Chapter 3 Lena
LENA
My throat goes dry. My brain short-circuits. Every rational part of me screams yes, yes, keep your distance, this is my dad's friend, this is insane—but my body has other ideas.
My body is still humming from that kiss, from the way he took control like he had every right to, like no boy ever had.
My thighs are pressed together so tight it hurts, and I can feel the wetness there, the evidence of how much I don't want him to keep his distance at all.
I open my mouth to answer and nothing comes out. Just a shaky exhale that makes his eyes darken.
Before I can find my voice, the screen door bangs open again. We both jerk apart like we've been caught doing exactly what we were doing. My dad stumbles out, cheeks red from too much whiskey, a sloppy grin on his face.
"Gabe! Lena! Perfect timing." He leans against the doorframe, swaying slightly. "Me and the boys are heading to O'Malley's for late-night burgers. You two wanna come?"
My stomach drops. O'Malley's. The diner. The one that's open until 2 AM where all dad's friends go to keep drinking after parties. If we go, this moment is over.
If we go, I have to sit across from Gabe in a bright, greasy booth and pretend I'm not thinking about his hands on my ass, his tongue in my mouth, the way he growled when I moaned.
Gabe's eyes never leave my face. "I'm good for now, Carter. Might join you later."
"Yeah," I manage, my voice sounding strangled. "I think I'm gonna call it a night. Early morning."
Dad shrugs, already halfway back inside. "Suit yourselves. Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" He winks—winks—and my face burns so hot I could probably light a match off it.
He's always talked like this, as if I'm invisible unless he's using me for a punchline. He doesn't think I could turn a man's head if I tried.
The door slams shut. We hear him yelling to his friends inside, the shuffle of bodies, car keys jangling.
Then the front door opens and closes, engines start, and the house goes quiet.
Not just quiet.
Empty.
They're gone. It's just us.
Gabe turns back to me, and the look in his eyes makes my knees weak. "So," he says, drawing the word out. "You were about to answer my question."
I swallow hard. "I don't… I don't know what I want."
"Liar." He says it softly, almost fondly, stepping closer until we're chest to chest again. "You know exactly what you want. You're just scared to say it."
His hand comes up, fingers tracing along my jaw, and I lean into the touch without meaning to. It's like my body has decided to mutiny against my brain.
"Tell me, Lena." His thumb brushes over my bottom lip, and I shiver. "Do you want me to keep my distance?"
I shake my head. Barely a movement, but he sees it. His eyes flare with satisfaction.
"Say it," he commands, and something in me melts at that tone. That voice that expects to be obeyed. "Use your words."
"No," I whisper. "I don't want you to keep your distance."
"Good girl." The praise shouldn't make me feel like this—warm and liquid and desperate for more—but it does. It really fucking does.
He takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine, and pulls me off the porch into the yard. I stumble after him, my heart hammering. "Where are we—"
"Somewhere more private." He leads me around the side of the house, to the old garden shed Dad never uses anymore.
It's tucked back behind the oak trees, hidden from the street, from the house, from everything.
The porch light doesn't reach here.
It's just moonlight and shadows and the sound of our breathing.
He pushes me gently against the rough wood of the shed wall, and the bite of it against my back is a shock that makes me gasp.
Then his mouth is on mine again, and I forget everything else.
This kiss is different. There's no hesitation now, no slow build. It's immediate and consuming, his tongue sweeping in to claim every inch of my mouth.
His hands are in my hair, tilting my head exactly how he wants it, holding me still while he devours me.
I whimper into his mouth, and he swallows the sound like it belongs with him.
One hand slides down, gripping my hip, then lower, squeezing my ass hard enough that I rise onto my toes.
The other stays tangled in my hair, keeping me pinned. I can't move unless he lets me.
I can't breathe unless he gives me air. And I love it. God help me, I love it.
"These hands," he murmurs against my lips, then pulls back just enough to look at me. "You were watching them earlier, wondering what they'd feel like."
He brings his hand up between us, slowly, letting me see every scar, every callus. He traces it down my throat, over my collarbone, and I shiver.
