Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Five
G abriel sat up quickly, his breath coming hard and fast as his heart raced in his chest. His senses were still lost in his nightmare, fractured pieces of his past slipping through his consciousness and the smell of expensive perfume clinging to his nose. It made him feel like he’d been in some strange woman’s hotel bed seconds ago and erased the decade since. He could almost still feel the hands on him, but the memory of Seth’s voice was the worst of it.
“Fucking rich women in fancy hotel rooms is a privilege, if you’re tired of that, you can start sucking dick in dark alleys with the rest of them.”
The hands after that hadn’t been gentle and after he’d tried to run … Even Chris had heard him screaming. He’d learned that at the trial. His shame at what they had done to him was not his own private humiliation, after all.
Desperate to clear his mind, he reached—as he always did when the nightmares came for him—for the grounding familiarity of his surroundings. The hard cot beneath him, the steady drip of the sink, the stink of sweat and ammonia, all usually brought the cold wave of reality to clear away the conjurings of his sleeping mind.
He found none of those things.
Instead, there was the soft dip of a mattress, the steady tick of a bedside clock, and the scent of a different lover than the ones in his nightmares. She was curled on her side beside him, face soft and relaxed as she slept and one hand resting on the pillow beside her face.
The clock beside the bed read 3:27 when he slipped quietly from the bed and left her alone.
Mia found him in the kitchen, standing in the dim green light of her microwave wearing nothing but the thin white underwear the prison had issued him.
“Gabriel?”
He jumped, startled to hear her voice coming out of the darkness of the hallway.
She crept closer, snaking a hand around his wrist when he didn’t answer. “It’s three in the morning, what are you doing out here?”
“Can’t sleep,” he muttered. “It’s lights on at 3:30 in prison. I’ve been waking up this early for thirteen years.”
“Oh,” she said, sleep clogging her mind as she pressed into his side, seeking the warmth he’d taken with him when he’d left his side of the bed empty. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
He sighed and rubbed his jaw against her hair. “I didn’t want to disturb you. You looked so peaceful.”
“What’s wrong?” She pulled back to look at him, frowning when he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Are you cold? You’re shaking.”
He shook his head, hands tightening on her hips to keep her from moving away when she tried to go and fetch a blanket from the bedroom.
“Just a bad dream,” he said. “It happens sometimes.”
“What were you dreaming about?” she asked, leaning back into him and offering him her body heat anyway as she wrapped her arms around his torso.
“It’s nothing …”
“It’s something,” she insisted. “I want to help you.”
“I know you do,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “But there’s nothing we can do about it.”
She wanted to argue, to tell him that it was normal for him to be feeling unsettled after having to relive everything for the trial and enduring all the changes he’d experienced in such a short time, but he tipped her chin up with the curve of his finger and silenced her with his lips on hers.
This kiss was nothing like the ones before. There was none of the softness and the sweetness that she’d gotten from him yesterday. His mouth was hot on hers, demanding as he parted her lips with his tongue. This was purely about him and whatever memories had haunted his nightmares. He clutched her to him as though her skin on his was the cure for a lifetime of pain, his hands tugging up the hem of the nightgown that barely skimmed her knees until he could reach beneath and cup the backs of her thighs.
She gasped when he lifted her, knocking aside the clutter from last night’s dinner where it rested on the kitchen counter. Something clattered into the sink and porcelain shattered as one of her bowls hit the floor and exploded on impact.
“Gabriel,” she protested, worried about the shards and his bare feet, but he stepped into the empty waiting space between her thighs and nipped her neck until she shuddered beneath the onslaught of his mouth.
“Buy you a new one,” he mumbled against her skin, unheeding to any damage he might be doing to himself. “I just need you. Need to taste you.”
He pressed a knuckle to the core of her, the pressure of his hand a new sensation against the fabric of the underwear. She spread her knees, eagerness and nerves tightening her muscles as she perched at the edge of the kitchen countertop and wondered wildly if this was really happening like this , caught up in some whirlwind frenzy of need with sleep still clinging stubbornly to her mind and inescapable memories still hanging heavily on his. This wasn’t like before. This passion was driven by whatever demons dogged his dreams.
He slid his fingers into the band of her underwear, and she shifted as he pulled, lifting her legs one at a time so that he could guide them roughly over her thighs and down her calves to toss them aside. There was no patience here, no gentle path traveled over the slim column of her neck or the soft peak of her breast. He looked at her like he wanted to drown in her, to wash away whatever ghosts still haunted him in the wet pool between her thighs.
