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My cheeks heat and I down the whiskey that turns out to be both sweet and somehow warm going down. I empty the glass and set it down on the counter. “I also haven’t had sex in two years. I’m not sure I even remember what to do.”
He arches a brow. “Two years?”
“Yes, two years.”
“That’s longer than I thought.” His eyes warm and they warm me the way that whiskey did, all the way down. “I’ll refresh your memory. I promise.”
Because he’s good at fucking. I know this. I feel it. It’s how he touches me. It’s how he kisses me, but honestly, I think anyone who looks at him knows this about Gabe. I wonder about thehistory that got him here. I wonder if it’s anything like mine. “Have you ever been married?”
“I’m not the marrying kind of guy.” He refills my glass and downs his drink before doing the same of his.
“As in never married?”
“Never.”
“And you’re how old?”
His lips quirk. “Thirty-seven. You?”
“Thirty,” I say and on that note, I take a small drink of the whiskey. “You know they say that any man over thirty-five that isn’t married has something wrong with him. But, that said, I disagree. Half the men that are married should never have gotten married. It’s like an expectation we all feel obligated to meet. Marriage is not what it’s cracked up to be.”
He studies me for several beats and takes my glass right when I’m going to sip again, the touch of our hands electric, and oh God, it’s been so long since I felt that kind of spark. “How much do you feel that drink?” he asks.
“It’s not the booze talking,” I assure him. “It’s just what I feel.”
He sets my glass down anyway, out of my reach. “How long have you been divorced?”
“A year.”
“And no sex for two years?”
“He had another woman, and I suspect he had a lot of women in the five years I was married to him.”
“Then why’d you stay?”
“I didn’t know until the end.”
He downs his drink and rounds the bar, pulling me close to him. “Two years is a long time,” he says, tangling fingers in my hair. “How long since you had an orgasm?”
“You’re asking if I took care of things myself? Of course. I’m human, but I’m really tired of taking care of things myself.”
“You won’t need to take care of anything yourself tonight, sweetheart.” He cups my face. “And if I have my way, anytime soon.” With the implication that this isn’t a one-night stand, he leans in to kiss me but I press my fingers to his lips.
“Wait. Jean Claude is dangerous. My ex told me before I was even in a war with Jean Claude that he believed he’d killed someone who got in his way. I’m in his sights. I’m dangerous. Maybe we shouldn’t—”
He pulls my hand from his mouth. “Talking about another man when I’m about to give you an orgasm is not good manners.” He lifts me and sets me on the barstool, and then he’s on his knee in front of me, sliding my skirt up my legs and pressing my knees apart. “I’ll make you forget Jean Claude. That’s a promise.” He slides his hands up my thighs and when his thumbs stroke the lace of my thigh highs, sending darts of pleasure through my body, I decide he’s right. I’m going to forget everything but this man, and right now, I can’t seem to remember why that might be a problem for him or me.
Chapter six
Gabe
Two years since she’s been fucked and I’d be willing to bet a whole lot longer since she’s been properly fucked. Her dry spell ends tonight.
I’m still on my knee in front of her, with her on the barstool, her knees wide at my urging. “Gabe,” she whispers, and I like that she’s present enough to use my name. To know who is giving her pleasure. What I don’t like is the damn cage that is my jacket. I shrug out of it and reach for my tie. She tries to shut her legs, but I’m not allowing that to happen. I change my mind when I see how awkward and vulnerable she looks. That’s not what I want for her right now. Not ever.
I kiss her knee and then stand and lift her from the barstool, setting her on the ground and molding her close. “Better?” I ask softly, stroking her wild red curls from her face.
“I’m pretty obviously nervous, aren’t I?”