Then he moves lower, over the swell of my breast, his thumb brushing across my nipple through the thin fabric of my dress. I gasp, arching into the touch. "Answer me," he says roughly. "Did you wonder?"
"Yes," I breathe. "Yes, I wondered."
His smile is sharp and satisfied. He pinches my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, just enough pressure to make me cry out, then soothes it with a slow rub. "Wonder no more."
His mouth drops to my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there, and I melt.
My hands are on his shoulders, clinging for dear life as he kisses and bites his way down to my collarbone, sucking hard enough that I know he'll leave a mark. I should care.
I don't.
I want him to mark me. I want proof that this happened, that a man like him wanted me enough to claim me. "Gabe," I whisper, and he growls against my skin.
"That's right. Say my name." His hand slides down my side, over my hip, then between us, pressing against the damp fabric between my thighs. "You're soaked. Fucking drenched for me."
I whimper, embarrassed and turned on beyond belief. He rubs me through the dress, slow and firm, his fingers finding my clit with unerring accuracy. My knees buckle, but he holds me up, his body pinning me to the wall. "Please," I gasp, not even sure what I'm begging for.
"Please what?" He lifts his head, eyes dark and demanding. "Tell me what you need, Lena."
"I don't… I can't—"
"Yes, you can." He presses harder, the friction making my vision blur. "Tell me."
"More," I finally choke out. "I need more."
He stills his hand, and I want to scream. "More what? More of this?" He rubs again, just once, a tease. "Or more of me?"
"Both. Everything." The words spill out, honest and raw. "I want everything."
His smile is wolfish. "That's my girl."
He drops to his knees in front of me, and my brain shorts out completely.
His hands slide up my thighs, pushing my dress up, up, until it's bunched around my waist.
My panties are soaked through, and he makes a low sound of approval as he presses his face against the fabric, breathing me in. "Fuck, you smell good." He hooks his fingers in the waistband and pulls them down.
I step out of them on autopilot, my hands braced against the shed wall. Then his mouth is on me, and I see stars.
His tongue is hot and demanding, lapping at me like he's starving for it.
He doesn't tease or build up slow.
He dives in, sucking my clit into his mouth, his hands gripping my ass to hold me still while he devours me.
I cry out, the sound muffled by my own hand clamping over my mouth. He doesn't stop.
He feasts on me, his tongue fucking into me, then circling my clit, then back again, building into a frenzied rhythm that has my thighs shaking.
"Gabe, I'm— I'm gonna—"
He pulls back just enough to growl, "Not yet."
I whimper and shake as he stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and that sight alone almost makes me come. He kisses me again, and I taste myself on his tongue.
His hand goes back between my legs, two fingers sliding into me without warning.
I gasp into his mouth, my body clenching around the intrusion. He pumps them slow and deep, curling them just right, his thumb pressing against my clit. "You're so tight," he murmurs against my lips. "So fucking tight."
Another moan spills out as his words send a fresh wave of heat through me.
His fingers move faster, his thumb circling, and I'm so close, teetering on the edge. "Ask permission," he commands, voice rough. "Ask me if you can come."
The words should piss me off. From Brandon, they would, though he'd never have the balls to be half the man Gabe is and make it sound the way Gabe does. Gabe says it in a way that makes me hotter. "Please," I gasp. "Please, can I—"
"Come for me." He bites my earlobe. "Now."
I shatter. The orgasm rips through me, hard and fast, my body convulsing around his fingers, my cry muffled against his shoulder.
He holds me through it, murmuring filthy praise in my ear—"That's it, good girl, fuck, you're beautiful when you come"—until I'm limp and trembling in his arms. He slowly withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean while I watch, dazed.
Then he adjusts my dress, smoothing it down over my thighs like he's taking care of what's his.
I lean against the shed wall, legs like jelly, trying to catch my breath. He steps close again, bracketing me in with his arms, his body a solid wall of heat and muscle. "One question," he murmurs silkily. "Do you want to come home with me?"