Chapter 2 Gabe
GABE
A cool breeze wafts between us, carrying the faint tang of charcoal from the dying grill and the distant murmur of the party bleeding through the screen door like echoes from a battlefield long buried.
Lena freezes mid-step, her body turning back to me with that slow grace that hits me square in the gut.
She looks so poised, but not without that flicker of vulnerability in her eyes, the kind that makes a man want to shield and conquer in equal measure.
I've seen it before, in recruits fresh from the sandbox, eyes wide with the weight of what they've carried.
But on her?
It's intoxicating, pulling at the disciplined core I've forged through twenty years of orders and ops.
Christ, look at her, I think, my gaze tracing the curve of her hip where the floral dress clings just enough to hint at the woman she's become.
She’s no longer the gangly girl from those old photos, all elbows and braids.
This Lena has filled out into something lethal—full tits straining against the thin fabric, rising with each shallow breath, begging for hands that know how to claim without breaking.
And that ass, round and firm, swaying as she pivots, like it's engineered for a man's grip, for bending her over this railing and showing her what real command feels like.
She's soft in all the ways that hit a man where it hurts, and she has no idea what that body does to a man like me.
No clue how her curves strip the years off my control, how they make me picture things I shouldn't picture on a night like this, on a porch like this, with her looking back at me like she wants answers she's scared to hear.
I lean against the post, arms crossing over my chest to keep my hands from reaching out too soon—control first, always control, the ex-Ranger in me drilling it into every nerve.
But my mind?
That's a different theater, dark and unyielding, plotting maneuvers on her body like a night raid. Those soulful eyes, deep brown pools that could drown a lesser man, but not me.
I'd dive in, make her see stars while I bury myself deep, her legs wrapped around my waist, pussy clenching around my cock like a vise.
The thought hardens me instantly, a thick pulse in my jeans that I ignore with practiced restraint, though the ache is fierce, demanding. She's fresh off a breakup.
I can smell the raw edge on her like gunpowder residue—some punk who didn't know how to handle a woman like this left her doubting her fire.
Fool. I'd worship that fire, spread her wide on my bed, tongue her clit until she's soaking my face, begging 'sir' in that breathy whimper, then flip her and fuck her ass slow and deep, marking her as mine, no mercy, no retreat.
"If you want company out here," I say, my voice low and steady, the commander's timbre cutting through—direct, no bullshit, leaving no room for evasion.
I step closer, not crowding her space but invading it just enough to let her feel the heat rolling off me.
My frame towers as I uncross my arms, one hand extending to brush her elbow lightly, guiding her back toward the railing without a word.
She doesn't pull away. Good. That's the first sign of surrender. "I can stay."
Her lips part, a soft inhale that draws my eyes to the swell of her breasts, the way the porch light catches the faint sheen of sweat on her collarbone.
I hold her gaze, stormy gray locking onto those soulful depths, reading the flicker of want beneath the hesitation.
A barrage of unwarranted thoughts hit me.
What would it be like to unravel her, piece by piece—strip that dress off, pin her wrists above her head with one hand while the other fists in her hair, pulling just enough to expose her throat for my teeth?
The image floods me, dark and possessive, semi-shadowed like the ops where lines blurred between ally and asset—her body my territory now to secure, to dominate, no prisoners.
She shifts, her dress whispering against her legs, and I catch the subtle press of her thighs together. "Company?" she echoes, voice a husky thread that sends another jolt straight to my cock, straining against the denim.
Her eyes dart to mine, then away, cheeks flushing. She's vulnerable but fighting it, like a recruit testing the chain of command.
I close the gap another inch, my hand sliding from her elbow to the small of her back, fingers splaying wide in a hold that's protective on the surface, pulling her subtly against me so she feels the solid wall of my chest, the restrained power coiled there.
"Yes," I murmur, my breath stirring the hair at her temple, lips close enough to graze if I tilt my head. "You shouldn't be alone tonight." My thumb traces a slow circle at her spine, pressing just enough to arch her into me, feeling the heat of her body yield.
She doesn't move away. Instead, her hand lifts, fingers brushing my arm—tentative, but there, a green light in the dark.
The night stretches, crickets humming like distant rotors, the party's drone a world away as I tilt her chin up with my free hand, thumb grazing her lower lip—soft, plump, made for sin.
"Tell me what you need," I say, voice dropping to that gravel-edged order, eyes boring into hers with the intensity of a debriefing that leaves no secrets. "Because standing this close, feeling you tremble like this… it's taking every ounce of discipline not to show you right now."
My words make her glance up and those soulful eyes meet mine for a beat before flicking away as a flush creeps along her neck.
"Okay," she says. Her gaze drops, locking onto my mouth with an intensity that mirrors the hunger churning in me, her full lips parting slightly as if tasting the air between us.
I take control then and kiss her like a man who's waited too long for what's his, no boy fumbling in the dark.
My free hand bands around her waist to haul her tight against me and my fingers dig into the soft give of her ass through the dress as I angle her head back further.
I claim her mouth with a possessive sweep of my tongue that demands everything she has.
She's fire in my arms, that pussy grinding against my thigh now, wet heat seeping through her dress and soaking into my jeans, her clit rubbing desperate circles as she moans—"Ahh, Gabe"—the sound muffled against my lips, her body trembling with the force of it.
I growl low into the kiss, nipping her lip in return before soothing it with a slow suck, my body pinning hers to the railing's edge, every inch of her yielding under my weight, tits heaving as she moans into me again, "Mmm."
