17. Gabe
CHAPTER 17
GABE
W hen Carly took John and Ruth under her wing for their wedding meeting, I took off and went home. I’m happy for my friends, but weddings are something I have very little interest in.
It’s funny seeing them engaged, though. They always used to have a huge thing for each other at school, a kind of will-they-won’t-they situation. Neither one of them ever wanted to do anything about it in case it ruined their friendship.
I told them both a hundred times that it wouldn’t, but would they listen to me? Of course not. Sure, I believe that friendship is important — any good relationship is built on the kind of trust that friendship brings. But for these two, it’s been fated since we were like sixteen.
When I got back from military service, the very first thing they told me was that they finally decided to start seeing each other, and to my absolute nonsurprise, they were head over heels. I suppose marriage is just the next step, and I will be happy for them eventually.
I guess it stings to know that they’re moving on with their life without me.
But whatever. I’ve been back for years now, and I haven’t needed them. I’m not about to start needing anyone now.
To take my mind off everything, I decide to make dinner for Carly and me. It feels completely against my better judgment to let her stay here. But there’s something about her that is cracking me open, exposing me. All these years, I’ve been a shell, waiting to be a human again or believing that I don’t need to be.
I’ve been fine on my own. But Carly…
I don’t know. It’s like she’s shining a light on the dark places in my soul and not flinching away. I don’t understand how she’s doing it.
When she comes in, I’m finishing washing up.
“What’s that smell?” she asks, practically skipping into the kitchen. She has a huge grin on her face, and yet again, I’m drawn to her smile.
She shrugs off her coat, and I try my hardest not to notice the way her T-shirt clings to her body, the way it leaves me no doubt about the way her hips curve and the ampleness of her bust. I’m just glad she isn’t wearing something with cleavage.
I feel bad to admit it, but I would look. How could I not?
She flings her long hair over her shoulder and skips over to me. “You’ve cooked?”
“Bolognese,” I say. “It was nothing, really.”
“You didn’t have to,” she says, a broken record. “I don’t mind if you don’t want to look after me.”
“I’ve started now,” I say gruffly. “Why would I stop?” It’s too much like a truth, so before she can say anything, I say, “It’s ready. Go to the living room. I’ll bring it through.”
Her lips waver. Her plush, pink lips. She must use some sort of gloss or lipstick because they shine, catching the light, drawing me in towards them. My heart thumps in my chest, and I turn away to put all my attention back to the food on the stove.
This is so inappropriate. I’ve invited her into my home. The last thing she wants is for me to be a creep.
Without a word, she obeys, and I plate up dinner. I bring it through with a bottle of wine and show it to her. “A glass, madam?”
“Please. That would be great.”
As I pour the drinks out, I ask, “How were Ruth and John?”
“Totally uncomplicated,” she says.
I sit beside her, leaving less of a gap than perhaps I should. From here I can smell her perfume, lavender and citrus. I stare down into my bowl so I can stop my thoughts from running away with me.
“This is going to be the easiest wedding I’ve planned in years. I’m so excited for them. They do have a vision, really. It just takes an expert to draw it out of people.”
“They’re good people,” I tell her. “I’ve known them forever.”
“They said you were always trying to get them together.”
I should have known that those two would tell Carly all about me. I shouldn’t have left her alone with them.
“I was, a little,” I admit. “But I never convinced them. And then I left for the Air Force. I only came back when… well, it was a few years ago. This isn’t interesting. Tell me more about the wedding.”
“So, you do care?” she teases.
I grunt. If she’s going to start talking like this, I’m going to have to change the subject again. “How’s the food?” With this question, I do turn to look at her because I want her honest reaction.
“It’s fabulous,” she says, and as she turns to look at me, I feel myself lost under her blue-eyed gaze.
The power of her look makes me feel like I’m being searched and found wanting, or perhaps like I’m being searched and wanted. It’s hard to tell between my own confused feelings and what she’s actually projecting to me. We’re so close now, leaning in, almost like some sort of magnet is working between us.
Surely, it’s too soon to be attracted to her for real.
Besides, I haven’t exactly made it easy for her to be attracted to me. There’s not a whole lot of me to be attracted to, emotionally anyway, and physically, there’s more of me than I would like.
“Super tasty.” Her voice is so soft that I have to lean more to hear what she’s saying, and I can almost feel her breath on my face. I let my eyes dart down to her lips, and they’re so inviting, so wanting, that I lean in a little further, and when she doesn’t pull back, an impulse overcomes me, and I press my lips to hers.
She stiffens completely at the kiss, and I draw straight back, putting a space between us. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t know what came over me. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Gabe,” she says quietly, interrupting me. “Don’t apologize.”
“No, I should. I didn’t mean to overstep a boundary.”
