It means I’ve never known a thirty-four-year-old woman who knew so little about herself.”
She shoved him away—a knee-jerk reaction she couldn’t stop. “Don’t do this,” she said, her voice surprisingly small as she got up and reached for a coffee cup. “Don’t ruin it.”
“I’m not ruining anything,” he commented as he reached for her. “Why can’t you see that?”
She shook her head as she thrust a cup of coffee—black, one sugar—into his hands.
Since when did she care enough about a guy to remember how he took his coffee? The realization shook her up so much that she bobbled the coffeepot as she was pouring herself a cup. The outrageously hot brew streamed across her hand and the pain was so unexpected that she couldn’t move for a few, long seconds. Couldn’t stop pouring the coffee. Couldn’t stop the burn.
“Shit.” Gabe sprung to his feet and grabbed the mug and coffeepot away from her, even as he used his hips to guide her to the sink. “What are you doing to yourself?”
She looked at him, dazed, so lost in her own torturous thoughts that she barely registered the pain or the blisters quickly forming on her thumb and the top of her hand. “It’s nothing.”
He growled low in his throat, turning on the tap and thrusting her hand under the streaming cold water in one smooth movement. “What’s the matter with you?” he demanded as he held her hand under the water. “Do you really like suffering so much?”
“It’s all I know.” The words slipped out before she could censor them and hung there, between them, for long moments. She prayed for the floor to open up and swallow her—but it wasn’t to be. He was pressed firmly against her back, his arms around her while he kept her hand trapped under the running water. How was she ever going to turn and face him after that stupid admission?
She let out a half-hearted laugh. Followed it with a careless toss of her jet-black hair. “I didn’t mean that the way it came out. I’m just being my melodramatic self.”
“I think you knew exactly what you were saying.” His answer was grim as he reached into the cabinet above the sink for some Neosporin and a bandage. “When are you going to stop hurting yourself?”
They weren’t talking about her stupid little burn anymore. But she couldn’t admit—to him or herself—how close he’d come to the truth. “It’s not like that.”
“It’s exactly like that.” He covered her blisters with the Band-Aid and then headed to the bedroom without a backward glance.
“Where are you going?” she asked, ignoring the panic skating up her spine.
“To work.”
She entered her bedroom right behind him. “It’s Sunday.”
“Then I’m going home.” He pulled on the dress trousers he’d been wearing the night before. “Don’t ask me to sit around and watch you self-destruct. I can’t do that.”
“Now who’s being melodramatic?” she demanded, blocking the door when he would have barreled through it.
One look from those burning eyes seared her, and strangely, froze her in place. “This isn’t melodrama. It’s pain. I’m surprised you don’t recognize it—and my need to get as far away as possible.”
“I don’t run away.” She was insulted and it showed in her voice.
He snorted. “Well, you sure as hell don’t stick around.”
“This is my apartment. You’re the one running.”
He shook his head in disgust. “You were running even before you got out of bed this morning. You know it and so do I.”
The truth knocked the air from her lungs. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand plenty. I’ve been involved with you for three months, Annalise. You think I haven’t gotten to know you, the real you, despite your best intentions?” He snorted again. “Give me a break. I know you better than you know yourself.”
“That’s bullshit.” She was suddenly, inexplicably furious. How could he be saying these things to her? How could he mean them?
“You don’t believe that for a minute. If you did, you wouldn’t look so scared. When are you going to grow up and stop playing at being a badass?”
“I am a badass. You’re just too besotted to realize it.”
“You’ve got the most tender heart I’ve ever seen—you just hide it behind layers of protection so you can’t ever be hurt. Explain to me how that’s living, Annalise, because I just don’t get it.”
“It’s better than the alternative.”
Their eyes met for the first time since the argument began and all the fight seemed to drain out of Gabe. He looked…defeated, something she’d never seen from him before. “I guess it is.” He sank onto the bed and slipped his shoes on without bothering with socks. Then he stood and headed for the apartment door. “I’ll call you.”
“I’ll hold my breath.” There she was, the sarcastic inner bitch she’d spent so many years cultivating. Why had it taken her so long to show up this morning?
“Annalise.” For one moment his eyes softened and he reached for her. But she shrugged him off.
“Go home, Gabe. We’re done here.”
He turned on his heel and walked out without looking back once. He didn’t even have the courtesy to slam the door on his way out.
Her knees trembled and she slid slowly down the wall she’d been using to prop herself up ever since he’d said he was leaving. Well, she’d done it. She’d driven him away.
Good riddance, she decided, right before she rested her face on her knees and sobbed like a baby.
Chapter Six
It was a dreary Monday evening, following an equally dreary day. Rain pounded the pavement—a rarity for San Diego at this time of year—and everyone on the street was scrambling for some kind of cover. Except for her. Since Gabe had walked out of her apartment eight days before, she’d had a hard time getting excited about anything.
Annalise meandered along the downtown sidewalks, lost in thought, barely noticing where she was going or how wet she was getting. She hadn’t seen or heard from Gabe since he’d walked out of her apartment less than eight hours after telling her he loved her. She snorted. So much for love.
But it wasn’t Gabe she was angry at. No, she was mad at herself for believing him. For starting to trust him. For ignoring all the hard-learned lessons and warning signs that she’d gathered through the years.
No, it wasn’t Gabe’s fault that she’d put aside everything she knew and had started to fall for him. Had almost started to fall for him, she corrected herself, stepping off the cu
rb to cross the street and narrowly missing a huge puddle as she did so. Seconds later, a car making a right hand turn hit the puddle and sprayed it all over her anyway.
Annalise ground her teeth in irritation. What had possessed her to walk to work this morning? She never walked to work. Never. So why today, of all days, had she chosen to start her campaign to get into shape with a mile-and-a-half walk to work?
Because she’d thought the walk would take her mind off Gabe, she admitted ruefully. Normally she loved downtown—all the people on the streets, all the cars honking and driving by in such a hurry. It was hard to concentrate on feeling sorry for herself when she was surrounded by so many other people doing so many different things.
But it hadn’t worked. Gabe was still front and center in her mind and it was driving her nuts. She’d worked too hard to bury her vulnerabilities in the last few years to backslide because some guy told her he loved her and then walked away. Could she be more of an idiot?
As she waited for the light to change so that she could cross yet another puddle-ridden street, a car pulled over right in front of her. Her heart sank to her knees when she realized it was a dark blue Acura.
“Need a ride?” Gabe asked as he rolled the window down. “You’re getting soaked.”
Getting soaked? She was soaked—all the way through to her bra and panties. Didn’t it figure that she’d see Gabe again when she looked as bad as it was humanly possible to look? What the hell had she done in a past life to deserve this kind of crappy karma?
She wanted to refuse, scared of what she might let slip on the ride home. But at the same time, she didn’t want him to think she was afraid of him. Didn’t want to let him know that he’d managed to hurt her, despite her best intentions to the contrary.
So she tossed her rain-soaked hair behind her shoulder and shrugged. “Sure.” He leaned over and opened the passenger door for her—always the gentleman—and she slid into the car. “I’m going to ruin your leather,” she commented as she closed the door.