Her hips jerked when he pressed a hand to the center of her, his fingers beginning an exploration of her body that made her writhe and drip onto the cheap laminate countertop. She clung to him, one hand tangled in his hair and her face pressed into the curve of his shoulder as she bit down on the soft skin of his neck to muffle her whimpers.
“Lean back,” he instructed softly, moving his hands to her legs and smearing her own slick wetness on her skin as he pressed his thumbs gently into her inner thighs, urging her to spread them wider.
Fresh wetness rushed between her thighs at the low rumble of his voice. She’d never been able to ignore that tone, not since the first time she’d heard him speak and he’d left her whimpering on the phone just from speaking her name.
She reached behind her and leaned back into her palms, reclining enough that he could jerk her hips forward and bring the curve of her ass right up the edge of the counter, her body open and bared to his gaze when he nudged her legs even further apart so that he could look down at her with knowing and hungry eyes.
She shivered when he trailed one finger through the folds of her body, but this time he didn’t settle on her clit instead he reached further into the hidden and unexplored depths until he could press persistently against the entrance of her body.
The sudden realization that she felt acutely empty settled over her, and she pushed her hips forward, seeking more as he gently rocked the tip of finger inside her. She clenched down on the intrusion, chasing the unfamiliar sensation of being stroked from within.
“Do you like that?” he asked, his face serious in the odd green light.
“Yes,” she admitted, cheeks flaming at being asked to say it out loud but pleased when he grunted in satisfaction and worked his finger deeper inside of her in response.
She squirmed against his hand, seeking more as he curved his finger, pressing against her in new angles that helped her discover the potential of her own body and the places within that sent shockwaves of new feelings shooting through her. His fingers were able to reach places inside her that her own were not and the difference in length and width was enough to make her head spin, especially when he added a second finger beside the first.
She arched her hips shamelessly into his hand as he stroked her, eager to take what he was giving her. Her doubts faded beneath the caress of his fingers, the odd light and the hard edge of the countertop as it dug into her thighs suddenly seemingly the perfect accompaniment to this life changing experience.
“You need more,” he said, more statement than question, and she blinked down at him, ready to remind him of the condoms that she’d stored uncertainly in her bedside drawer, but he pulled her up to give her a quick kiss and then dropped to his knees in front of her.
She peered down at him curiously, trying to draw her knees together now that his height had been diminished just enough to bring him to face level with her bared and glistening core.
“Shh,” he soothed, pressing a line of kisses up her thigh. “I just need to taste you, remember?”
“You’re not going to … I mean … you know ?”
“Fuck you? Not right now,” he said with a soft chuckle, looking up to meet her eyes as he leaned in to skin his lips over her core. His face came away wet, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but he never looked away from her, his eyes still hot and locked onto her face.
She bit down on her lip as he parted her folds with his tongue, a long soft swipe that ended with a focused suck on her clit that made her whimper as she tossed back her head and lost herself in the motions of his mouth.
She understood now why such things were meant to be sinful—how could she keep her mind focused on the kingdom of heaven when Gabriel was able to bring heaven to her on earth?
He feasted on her like a starving man suddenly invited to the king’s table, exploring each shadowed bit of flesh and gathering up all the wetness he found there before startling her by plunging his tongue inside her.
She huffed a shocked sound through her nose at the unexpectedness of it but was soon swept away by sensation and when he replaced his tongue with his fingers inside her, filling her and stroking the spot that he’d already discovered made her moan, she came apart beneath him.
“You look so beautiful when you come on my fingers.”
She stayed splayed across the kitchen counter, chest heaving and breasts bouncing until she could catch her breath. “What about you? Do you want … I mean, should I?” She glanced down at the bulge between his legs and then away again.
“Do you want to?”
She sat up, pushing the hem of her nightgown down around her thighs. “Don’t you think I should want to?”
He shook his head and pressed a kiss to her knee before standing up. “That’s not how it works. It’s okay if you’re not ready for that.”
She hooked a finger into the waistband of his underwear, pulling him toward her. “I want to do something ,” she insisted. “We could, I mean, you could …” She spread her knees invitingly, unable to say the words but determined to issue the invitation.
“Not like this,” he said, gripping her jaw and pressing a hard kiss to her mouth. “We can do something else.”
“What else is there?” she asked, her mouth turning down in a pout.
He smiled and lifted her down, patting her hip once her feet were on the floor again. “Turn around,” he instructed, waiting till she shot him a puzzled look and turned to face the counter to lift her nightgown back up around her hips.
Her thighs were still wet and when he pressed them together and she felt the hard press of his arousal at the seam between them she understood what he was trying to do. “Oh,” she breathed softly, leaning forward until she could rest her elbows on the counter and pushing her backside toward him.
