Gabe
T he game is back on, but it’s not like before. Lenore’s cagey. She doubts me, and it’s plain to see, because she’ll get lost in the moment looking at me—then drag her eyes away and get back to her work. Never did that before.
That perfect girl thinks that I’m gonna turn cold on her again, refusing to look in her direction, and it keeps her from sinking all the way into our connection like she did last time.
Fuck, I hate that I let Jimmy’s warning get in my head. Hate that I ruined this. Why didn’t I trust that this is something special?
But I have to believe we can fix this if I’m gonna stay sane; have to think we’ll get past this bump in the road. Lenore is cautious now. That’s fine. That’s smart.
All it means is that I need to work harder to get her comfortable with me again.
“Thank Christ for the weekend,” Jimmy grumbles beside me, scraping moss out of a stone rose’s petals. “This week has sucked the life outta me. Did you know Brenda’s on nights again? We’ve barely seen each other. Honestly, I’m forgetting what she looks like.”
As if. Jimmy’s more devoted to his wife than any man I’ve ever known, and there’s no way he’d forget Brenda. He keeps a picture of her folded in his top shirt pocket, the photo paper all droopy from where he’s handled it so much.
Makes sense that he’s agitating for Friday to be over already, if it means more time with his wife. Hell, all of our crew are chomping at the bit, ready to burst off site at the end of their shift and head straight to the bars, the greyhound tracks, the homes of their favorite girls and guys. Whatever their chosen ways to blow off steam, there’s only a few hours left of the workweek standing in their way.
Me? I wish I could slow the clocks, even though it makes me selfish. Not sure I can stomach two whole days without Lenore.
It was different before, when I hadn’t seen her up close. Sure, I missed her, my insides all buzzy with agitation until I laid eyes on her again—but it was more abstract. Like going crazy waiting for an episode of my favorite TV show.
This is torture. Now that I’ve seen her up close, touched her warm skin, heard her voice, breathed in her scent… I barely slept a wink last night. Just kept tossing and turning all night long, before giving up and jerking my cock raw to the memory of her. Over and over again, until my back was slick with sweat and my abs ached worse than the devil. My hand practically cramped into that telltale claw shape.
Yeah. I’m a mess.
But what does my girl do on the weekends? Where does she go when she’s not here? She doesn’t have a man—that much I’m sure of, because Lenore’s not the type to let her eyes stray. That certainty is deep in my bones. But does she have friends? Hobbies? Hopes and dreams?
Can’t believe I know so little about her.
Need to spend more time with my angel; need to get to know her properly. But it’s easier said than done when I’m out here and she’s in there, and there’s more than some crumbly stonework and double glazed windows standing between us.
I can’t exactly march through her uncle’s business and ask for her number with him on the other side of that door. Not when that prick already gives her such a hard time.
“Boss,” Jimmy says, like he’s been trying to get my attention for a while.
I shake myself. “Yeah?”
“That girl in there. Lenore.” My neck turns hot, but I keep my eyes fixed on the tools in my hands as he talks. “Something’s changed. She’s been looking at you again.”
I grunt and raise one shoulder in a shrug—because yeah, things have changed. Yesterday, I met my girl in person, and today I’m brand new.
“People look at people,” I say. “It happens.”
“Not like this.” Jimmy coughs, all blustery and strained, and shakes his head. Wish he’d quit those cigarettes, but if Brenda’s nagging falls on deaf ears, mine definitely won’t help. “I warned you, okay, boss? Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
A muscle tics in my jaw. “Yeah, I heard. Now drop it.”
And there’s no need to bite my second’s head off, no need for the way my muscles tense on my bones, because Jimmy’s just trying to look out for me. That’s all.
He’s got a son only a few years younger than me, and last year that son got turned inside out over some rich girl who dropped him like a hot potato. Broke the poor guy’s heart, and had him slumped over Jimmy and Brenda’s kitchen table for months, nursing the bottle. Took him forever to climb back out of that glass. I remember that drama.
Doesn’t mean I’m doomed to the same fate.
This is different. Lenore’s different.
I trust that now.
Jimmy huffs and stomps back to the scaffolding ladder, offended by my tone, and I curse under my breath as I keep working. It’s easy to ruffle that old man’s feathers, and hard to smooth them back down again. Still, I won’t hear any more talk like that about Lenore—not from my second in command, and not from anybody.
She’s not some nameless, faceless rich girl he can pin all his son’s troubles on.
She’s mine.
Still, he can’t resist one final parting shot as he steps onto the ladder, scarred hands gripping the metal. “Hope you know what you’re doing, boss.”
* * *
I’m so wound up by goddamn Jimmy’s goddamn lecture that I don’t even notice the end of shift come and go. One moment I’m at the top of the scaffolding, surrounded by the ring of hammers on metal and the pound and scrape of stone—then I’m alone. Nothing but the moaning wind and the creak of the scaffolding for company.
