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“Yes.” I reach for her glass and hand it to her. “Finish this.”
“I may need you to carry me to the car when I go home if I drink that.”
I’m not letting her go home. I knew that the minute I decided to bring her here, but I don’t say that. Not yet. Not now. “I’ll take good care of you,” I say instead. “Drink.” I offer her the glass again and she downs the whiskey.
I set the glass on the bar and grab my phone from my pocket, turning on one of my music playlists, and a Kane Brown song starts to play. “How do you feel?” I ask, setting it on the counter.
She yanks my tie the rest of the way off my collar and tosses it. “Like I want to forget, and I hate that I’m acting like a nervous school girl.”
I don’t ask what she wants to forget. She has an ex that knows Jean Claude and Jean Claude is targeting her. Those two things are not coincidences but she’s smart, really damn smart to find someone like Reid, who worked for Jean Claude while training under our father. “Do you know what I think about your nerves?”
“That you don’t know how a damn grown woman who was married could be this nervous?”
“That it’s charming and sexy.” I stroke her cheek and kiss her. “And you weren’t nervous when you kissed me in the bar.”
“That was different. I didn’t know you. I didn’t know who you are. I didn’t—”
“Knowing who I am is good. It means you chose to come here with me, not a stranger.”
“We are strangers.”
My lips curve. “I told you. I know more about you than you think.”
“What else can you know about me?” she asks, giving me a curious look.
I could fuck her right now and show her the many ways I understand needing an escape and I will, just not yet. For reasons I can’t explain, I want to savor this woman.
I catch her hand with mine, lacing our fingers together as I walk her backward, and decide to slow things down, guiding her to the floor-to-ceiling window. Both of us grab the wooden railing that runs along the center of the glass. “It’s an amazing view,” she says, as we stare out at the Statue of Liberty lit up and seeming to float in an ocean of darkness. “Why this view instead of the park or the cityscape?”
I turn to her and lean a shoulder on the glass. “Because when I’m home, I want to escape the city and the demands it represents.” She turns to face me and I pull her to me and she doesn’t resist. She melts into me, her fingers curling on my chest and even without a skin to skin connection, just feeling her close has me burning alive. I want her naked. I want inside her. I want her present, and out of her own head.
“That’s why I brought you to this window,” I say. “To show you that right here, in this apartment, in this room, we’re above the city, outside that world. It’s just you and me.” I cup her face. “So be here with me. Forget everything else.”
“Yes,” she whispers. “Yes, I want that very much. I’m here. Screw that asshole. He doesn’t get to be here with us.”
I go stiff and pull back to look at her. “Do you still love him? Is that what that meant?”
Her eyes go wide. “Oh God, no. I don’t remember loving him. I must have. I know I must have, but I swear to you, Gabe. I don’t remember loving him. I’m not here to forget him. I’m here for me. For you. Because I want to be and damn it—” She pushes to her toes and presses her lips to mine, just like she had in the bar.
I’m stiff a moment, weighing her words, but when she moans and starts to pull back, I decide, fuck her ex. She’s here with me. She’s mine tonight. I cup her head and lick past her teeth, letting her taste that decision on my lips, in my kiss. She’s mine tonight and I will have all of her. She moans this time with a low, rough, needy tone and she’s right there with me, answering mydemand with her own. Something about my pulling back drove her forward, pushed away her reserves. She wants what she’s been denied, she wants me and this and I don’t give her time to change her mind.
I turn her to face the railing and step behind her, forcing her hands to the bar, my thighs framing her legs. My fingers find the zipper of her dress and I drag it down to her lower back to the top of her backside where it stops. I brush her hair over one shoulder and then unhook her bra, sliding my hands under the material to rest my palms on her arms. My lips press to the sweet spot between her shoulder blades and I inhale the sweet, floral scent of her, savoring the moment, like I don’t savor the women I fuck, but then I know there is nothing about this woman that is like any other woman but one, and she’s long gone. She’s gone forever. She’s the reason I never wanted to fucking savor anyone again, but I am. I can’t seem to just make Abigail a fuck that is hard and fast and over. She’s happening to me. She’s happening in a way I don’t want her to happen, but it’s too late. She’s here. I don’t want her to leave.
She arches into me, her backside pressing to the thick ridge of my erection straining my zipper, and damn it, I need her naked and in my arms. I shove the dress off her shoulders and down her arms. She untangles her hands and I press her forward again, impatient now, impatient in all kinds of ways with this woman. She grabs the railing again while I carry the material all the way down her hips. When it pools at her ankles, I lift her and her heels fall off with the dress. I kick everything aside. Now she’s facing the window, naked but for her thigh highs and a tiny slit of black lace down the center of her gorgeous backside. She’s at my mercy and yet some part of me is certain that I’m the one at her mercy. And that’s a problem I need to fix and fix now.
Chapter seven
Gabe
With Abigail facing the window, I step into her, cupping her perfect backside and pressing my lips to her ear. “You’re at my mercy now.”
“I’d only be at your mercy if I didn’t choose to be here, but I do.”
I think my cock grows an inch with that statement. She might be a bit shy and nervous, but she’s still the woman who kissed me and thanked me for waking her up. The combination of shyness and confidence contradict each other and yet, in some incredibly fucking sexy way, they are one with this woman. I scrape my teeth over her bare shoulder and cup her breasts, leaning into her, absorbing her soft curves. “Good,” I say, teasing her nipples. “I want you to choose to be here, but I also want you to choose to give me control. Trust me to please you.”
“I don’t do trust,” she whispers. “Not anymore. Don’t make it that.”
She doesn’t do trust. She’s been burned and I understand. God, how I understand, but I reject her rejection. I turn her to face me and press her hands to the rail behind her, mine overhers. My gaze meets hers, and I find that same mix of nerves and defiance in her. She wants me, but she wants control. “When you feel pleasure that is control. When I give you pleasure, when I’m the man that did that for you, that’s control. Me fucking you just to fuck you, that’s nothing but fucking. That’s not what this is.”