He was nestled in the space he’d created between her legs, thrusting softly against her, sliding back and forth as she watched him appear and disappear between her thighs. He was pressed against her, chest hot where it met her back, breath ragged and desperate in her ear. He had one arm wrapped around her body, clamped to her stomach like an iron band, as his other hand gripped the countertop beside her elbow, holding them both steady against the motion of his hips.
“Touch yourself,” he told her huskily. “Just like you used to do for me in all the letters you wrote. Let me feel you come for me.”
Heat rushed through her, and she clenched down on nothing as she fumbled with the fabric of her nightgown, tugging it out of the way until she could press her fingers to the still sensitive area between her legs. Her thighs jumped and tensed around him at the first stroke of her hands, and he swore softly.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
“Don’t you dare apologize,” he growled. “You’re fucking perfect.”
“Gabriel,” she whined, and he jerked her back against him, bouncing her off his chest and his hips.
He let go of the counter and pushed her hand aside to stroke her with his own fingers. “Say it,” he demanded, the movements of his fingers slowing just enough to make her whine in protest. “Tell me this is what you want.”
“I want it,” she panted.
He sped up, his fingers pressing into her just the way she liked until it ripped a second orgasm from her. Her mouth opened on a wordless cry as she clamped her thighs together, whole body shuddering with the strength of the pleasure that tore through her.
He pushed into her thighs, whispering words that she caught only the edges of. Things like “ so pretty” and “ amazing” and then “ oh fuck” as he pulled her hard against him and coated the insides of her thighs with hot come.
She leaned into the counter with him resting against her back and his spend cooling on her thighs as she tried to catch her breath. “Well, that was …”
“Perfect?” he asked, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck, just beneath hair that curled, damp with sweat, against her skin.
“Yeah,” she said with a giggle, head pressed to the cold smooth surface of the countertop. “Perfect.”
“I really fucking love you.”
“I really fucking love you, too,” she said with a sigh. “But you broke my bowl.”
“Shit.”
He stood up and let go of her, so she was able to turn around and flick on the overhead kitchen light and survey the damage. “I’ll pick this up while you wash off,” he said to her, kissing her quickly on the nose before crouching down to grab the first few shards of broken porcelain.
The come was already drying and sticky on her skin when she stepped into the shower, and it was bothersome enough that she was grateful for even the cold stingy spray. Still, she didn’t linger, and it was only a few minutes before she was rushing into the bedroom to tug on a clean pair of shorts and a soft t-shirt.
He was digging in the pantry when she came back, and she realized he was probably used to eating breakfast this early, too.
“If we keep this up, we’re going to spend a lot of time showering,” she said with a laugh, her thighs still shaking as she leaned into his side and pushed the hair back and away from his eyes. Whatever sadness had been there earlier had vanished, leaving nothing but warmth as he leaned into her palm. “Go ahead and hop in and I’ll whip up something to eat for breakfast. Pancakes or omelets?”
“Umm,” he stammered, suddenly unsure, and she remembered his frozen silence in the fast-food drive through staring at the menu full of options.
“I’m usually fonder of pancakes,” she added helpfully. “Especially for special occasions.”
“What’s the special occasion?” he asked, pausing on his way to the bathroom to look at her curiously.
“You are,” she said, unable to resist the urge to stretch up on her tiptoes and press another kiss to the warm plush curve of his mouth. Soon enough he’d taste like sugar and syrup but for now he only tasted like Gabriel and the tang of her own arousal. Her body clenched on a newly learned greed, but she knew he needed time and they had to go shopping today. He was already going to have to wear the same outfit as yesterday, albeit newly washed.
“But am I pancake worthy?” he asked, lifting one brow at her skeptically.
She bit her lip, pretending to think it over, before looking back at the kitchen countertop, still wet and shiny where he’d cleaned it while she showered.
“Definitely.”
The tips of his ears were pink when he left the kitchen.
She set out her ingredients and then turned on the TV on to give her something to listen to as she worked. She grimaced as the morning news came on and then froze as trial footage from thirteen years ago filled the screen showing a young Gabriel, stoic and empty eyed as he faced down the jury. The news anchor was talking fast, and she wasn’t able to hear him over the dull buzzing in her ears. The headline beneath the images, however, was inescapable.
Teenage Murderer Freed After Only Thirteen Years in Stunning Court Decision
She didn’t want Gabriel to see any of it and she was in the kitchen pouring batter into a pan when he came back, one towel slung low across his hips and using another to dry his dark curls.
“Smells good,” he said, pulling her back into his chest and nuzzling his face into her neck.
“No funny business until after breakfast and shopping,” she declared, flipping the pancake and turning to kiss cheek. “We should head out pretty soon, before the stores get crowded.”