The sky is lavender, blushing pink close to the horizon, and the puffs of cloud up there are tinted gold. I hardly ever work into the evenings, not unless we’re falling behind, but tonight I sniff once and keep going.
What do I have to rush home for, exactly? A hot shower and clean clothes, sure. The food in the fridge, and a cold bottle of beer with beads of condensation clinging to the glass. Yeah. Maybe a decent game if I can scrounge one up on the sports channel.
That all sounds good, but it’s nothing so urgent that I’m ready to leave right this second, not while I’m still tensed up and buzzing. Not when I’ve got buckets of agitation to sweat out.
Goddamn Jimmy.
It takes me an embarrassingly long time to realize I’m not alone after all. As I climb up and down the scaffolding levels, fetching tools and shifting supplies, I pass level after level of dark, empty windows. The office crowd has shut up and gone home. But when I get back to the eighth floor, my scowl reflected in the glass—I freeze, staring past my own shocked image.
There’s a lamp on in there, the glow spilling across the office floor. And Lenore —lying on her front, propped on her elbows, with her heels kicked up behind. She’s chewing on her pencil, frowning down at the pages and pages of sketches she’s got scattered across the carpet.
Swallowing hard, I squint through the shadowed office, looking for light seeping through her uncle’s doorway.
Nothing. She’s all alone.
We’re all alone.
Fuck.
Somehow, someway, despite being so sure about this girl, it never occurred to me that we’d ever be alone. That we could say whatever we wanted to each other without fear of interruption; do whatever we wanted to each other. Doesn’t seem real.
Numb, I raise one fist and rap on the glass. Lenore startles so badly, she flings her pencil across the room, and when she gapes up at me, her mouth makes a perfect ‘o’.
I grin.
She melts with relief, rolling her eyes.
She’s so cute as she rolls onto her hands and knees, pushing to her feet. She goes to fetch her pencil, picking bits of fluff off the soggy end with a look of distaste before strolling back to her sketches.
Lenore kneels down again, sitting back on her heels. She places the pencil carefully on the nearest sketch, then watches me expectantly, her palms on her thighs.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I go and place my tools carefully in the box nailed to the workbench up here. Then I come and stand right by the glass, staring inside as daylight fades all around me.
It’s cold tonight. Hell, it’s cold every night with winter just around the corner, but the wind has real teeth when you’re up this high. And I’m dressed only in a gray work shirt and jeans, my toes going numb in my tan boots, but I won’t step away for anything. Not now.
Lenore presses her lips together. Even through the glass and across the room, I see every micro-movement. Every shiver and twitch. It’s like I’m zoomed in on her, tuned to her frequency, as the rest of the world fades away.
Cars rumble past in the street, one driver leaning on their horn. Red leaves shiver on the trees below.
“Hey, baby.” I say the words out loud like an idiot, but Lenore must lip read or something, because she beams at me.
“Hi,” she mouths back.
She’s dressed in a long sleeved dress today, made from a thick, clingy fabric that comes down to her mid-thigh. It’s black and white, checkered like a chessboard. Her dark hair is pulled up in a high ponytail, and her thick eyeliner makes her look extra feline. Like Cleopatra.
She’s gorgeous. So perfect it makes my insides sing. That girl is a walking work of art, and no one else seems to have noticed.
Well, people are idiots. Their loss.
My heart thunders as I spread one hand over the chilled glass. Can Lenore see how badly I want to touch her? How much I need her already, even though we only spoke for the first time yesterday?
If I climbed down the scaffolding and rode the elevator up through the office, would Lenore welcome me with open arms? Let me kiss her, touch her, rub all over her body until our scents mingled together?
Or would it break this delicate spell we’ve woven between us? I can’t risk it.
“Stand up,” I say, jerking my chin to illustrate. Maybe she can hear my voice, muffled by the glass, or maybe she just gets me. Either way, Lenore wobbles to her feet, smoothing her dress down her thighs.
She’s wearing plain black flats with gold buckles on the toes. I nod at them and she kicks them off without hesitation, her bare feet so delicate on the ugly brown carpet.
Her eyes are bright with excitement, her cheeks flushed pink. That perfect chest rises and falls beneath her clingy dress, and Christ, I might not survive this. Might just die of a heart attack, right up here on the eighth floor, when all she’s done is kick off her shoes.
“Spin,” I say, circling one finger in the air, and sure enough, Lenore turns for me on the spot. Nice and slow and teasing, watching me with those fever-bright eyes over her shoulder. Giving me a show; letting me see her from all angles.
My hand balls into a fist where it rests on the glass.
Her laugh is silent, but I see it. See her chest hitch and the sound burst past her lips. A chuckle rumbles out of me too, warming my chest on the way through.
