Lenore
I feel like the world’s biggest jerk on Thursday morning, hurrying out of the elevator on the eighth floor, already short of breath. Gabe’s out there on the scaffolding, working alone on the top level, and I fling my bag and coat at the desk without slowing down, then beeline over to the windows.
They’re old and heavy, hardly ever opened, but with some sweating and cursing I push one open enough to talk.
Gabe crouches by the opening, one eyebrow raised. His boots are level with the window sill, half his body revealed and half behind glass.
“Morning, gorgeous.”
If he’s mad at me for taking that phone call, he doesn’t show it. Even though it was horribly rude, and I’ve been kicking myself for it all night, hoping and praying that I haven’t offended the one man whose opinion I care about.
“Hi. Listen, I’m so sorry about last night.”
Gabe shrugs, but his smile is more cautious than yesterday’s. Crap. “No worries, . You gotta do what you gotta do.”
Except I don’t need to answer my family’s phone calls at all hours—that’s the annoying thing. And that’s what I was trying to explain to my dad last night in my kitchen, arguing round and round with him in circles, because as far as he’s concerned, I’m still a wayward child.
Should have just hung up and gone back out to Gabe. Or, no—should never have picked up in the first place. Should have switched my phone off, tossed it on the coffee table, then coaxed this handsome builder into trading places.
Him on the sofa.
Me on my knees.
That’s how last night should have gone.
Instead I let two decades of the Hattworth conditioning override all my natural instincts, and I let down my new favorite person in the whole world. My dad didn’t even listen, anyway. He never does.
“I wish I could take it back.” My smile is wobbly. “Seems like I keep messing up with you.”
Gabe frowns, the cold wind out there flapping his black work shirt against his body. He shakes his head, green eyes fixed on mine. “Not possible, baby.” His words are muffled by the window pane. “It’s okay if it takes us a minute to find our rhythm. We’re brand new.”
Yeah, we are. And when he smiles at me again, broad and warm this time, the knot of tension loosens in my chest.
Screwing up my courage, I stick my hand through the open window. Gabe reaches down and takes it immediately, knotting our fingers together and giving them a gentle squeeze.
“We’re good,” he says.
No one ever reassures me like this. I could cry.
“Next time it’s your turn,” I promise. “That’s twice now that I’ve—um. You know. And you haven’t.”
“Haven’t what, exactly? Not sure I follow.” Gabe tilts his head out there, grinning. His eyes glitter, teasing me.
And I open my mouth to say god knows what, but Uncle Roderick’s office door slams open behind me.
“Three minutes late again , ,” my uncle says. “It’s unacce—oh.”
The temperature plummets in our stuffy office. I turn my head slowly, stomach already cramping with nerves, but I don’t let go of Gabe’s hand. I’m clinging on like he’s my lifeline in a storm.
Uncle Roderick’s face is puce, his expression thunderous. His mean eyes flit between me and Gabe, me and Gabe, before landing on our joined hands.
My uncle sucks in a deep breath, chest lifting. Like he’s about the yell the roof down.
And all the while: “Shit.” Gabe curses quietly out on the scaffolding, then finally lets go of my hand to shove the window open wider. He crawls through boots-first, grimacing as the back of his shirt drags over the scaffolding floor, then hops lightly onto the brown carpet beside me. Surprisingly agile with all that muscle.
I step close. So close our arms press together, then grab his perfect, callused hand once more.
Gabe leans down and murmurs my name, pressing a reassuring kiss to my temple. “However you want to handle this,” he says, so quiet only we can hear as my uncle bristles at that kiss. “That’s how we’ll handle this. Okay, gorgeous?”
Okay.
Yeah.
Handling this.
Oh my god. My family are gonna freak.
But… they freak about everything I do, no matter how small and harmless. They’re impossible to please. And even if I could ever make them happy, which I seriously doubt… would I give up Gabe Dempsey to do it?
No way, no how.
“Uncle Roderick,” I say, coughing to clear my tight throat. “You, um. You’ve met Gabe—”
“ Gabe. ” My uncle spits the name, his face getting redder by the second. He shakes his head slowly, breathing hard, then glares directly at me. Writes Gabe out of his universe, as easily as that. “A builder. Really, ?”
Gabe stiffens beside me, and it’s my turn to squeeze his hand. “Yes,” I say, proud at how firm my voice is. “Really.”
“But he’s—”
“The best man I’ve ever met.” My smile is strained, because out of all my relatives I could have had this showdown with, I would never have picked Uncle Roderick. He’s always been such a jerk, and he never listens to a word I say. “I’m lucky to be with him.”
Gabe makes a soft noise of disagreement, but now isn’t the time for him to argue. Uncle Roderick already thinks I’m above my gorgeous builder, purely because of my last name. And they’re both so wrong, it’s laughable.
“Your parents will never agree to this—”
“Good thing I’m not asking.” I raise my chin, and I hope to god I look braver than I feel right now. There’s a line of sweat trickling down my spine beneath my fuzzy white sweater. “I’m twenty two years old, Uncle Roderick. I don’t need a permission slip to date whoever I want. And I want Gabe.”
