Chapter 32 GABE
GABE
The week after our run by the lake feels easy. Well, not easy, exactly. I don’t think that’s a word I’ll ever be able to use for my mind, but easier. The darkness that usually lurks in the edges of my thoughts feels… quieter. Like someone’s turned down the volume on it.
I haven’t had a nightmare since the night Noah held me while I told him I couldn’t always be happy. Somehow, saying it out loud freed a part of me. I don’t have to keep fighting so hard to seem fine all the time. I have someone who knows me, who understands my past, and isn’t afraid of it.
I still feel sick every time I think about the text from Kyle, but I push it out of my mind before it can latch on. I blocked him, so I don’t know if he messaged again, but I won’t let him claw his way back into my head, not when I’m starting to feel human again.
Every night this week, Noah and I end up in my bed together. He walks me to my door, not wanting but willing to go our separate ways, but every night I take his hand and bring him to my room.
Sometimes we just talk, watch a movie, or I read to him. Sometimes we kiss until I’m lightheaded. We don’t take things further than we have—but we touch more. Kiss more. Fall asleep tangled together.
And every morning I wake up with his arm thrown over my waist, and I just… lie there. Soaking it in. It’s addictive, being wanted as I am.
Noah had a late class at the gym, which means we’ve not seen each other since this morning.
How much I miss him feels more intense than I’d like to admit.
I’ve spent hours thinking about him, and I’ve written pages and pages in my journal on how his touch feels.
How it makes me feel. There’s something so indulgent about the way Noah touches me; his focus is entirely mine in those moments.
He wants to make me feel nothing but good things.
I’m already in bed when I hear his key in the front door, my heart skipping just at the sound of it.
I place my journal and pen on the bedside table.
When he steps into the room, he looks gorgeous as always, hair damp from showering at the gym.
His smile is tired but has a satisfied edge to it.
He’s an excellent business owner and takes real pride in Anchor Strength.
As he should. He’s put so much work into it.
“Hey, baby,” he says, voice warm and a little rough around the edges.
“Hi, Blue.”
His face lights up at that, like it always does.
It fills me with pride that I can make him happy with something so small.
He tosses his hoodie and sweatpants into the hamper and climbs into bed in his briefs.
After a few nights of him sleeping in sweats and a hoodie, waking up sweaty, I told him to leave them off.
I don’t feel nervous about sharing a bed in our underwear.
Well, sometimes I do, but it’s a different kind of nervous. The excited kind.
The mattress dips under his weight. I can’t stop looking at him—the muscled planes of his chest, the line of his throat, the fact that he’s here, that I can touch him if I want.
He settles on his side, head propped on one hand. “Long day,” he says with a little sigh. “Aiden’s had to take a few days off with Rose while Lucy’s away, so it’s been me and Jules or Zeke covering everything. We’re keeping up, but damn.”
“You’re doing great,” I tell him. “I actually video called with Aiden and Rose before her bedtime. She said goodnight to me and then drooled on the camera.”
That pulls a laugh from him, his tired expression easing. “She’s the cutest.”
“She is,” I agree, warmth spreading through my chest. “I think she misses you. Aiden said she keeps pointing at your picture on the fridge.”
He grins, and my heart does a silly flip.
“We should take her sometime, give Aiden a break. Maybe a day out,” he says cautiously, though I see the excited hope in his eyes.
“I’d love that,” I tell him honestly. I love seeing them together; he’s so sweet and playful with her.
He’d make a great dad. That thought lingers, dangerous in how easily it finds its way to my core.
For a split second, I can see it so clearly, him on the floor with a child, that bright laugh of his filling the room with easy joy.
It hits somewhere I don’t let myself go often.
Because wanting that, wanting him like that, feels like wishing for something I’m not sure I get to have.
I blink the image away before it roots too deeply, reminding myself he’ll see it one day, how much work I really am, and this version of us will fade like a daydream. But for now, he’s mine.
I clear my throat. “I think I’m finally happy with the website layout for the store. I’m going to start getting stock prepped for upload soon.”
Noah’s brows lift, and the look of pride is obvious in his expression. “That’s amazing, Gabe. Seriously. You’ve been working your ass off on that.”
