10. Gabriel
TEN
After Riley shutsthe door softly, I walk away, slightly dazed. That kiss left me unsettled, unmoored, and undeniably horny.
What to do now? I”m not used to this—when I have needs, I sate them with a willing partner. But calling my occasional fuck buddy or my ex isn”t possible. Not tonight or this entire weekend while Riley is here. Not that she”d be shocked if she found out; I suspect she thinks the worst of me when it comes to women and, well, probably everything else, too.
But for some reason, I don”t want her to see me with someone else. Not even a hint of it. Normally I wouldn”t care, but right now, I do. And I don”t want anyone but her, that”s the other problem. Even if the entire roster of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit models were here spread-eagled, I”d still only want Riley.
That”s the kind of man I am: focused to an extreme degree. It works to my advantage in business. With women, it”s a mixed bag. Usually women want me as much as I want them, so everything”s cool.
This Riley situation is quite different from what I”m used to, and it”s making me feel cagey.
I head into my office, hoping to calm myself by reading some dull paperwork. But as I pick up the file, I realize that I am still too aroused to focus on the words on the page. All my attention is focused on how hard I”ve become, and I impatiently slide the paperwork onto the desk before walking out of the room.
Aimlessly I wander outside to the terrace bar where Riley and I sat hours ago, and I swear her perfume still hangs in the humid night air. Impossible. I turn my head to get another whiff of the sweet scent and practically groan aloud in frustration.
The scent of her perfume lingers on my body. My shirt is now infused with the soft, sweet smell of Riley. It”s like a souvenir, a hint of her that”s stayed with me. A reminder of how much I want her. Both the smell of her perfume and her natural aroma permeate the cotton. I inhale deeply and sigh.
The scent is addictive, like orange blossoms, or a warm summer day. I inhale deep, wanting more, allowing my eyes to shut as I flash back to the kiss. Riley Murphy knows how to use her mouth, and I”m nearly desperate to find out what else she”s good at.
Fuck, I”m still hard.
Hoping to distract myself, I pour myself a Scotch and take a sip. It”s still thundering outside, but not raining yet—although, it could at any second. I can smell the storm coming, feel the electricity in the air.
Neither the drink nor the weather do anything to quell the inferno inside my body, and I set the glass on the bar while taking a precise breath into my lungs. It”s time to have a nighttime discussion with my houseguest, and I need to inform her how much I want her.
Sometimes being open and honest about these things is the best way to clear up tension with a woman. I”ve tried it before and it always works. Usually a simple, ”I want fuck you right now” whispered in a woman”s ear does the trick.
With Riley, it might only take a glance, our sexual tension is so off the charts.
I stalk back to that wing of the house and arrive at her door. The hallway is dark and cool. I don”t bother turning on a light, but there”s some illumination from the far end of the hall. Raising my fist to knock, I pause when I hear a feminine moan.
Softly, I press my ear to the door and am treated to the faint sounds of breathy gasps. My lips part, shocked at what I”m hearing.
It seems that Riley is pleasuring herself. I lick my lips, as if I”m about to enjoy a juicy steak. But what to do? Should I interrupt her?
Another moan wafts through the door, and my cock throbs. I press my palm to my crotch and allow my eyes to shut.
”Gabriel...”
Oh, fuck. She”s moaning my name. As much as I want to break down the door and ravage her, I”m going to enjoy this sublime, erotic moment here in my dark hallway. At least I think I am. I listen to another few seconds of throaty moans.
I unbuckle my belt, undo my pants and shove my hand down my boxer briefs. I can”t help myself. She”s affected me that much.
I”m harder than I”ve been in years, and I strain to hear her voice again. I imagine Riley on the bed in the dark, her blonde hair bathed in the moonlight, her pink lips parted in ecstasy. Her fingers are deep in her soaked pussy, or maybe they”re strumming her clit. Her eyes are likely shut, her mouth an open, sensual O.
She gasps my name and cries out, loud, and then stops herself. As if she”s self-conscious of being too vocal. If only she knew how I could make her scream.
A satisfied sigh tells me that she just orgasmed, and I stroke my cock, thinking of how wet she still is. How ready she”d be for me. Should I go in there now?
No. We can wait.
Tomorrow. That”s when I”ll sink myself balls deep inside her, and enjoy her curvy body for hours. I”ll fuck her every way I want. I”ll use my fingers to coax the first orgasm out of her, then my tongue to soothe the ache. Then I”ll fuck her, slow and steady. On top, from behind, with her legs on my shoulders, with her tied to my bed and unable to move. Any way I want, she will be mine.
I”ll please her like no one ever has, and I don”t give a damn about her newspaper article or her Irish mafia past.
It only takes a few minutes of these filthy fantasies and some forceful strokes of my cock until I spurt all over myself. I tilt my head back and bite my bottom lip hard, so I don”t make a sound.
I might be depraved enough to jack off outside Riley”s bedroom door, but I don”t want her to know about it.