“Stop,” she says more firmly, freezing me in place. “Stop and do that again.”
As if she just commanded it to, my heart seems to stop in its tracks, but I don’t question her. Instead, I put my bowl on the floor, slide back across the sofa, and as soon as she’s put her bowl down too, I sweep her into my arms, pulling her closer, her breasts pushing against my chest.
When our lips collide this time, fireworks explode inside my rib cage. It’s been a long while since I’ve been with a woman, and even longer since I would go as far as to say I liked one.
But with Carly, something feels different. Something feels like it’s clicking. Something about her sweet lips feels so good against mine.
Her hand slides around my back, tracing my shoulder blades, and I let my own hand slide a little further down, suddenly desperate to touch her skin, needing her like I’ve not needed anything in a long time. It almost burns to pull away, but I have to, for a second.
“Carly,” I say, my voice cracking. “I want you. I want to take you to bed. I want to taste you.”
She shivers and kisses me again. I don’t want to, but I pull away one more time. I have to make sure that she’s clear about what’s happening here. “This isn’t a relationship,” I say firmly. “I’m not looking for that.”
“Me neither,” she says quickly. “Does that mean we can’t have fun?” She wilts a little, and I can only imagine she’s thinking that I’m a traditional kind of guy, but I shake my head.
“It doesn’t mean that at all. I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I don’t want you to think this is something that it’s not going to be.”
“Stop talking and kiss me again,” she demands, and I can’t do anything but give in.
Her lips are so soft, and her tongue tastes of tomatoes and garlic, and I need to taste more. I need to have her.
I wrap my arms tighter around her waist and encourage her to stand. She barely releases my mouth as she does, her hands shamelessly sliding down to my ass, playing with my belt as if she wants to be let in.
“Steady now,” I growl. “Let’s take this somewhere more comfortable.”
We barely get into my room before she’s pushing me up against the door, her hands making quick work of the buttons of my flannel shirt. She takes a second to stare at my chest, and a flash of self-consciousness hits me.
I’m not the kind of person who’s embarrassed easily by what I look like, but I’m not exactly the slender young model of a man I’m sure she’s used to being with. I’m hairy and thickly built and strong, but she’s looking at me with such greedy eyes that it makes me feel wanted in a way I never have before.
She does my belt and pulls down my pants before I can stop her. She’s met with undisputed proof that I’m aching for her, and she slides down my body, flashing me a smile before her lips wrap around my hard length.
This connection is something I didn’t realize I had been missing. Everything she does with her mouth is so magical that I can’t do anything but grip her shoulders and groan.
She doesn’t stop until I find my release, and when I drag her back up to kiss her, her lips are salty with the taste of me.
Without a word, I rip off her T-shirt and unclasp her bra, at last letting her breasts fall into my hands. Her skin is soft and warm, and when I throw her down onto the bed and kiss her stomach, she giggles, ticklish. Something to take advantage of later, I think. Assuming there will be a later.
Who cares about later, though. Right now, all I want is her.
I settle between her legs, and the noises she makes are like music, like a symphony, like a song I’ve never heard before but fallen in love with enough to loop on repeat, and the salt of her wetness is making me hard all over again. I have to be inside her.
I have to make her mine.
When she comes, it’s with a squeal, her thighs clamping around my head. It’s a moment I could lose myself in forever. A moment I know I’ll never forget.
I guide her through the waves of her climax, then dizzily get up onto my hands and knees and crawl over to my nightstand.
If God is kind, the condoms that live there will not be expired. But before I can get there, she grabs my shoulders and stops me. “Where are you going?”
“Condom,” I say, confused about what she’s confused about.
“I’m on the pill,” she says. “I’m clean. Unless you want to, you don’t need to.”
My heart jumps into my mouth, and a pulse of blood rushes to my hardness. The idea is tantalizing, and she’s giving me permission. I can’t say no to that.
With a growl, I leap on top of her. Slowly, I kiss my way across her face, down her neck, tracing out her body with my mouth like I’m searching for treasure.
But soon the ache gets too much, so I position myself over her and line myself up. “Ready?” I ask. I’m throbbing for her more with every second that passes.
“I need you,” she says, digging her fingers into my shoulder blades. “I need you now. Please, Gabe, I want you so much.”
I don’t need her to say anything other than that.
Hours and hours could have passed, and I wouldn’t have noticed due to the bliss of being inside her, of connecting to her, feeling like we’re one.
When she climaxes again, it’s like I’m seeing heaven, and when she’s finally worn me out, we lie next to each other, stinking of sweat and sex and her lavender perfume.
She rests her head on my chest and lets her fingers dance over my stomach, and I say nothing. There is nothing to say.
After all, this isn’t anything. This is just a good time.
And it is a good time. But in the end, even she is going to leave.