The vibration shoots straight to my balls, tightening them with the raw need to rip that dress off, spread her legs wide, and plunge my thick cock into her, stretching her until she's clenching around me, screaming for more.
She pulls back first, just enough to break the seal, her chest heaving as she stares up at me with wide eyes, the flush now a deep crimson across her cheeks and down her throat.
Her fingers are still twisted in my shirt like she's afraid to let go.
I've spent most of my life keeping things contained. Want stays managed. Need stays quiet.
Duty makes that easy, or it did until her.
She's standing there flushed and unsure, still gripping my shirt like she hasn't decided whether to run or lean back in, and something in me loosens.
I know that look.
I've seen it on others and felt nothing.
On her, it lands differently. It pulls.
It makes me want to close the distance again, slowly this time, just to see if she keeps holding on. I let myself feel the heat, the pull, the way she gets under my skin without trying, and it's enough to make me forget every rule that ever worked before.
The nervousness hits her fast, a subtle tremble in her frame, her gaze darting to the side as she bites her lip.
I read it instantly. Consent isn't just a word. It's the line that keeps the mission clean, and she's signaling retreat without a word.
My hand slides from her neck to her shoulder, thumb brushing a soothing circle there, light and grounding, pulling back to give her space without fully releasing the connection.
Easy, soldier. Don't push when she's reeling.
Build the trust first, let her come back on her terms.
The ache in my groin pulses, demanding more, but I lock it down, jaw tightening as I meet her eyes. "Hey," I murmur, the command softened to reassurance. "That was intense, but we don't have to rush. Let's talk about other stuff, pull you back from the edge a bit."
She exhales and steps back half a pace, but staying close enough that the heat lingers between us like smoke after a blast. "Yeah.
Other stuff sounds good." I nod, giving us both a moment to cool off.
She leans her hip against the railing and gives me this half-smirk like she's trying to keep her cool but hasn't quite figured out how.
"You always sneak up on people like this," she asks with a lopsided smile, "or am I special? "
I arch an eyebrow. "If I wanted to sneak up on you, you wouldn't have noticed."
She rolls her eyes, but she's still smiling. "God, that sounds exactly like something my dad's friends used to say."
"I am one of your dad's friends."
She inhales a quick breath. "That's the worst part."
I laugh quietly, and it comes out as a rumble. "You didn't seem too bothered inside."
She narrows her gaze at me. "Inside, you were being… nice."
I lean an inch closer. "And out here?"
Her throat works. Good. She feels this, even if she's trying not to. "Out here?" She pauses, testing the question. "You're… different."
I tilt my head. "Different how?"
She lets her eyes run over me before she catches herself. "You're very… sure of yourself."
"That bother you?" I pick up my bottle and take a long sip.
"No," she says instantly, then winces. "I mean, yes. I mean—oh, my God, I sound like an idiot."
"You don't." I chuckle and take a sip from my beer bottle. "You sound honest."
She laughs under her breath. "Careful. You give me too much credit. I might get ideas."
"Maybe I want you to." Her cheeks flush, and she looks away as if that will save her. It doesn't. I follow her gaze, watch it drift down the yard, then back to me again like she can't help it.
"What about you?" she asks, tapping her bottle lightly against mine. "You interrogate all women who escape your dad-friend beer parties?"
"Only a couple of special ones," I joke, "who are too good at pretending they're fine."
She stiffens a little. "I'm not pretending."
"Yes, you are."
She sets her bottle down on the railing and faces me fully, chin lifting with a spark I like far too much. "And what does a guy like you think I'm pretending about?"
"A guy like me," I repeat. "You think you have me figured out."
She shrugs one shoulder. "Tall, older, quiet, bossy. Ex-military. You scream, ‘I give orders in my sleep.’"
She's not wrong, but I smile anyway. "And that's a problem?"
"Depends," she says, stepping a little closer without realizing she did. "Some women don't like being told what to do."
I cock a brow at her, and she huffs. "I didn't say I was one of them."
Christ.
I let the silence stretch, warm and charged. Her body leans forward just enough for me to feel the heat off her skin. It's subtle, but it hits like a hit of adrenaline.
"You're so sure I'm pretending," she says suddenly, searching my face. "But you look like you've got some secrets."
I shrug nonchalantly. "I do."
She laughs. "You're not gonna share any, are you?"
"Not unless you ask nicely."
Her lips part. She's caught between laughing and swearing at me, and the mix is intoxicating. "I don't beg," she finally replies.
"I didn't say beg," I say, though my mind pictures her begging in a very different scenario. "I said ask."
She shifts on her feet, her confidence flickering and returning all at once. "Fine. Tell me one."
I take my time and step closer, close enough that her breath brushes my jaw and that I hear her heart kick harder in her chest. "One secret," I say. "I noticed you the second you stepped into that room."
Her lips part again and she shivers. "Gabe…"
"I noticed the way your dress fits." My voice drops, and my voice is warm on the shell of her ear. "I noticed the way you smelled when I hugged you. I noticed the way you stopped breathing when I looked at you."
She swallows. "That's… a lot of noticing."
"You asked."
She curls her fingers around the railing, gripping it like she needs something to hold on to. "It's still a lot."
"I'm a lot," I say quietly. "You're handling it fine."
Her eyes flick down to my mouth before she can stop herself. That's it. I lean closer, not touching her, just close enough to let her feel the promise of it. "You really want me to keep my distance," I ask, "or is that just something you think you're supposed to say?"