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She slides down her leggings, her long slender legs driving me wild, and when they’re down, she kicks them aside. Next comes the tiny black thong she’s wearing that’s barely a thong at all. She catches the silk straps with her fingers and slides them down her hips, the sweet spot between her thighs driving the urgency in me that I bank. This isn’t about me. This is about her.
She’s naked now. Naked in ways I know she never intended to be with me and yet, in a few shorts days, she’s here, she’s willingly vulnerable and I want more. “Come here and kneel in front of me.”
She laughs awkwardly. “You want me to—”
“Yes,” I say firmly, meeting her stare. “I do. I want you to trust me that much, but you have the control, Abbie. You can say no. This isn’t about my control. It’s about yours.” I stand up and I walk to her, a lean away from touching her, but I don’t. “When you let me have control, that’s about you controlling me, not me controlling you. You made that decision. And when you trust that much, when you let me have control, you’re free. It’s your escape. I want to be that safe place where you escape.”
“I’m not falling for you, Gabe,” she whispers.
My lips quirk. “Then just come for me, Abbie. I’ll settle for that tonight.” I back up and sit down. “Come here and settle on your knees.” I wiggle an eyebrow. “I promise if it hurts, it will hurt so good.”
She laughs and closes the space between us, her hands on my knees, her chin tilted up, a smile in her eyes. She’s comfortable again, back inside her limits just in time for me to take her out of them again. I catch her chin in my hand. “What do you think I’m about to do to you, Abbie?”
Chapter thirty-eight
Abbie
Abbie
“What do you think that I’m going to do to you, Abbie?”
I don’t focus on the question as much as I do the use of my name: Abbie. The way Gabe chose that name for me. The way he makes sure that I know he’s here with me, focused solely on me. So sure that I’m naked, on my knees, and at Gabe’s feet, but it doesn’t feel the way it might feel with another man. I’ve been naked and exposed with a man before, but it wasn’t like this. I didn’t feel emotionally vulnerable like I do with Gabe. I felt physically vulnerable and physical vulnerability is something you can compartmentalize. It’s something you can control. This man tears down my walls. He makes me smile. He makes me feel alive again in a way I didn’t think was possible.
“Maybe it’s you who should be thinking about what I’m about to do to you,” I suggest, thinking of all the places my mouth could go.
He stands up and takes me with him. “You want your mouth on my cock?” he demands roughly. “Is that what you’re offering?”
“Yes,” I whisper, my sex clenching, the bold way he talks affecting me, arousing me. “That’s exactly what I’m offering you.”
He tangles his fingers into my hair and tilts my head back, his long hard body pressed to mine, his free hand cupping my breast, fingers tweaking my nipple. “As much as I want your mouth on my cock,” he says boldly, “tonight isn’t about me. It’s about you.”
“You assume I’d do that just for you,” I dare.
“Now you’re just trying to make me forget how sweet making you beg is going to be.”
I moan with another roll of my nipple in his fingers. “I don’t beg,” I pant out.
“That’s okay. You don’t have to beg. Not if you moan like you just did.” His hand slides down my waist, over my hips and then he’s stroking his fingers along my sex, his grip tightening on my hair. His woodsy scent is all around me, his mouth a breath from mine when he says, “You’re so damn wet you’re going to make me insane, woman.” His lips slant over my lips, and then his tongue is stroking deep, so very deep, a possessive, intense kiss that I feel everywhere. And his fingers keep stroking my sex, dipping inside me, a tease that is there and gone before I’m suddenly facing the bed and his hands are settling on my hips.
“Don’t move,” he orders. “Stay right there.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I won’t get naked.”
“Oh.”
He laughs, low and sexy. God, I love that laugh. I know he jokes and smiles to cover up some hidden pain, but somehow, his laugh is straight from his soul, the real man that is stripped of pain and a past I don’t yet understand. “Oh,” he mimics, nuzzling my neck. “Don’t move.”
“I want to watch.”
“I want you to want to watch and then not get to watch.”
“You got to watch.”
“Yes. I did.” He doesn’t give in. “Don’t move or I don’t undress.”
He steps away from me and I’m instantly cold and aching for his touch, my nipples puckering in the cold air of the room, that is not all that cold, or it wasn’t until he stopped touching me. But he is touching me. His eyes are on me, a caress that I feel in the tingling of my skin, all over. The idea that he’s now staring at my naked body while I can’t see him undoes me. It steals my control. It gives it all to him. I try to turn. He catches my hips. “I said don’t move.”