Heat creeps up the back of my neck, but it’s not the bad kind. It feels good to be seen by him. Having his steadfast encouragement.
“Thanks, I know it’s not a big deal…” I say quietly.
He reaches out, brushing his knuckles along my arm. “Hey, it is. Lots of people don’t bother or can’t do it themselves. You’ve put the work in. I’m really proud of you.”
I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to how good it feels to hear that from him.
Noah’s hand lingers a moment longer before he shifts closer, his blue eyes softer now, his voice dropping seductively low. “You tired?”
“Not yet,” I manage, trying to keep a chuckle from coming. He’s so obvious, and I love that. I love knowing what to expect from him.
His mouth curves into a slow, lazy smile. “Can I kiss you?”
Even though I knew it was coming, I laugh. He asks most nights, like every moment is a choice. He always gives me that, a way to say yes or no. Either with a question or his actions. I wiggle closer, pressing a kiss to his jaw. He hums, turning his head to capture my mouth.
I move until we’re chest-to-chest, until I can feel the warmth radiating off him. His tongue slides against mine until I’m breathless. He groans into my mouth when I thread my fingers through his hair, holding him there.
When I slide my hand down his chest, over the ridges of his stomach, his muscles twitch under my palm. I keep going, following the dips and ridges of his sculpted form, the trail of hair leading to the waistband of his briefs until I can feel him, hot and hard, against my hand through the fabric.
Noah’s breath shudders. “Gabe—”
I squeeze, then stroke him once through the thin material, and his head tips back, a carnal sound tearing from his chest.
I lean closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “I want to taste you.”
The words feel foreign in my mouth—awkward, almost embarrassing.
I’m not used to voicing what I want. But being with Noah is unfurling something in me.
Every kiss, every soft, filthy word, every careful touch tells me I can trust him.
That I can trust my body with him. I know—in my heart, in my bones—he will never push me somewhere I don’t want to go.
Noah makes a sound that’s half groan, half desperation, his hips jerking up into my hand like he can’t help himself.
The reaction pulls something fierce through me.
Power, maybe—but not the sharp kind I used to fear.
This is light, a high that makes my chest ache with something I can only call healing.
“You sure?” Noah’s voice is hoarse.
“Yes,” I whisper. My voice trembles, but the certainty in it feels brand new.
Something dark and hungry flashes in his eyes, but he stays perfectly still, letting me decide.
I sit up, straddling his legs, my hands sliding down his pecs, his stomach, tracing defined muscle until I reach the waistband of his briefs. He’s so hard, straining against the fabric, and my mouth waters at the sight.
Instead of tugging them down right away, I lean in, pressing my mouth to his chest. I kiss him there until I reach one of his nipples. I take it into my mouth and suck gently, and the sound Noah makes is filthy—a deep groan that shoots straight to my cock.
“Fuck, Gabe,” he rasps, hands fisting in the sheets.
I do it again, slower this time, tongue flicking against the stiffened bud before I let go and move to the other one.
He arches under me, muttering more curses.
I keep going, kissing down his abs one by one, following the trail of golden hair that leads lower.
His stomach tenses with every press of my mouth.
When I reach the waistband of his briefs, I nuzzle him there, feeling the shape of him against my cheek through the fabric. He makes a sound like he’s coming apart—a harsh, guttural groan—and I swear I’ve never heard anything so good in my life.
“Fuck, baby, you’re driving me wild,” he grits out.
I hook my fingers into the waistband and tug them down. I watch as his cock springs free. My mouth goes dry, my pulse hammering. He’s perfect. Thick and flushed, already leaking.
Noah’s hands look like they’re gripping the sheets for dear life. His cheeks are pink, his hair a wild tangle of gold, pupils blown wide, and he looks ruined already, just from me looking at him like this.
I settle between his thighs, my hands firm on them, and lean in until my breath ghosts over him.
The first brush of my lips against the head of his cock makes him tremble.
I lick him slowly from base to tip, taking my time, savoring the taste of him, the faint tang of salt on my tongue.
The moment I take him into my mouth, his hips twitch, and he groans, making heat flood my whole body.
I’m making him feel this way. Me.
“That’s it,” he pants, eyes trained on me. “Fuck, Gabe, you look so pretty with my cock in your mouth.”