I flash the man beside me a nervous smile. He stares back, green eyes boring into mine… and when we look at each other, I swear the rest of the world melts away.
All the bullshit and blustering. The beige walls and stale dusty smell of this room. The stifling heat and my ranting uncle, droning on and on, his words washing over us like a stream tumbling over a creek bed.
Who cares what he’s saying? It’s definitely nonsense.
And my family has controlled me for far too long.
“Your college course,” Gabe mutters, because of course he’s thinking ahead like I am. “We shouldn’t risk your education.”
Chewing my bottom lip, I stare up at the man I’d risk it all for in a heartbeat. The man I am risking it all for, right this second, as my uncle stomps around and dials my father on the phone, getting ready to gang up on me as a family. Same as always.
“I could get a part time job,” I whisper. “One that actually pays me, unlike this. And with my savings… maybe…”
“You’ll live with me,” Gabe murmurs back, squeezing my hand. “So you won’t have to worry about rent or food or whatever. And I can help you out too, with the tuition. Let me help you, baby.”
Oh, god. That’s so intense after only a few dates; so much pressure for a new relationship. Does Gabe really want me that badly? Could we really make that work?
Can I take this leap of faith? Holy hell.
His gaze burns into me—urging me to be brave.
“I’ll pay you back,” I say quietly, my tummy swooping beneath my sweater. “One day.”
And Gabe beams at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling, his shoulders melting with relief. Hadn’t realized how tense he was until right this second, as all that strain bleeds away. He looks like he just won the multi-million dollar jackpot.
“I know you will.” Gabe leans down and brushes a kiss against my temple. “When you’re a big time fashion designer, jet setting around the world. You’ll take me with you, right?”
My heart thumps extra hard. “Always.”
So that’s that. We both turn back to my uncle, his phone held aloft so my dad can lecture and threaten us via speaker phone. Hattworth reputation, family name, irresponsible behavior, yada yada. Gabe grins along until my dad says something about how they’ve already picked out a fiance for me, then his frown slams back down.
“We’re leaving.” He tugs on my hand, pulling me toward where I flung my bag and coat. “Don’t listen to that bullshit, baby. Don’t let it get in your head.”
He actually sounds worried, too, like I might be tempted away by this mystery banker my parents picked out. As if.
“Bye, Uncle Roderick,” I call, giddy that we’re actually doing this. We’re walking away from my family—together. Shrugging off the straitjacket I’ve worn my whole life. “See ya never.”
My uncle splutters. Gabe jabs the elevator button, tugging me against his chest. He runs his hands up and down my arms, face buried in my hair.
“I like this sweater,” he says, voice muffled. “It’s fluffy.”
I laugh. The elevator pings.
It’s not the most dramatic getaway. We walk out hand in hand, unhurried, neither of us having raised our voices once, and go around the building to the scaffolding where Gabe calls up to Jimmy to finish the job. Says he’ll waive the rest of his fee if the older man will help us out.
It’s hard to see the guy all the way up there, silhouetted against the bright sky, but I make out a thumbs up.
“Done,” Gabe says happily. “This is a good Thursday morning.”
* * *
We make it three steps inside Gabe’s apartment before I’m climbing him like a love-struck monkey. He’s so tall and strong and sturdy, and seriously, whatever soap he uses has a direct line between my legs. Gah.
A laugh rumbles out of him, vibrating through my whole body, and Gabe grips my ass to hitch me higher. My legs wrap around his waist, and the floorboards creak under our shared weight as he walks.
“This is the entryway,” he says, nodding at a neat line of coat hooks beside us. The floorboards here are smooth oak, and a vivid abstract painting hangs on the wall. The light dangling above has an industrial-style brass cage.
It’s gorgeous. It’s all gorgeous. Not beige at all.
I don’t care. Too busy kissing Gabe’s perfect neck.
“There’s a bathroom through that door. And through here is the living area, with the TV and sofas and breakfast bar and all that stuff. I knocked this wall through when I first bought this place. Made it all open plan.”
“Uh-huh.” Rocking against the hard line in Gabe’s jeans, I suppress a shiver. It’s sweet of him to give me this tour, but I sure wish he’d give me something else right now. Something long and thick, something prodding me in the hip—
“Do you like the walls?”
Rubbing my nose against Gabe’s five o’clock shadow, I pause. Do I what?
“The walls.” He jiggles me in his arms. “The sage color. Do you like them? We can repaint if you prefer.”
My breath bursts out in a huff, and I lean back in the builder’s strong arms. He smiles down at me, eyes teasing, and god, I knew he must be messing with me. Who can think about wall paint at a time like this? Not me, that’s for sure.
“Gabriel Dempsey,” I say, mustering up all the leftover Hattworth arrogance I can possibly manage. “Put me down this instant and let me suck your cock.”
His grin widens. There are those freaking dimples! God, they should be illegal.