When she turns all the way back to face me, I’m lost for a moment. Because what else can I ask of her? What else can I mime through the glass? A hundred things leap to mind, of course they do, but I’d never demand them of my angel. Not without warning; not after only one day. I’d rather cut off my own ear than scare this girl away.
But when I hesitate, when I take too long to give another order, Lenore goes rogue. She takes matters into her own mischievous hands, gathering the hem of her dress an inch higher. An inch higher. Then another inch, the fabric gathered slowly into her grip.
My tortured groan echoes across the rooftops.
Lenore smiles, and it’s like being scorched by a ray of sunshine.
She drags the dress up slowly, slowly, the fabric brushing over every dip and curve of her body, and my heart stops beating when she tugs it over her head, then drops it into an unceremonious pile by her feet.
I don’t hear the dress hit the floor, but I see the sketches lifted and tossed, fluttering away on invisible air currents. Bet that dress is warm to the touch. Bet it smells like her.
Lenore watches me, dressed in nothing but a yellow lace bra and matching panties. The lamplight paints her skin gold, casts strange shadows across one side of her body, and I can’t look away. Can’t even blink.
My heart lurches back to life, thudding painfully against my ribs. The icy wind tugs at my hair, flaps my shirt against my body, but I don’t feel it anymore.
I’m burning up out here. Burning alive.
A single fingertip coasts across her collarbone, the nail painted emerald green. It swoops down, down, tracing a line across the center of Lenore’s chest, and my neck is stiff as I wheel around, checking there are no nosy neighbors who can see my girl right now. No late office workers or bored renters in their apartments, staring at Lenore instead of their TV screens.
Nope. We’re pretty high up here, and the nearest windows are all dark, or have their curtains drawn against the cold evening. She’s safe.
All mine.
I turn back to the window, cock pressing so hard against my fly that my zipper’s gonna leave one long, slender bruise.
While I wasn’t looking, Lenore lost the bra altogether. Now she’s standing there, almost completely bare, with those puffy nipples and that creamy skin and that happy, blissed out smile —like this is a dream come true for her, too. Like she loves our shared moments as much as I do.
It’s jarring how innocent she seems, even standing in a shadowed office in nothing but yellow lace panties. When she mouths my name, cupping her own breasts, she’s so fucking sweet.
Her eyebrows pinch together as she rubs and squeezes. As she pinches and twists and kneads, working herself up for my eyes and my eyes alone, her thighs restless as they rub together.
My breath fogs the glass. If I get any closer, my nose is gonna squish to the side.
I rap harshly on the window.
“Show me,” I grit out, too low for her to hear. But Lenore knows what I want, and one palm trails southward over her taut stomach.
When she cups her own mound, I squeeze my length through my jeans. Not enough to get off—just enough to hold this raging hunger at bay. Just enough to see straight.
Lenore’s eyes go round as she sees me touching myself.
Well, the feeling is mutual, because I can’t look away. Can’t breathe, can’t swallow, can’t even think. All I can do is watch, helpless and enthralled, palming my own bulge as Lenore slides her panties to the side and flashes me the tiniest glimpse of the new center of my world.
She’s shaved. Tight and wet. Don’t ask me how I know, but I know, surer than I know my own name. If I slid a single finger in there, she’d buck and moan, riding the ridges of my knuckles. She’d cling to my wrist and beg me for release.
And I’d give it to her, too, but not before I worked her into a sweaty, breathless heap. Not until she begged, tossing that silky dark hair everywhere, calling me by my name.
Lenore bites her lip against a smile, like she can see the overheated slideshow playing in my brain, and traces a circle over her clit. Her hips rock forward, chasing her own touch.
And hell . What I’d give to be in that room right now, hearing every shaky breath—every slick sound between her legs. What I’d give to slide those panties down her thighs, and drop to my knees in front of her, and lick her so deep her head spun.
She’s going faster now, lips bitten, fingers busy between her legs. Her mouth drops open, and Lenore holds my gaze as she rubs and rubs and—
Her stomach tenses. Her eyes slam closed, leg muscles twitching, and though seeing her come like this is a miracle, a perfect gift in a broken world, it takes everything in me not to pound on the glass and demand that she look at me again. That she lets me see her fall apart, with agonized pleasure washing through those big, brown eyes. With her eyes closed like this, I’m shut out in the cold.
Lenore comes back to herself slowly. She blinks around herself, dazed, at her clothes, her sketches… and me. Staring at her like a madman from the darkness outside, one hand gripped around my bulge like I want to tear it clean off.
Her eyes go wide.
Then she’s scrambling for her clothes and running away, slamming the door to her uncle’s office behind her. I call her name and knock on the glass, I wait and wait, but she doesn’t come out again. It’s just me out here and the icy gusts of wind.
Lenore wants me gone.
Such a giddy high, then this crashing low. A monster headache squeezes my temples, and I scrub one hand down my face.
I thought she liked it. Thought we both wanted this.
What have I done?