“Is this how it’s gonna be, then, gorgeous?” He sets me down carefully, like I’m delicate. Precious. It’s so different to the way he slung around those heavy tools and building supplies back on that scaffolding, sweat slick on his neck, muscles bulging beneath his work shirt. “You bossing me around?”
Ha. “Nope.” My fingernails scratch their way down Gabe’s body as I kneel at his feet, trailing over flannel shirt, leather belt, worn jeans. Distantly, I register a thick rug beneath my knees. “I want you to do the bossing. Want to be your good girl.”
His smile is calm, but the pleased shudder that rolls through his muscles gives him away. “Yeah? Then start right here, baby.”
His big hands tug his belt open easily, the buckle clicking. Leather slithers apart and Gabe thumbs open the top button of his jeans, then stands patiently with his hands on his hips. He’s so tall and broad up there, looming over me with that hungry look in his eye.
My lips press together. The bulge pressing against the fly of Gabe’s jeans is… impressive. Intimidating.
“Just… don’t judge me by my first attempt, okay?” The zipper sticks halfway down, and I tug it harder, trying to breath past the sudden rush of nerves. I’m dizzy with them—dizzy with fear and excitement and the bone-deep relief that yes , this is finally happening. We’re together, with no one about to walk in on us. No one to tear us apart again.
And how many times have I pictured this exact thing? Kneeling for Gabe and using my mouth and hands for his pleasure. Worshiping him with all the fervor he deserves. So many times.
In my daydreams, though, I was good at it. Now, I’m kinda lost.
“First attempt,” Gabe says quietly. His hands stroke over my hair, petting, soothing. “At everything? All of it?”
“Yeah.” My lip hurts, I bite down on it so hard. “Is that okay?”
The breath heaves out of him on a laugh. “It’s more than okay, . Your first time? Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
“Huh. So… you’re all mine.”
And he doesn’t sound upset about my inexperience, or put off at all. No, Gabe seems extra eager as I draw his hard length out of his boxers, his hips already twitching toward my mouth. The first tiny lick I give the head draws a hiss between his teeth.
“Fuck,” he grits out, tendons bulging on his forearms. His arms are back at his sides, those strong hands balled into fists. The knuckles are bone-white. “Do that again.”
Another lick. Another hiss.
He tastes salty and warm. I like it.
My fingers feel clumsy as I wrap them around his girth, and my thumb and fingertips don’t touch. Heat pulses low in my belly, and I squirm against my heels. Seriously? I’m gonna fit this inside me? How?
“Tug it,” Gabe grits out. “Work your hand up and down. Yeah, just like that. Don’t be shy about squeezing it, baby. Ah fuck, you feel good. Look at your pretty little hand on me. Can barely hold it, can you?”
Every filthy mutter from Gabe makes me feel so precious and pretty. Like confetti is showering me along with the builder’s low curses and grunts.
His boot scrapes against the floor. His legs go wider, stomach heaving, thigh muscles rigid beneath his jeans. I know because I touch all of him with my free hand, everything I can reach, stroking and exploring my new territory.
Gabe Dempsey is mine. I licked him, so he’s mine.
And I’m never gonna give him up. I’m gonna be his pretty good girl forever.
“What’s given you that wicked smile, huh, ? Look at that. Look at your lips curving around me, baby. Shit. Yeah, suck me deeper. See how far you can go.”
Who needs experience with a man this chatty? Gabe is more than happy to boss me around, to tell me exactly what he likes, and me? Well, I’m desperate to deliver.
His weight is heavy on my tongue. Smooth and thick and right . I hum around it, hollowing my cheeks, and Gabe lets out a long, low groan. His fingers tighten in my hair.
And I’m not an idiot—I know what comes next, and I’m ready to swallow every drop—but Gabe pulls out so suddenly I tumble forward. Then he yanks me to my feet, too wound up to be gentle.
“Shit. Sorry, baby, I just—Christ, I need to get inside you. Can’t see straight, . Can’t fucking think. Take those pants off for me, will you?”
He’s dragging me by the elbow, backing up toward the sofa, walking awkwardly with his jeans undone.
I wait until he collapses back onto the cushions, green eyes so hazy, then I step between his spread knees. Kick my ballet flats off, one by one, and flick my own jeans button open. They’re clingy and black, high waisted with a big brass button, and Gabe watches hungrily as I peel them down my thighs.
“The thong, too. Get it all off, sweetheart.”
My heart hammers against my ribs as I obey. And god, I’m so slick and swollen down there already, I whimper as the fabric peels away. As it drops to my ankles, tangled and forgotten, and I kick it to one side.
Gabe is sprawled over his brown leather sofa, shirt half buttoned, cock out. His dark blond hair is messy, and his cheeks are pink—like he’s been slapped.
“Come here,” he says, so hoarse, and pats his own lap. I pause only to yank my fluffy sweater over my head—too freaking hot for that—and peel off my vest top and bra, flinging them blindly over my shoulder.
Then I climb onto Gabe Dempsey’s lap, wearing nothing but a smile.