Chapter 7 #2
His fingers pause when they encounter the first scar, a thin line among dozens mapping my inner thighs. He stills for only a heartbeat before he continues without comment.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my boxers and pulls them down in one smooth motion, freeing my erection.
As he leans forward, he peeks up at me through his lashes, and the overhead light casts shadows across his features, transforming the club flirt into someone darker, hungrier, more dangerous than I anticipated.
And despite all my boundaries and rules and walls, I want him, and it terrifies me.
His breath caresses my sensitive skin, and my heart hammers. His hands settle on my hips, thumbs tracing small circles, careful to avoid the constellation of scars while maintaining contact.
The first touch of his mouth sends a bolt of pleasure through me so acute it borders on pain. My head falls back to rest on the couch as wet heat envelops me, his tongue working patterns, short-circuiting my brain.
One hand slides up my stomach under my shirt, palm flat over my abdomen, gauging my reaction in each flex of muscle as waves of sensation course through me. His other hand wraps around the base of my shaft, working in rhythm with his mouth.
My fingers dig into the couch cushions, fighting the urge to thread through his hair, to control the pace or direct his movements. Control feels essential now, when everything else threatens to spin away from me.
Gabriel takes me deeper, and a groan tears from my throat. My thighs tense as he pushes them wider, the position coming dangerously close to triggering me. But I need this. I crave the release to be found in his mouth.
His technique is flawless, varying pressure and speed with an intuitive understanding of what draws the strongest reactions from me. It’s the best head I’ve ever received, and the realization sends a spike of panic through my chest, mingling with the building pressure at the base of my spine.
My breathing turns ragged as he brings me closer to the edge. Sweat beads along my hairline, and the room seems to shrink around us, the walls closing in as pleasure builds to unbearable levels.
The pressure coils tighter, heat spreading through my limbs as Gabriel increases his pace. His hand slides from my stomach to my chest, palm flat over my racing heart, and the intimacy snaps my control.
Release hits me hard, white-hot and overwhelming. My vision blurs at the edges, and for a moment, I’m not in my apartment with Gabriel, but back on that concrete floor, a different hand on my chest, pinning me down.
Tell me what you like.
Panic floods my system, drowning out pleasure as quickly as it came. I jerk upright, pushing Gabriel back with more force than necessary.
He rocks back on his heels, confusion replacing his satisfaction. “Saint?”
My name sounds distantly through the roaring in my ears. I leap to my feet, yanking my boxers and jeans up with trembling hands. The zipper catches, and I curse, fingers too unsteady to manage the simple task. Shame burns hot in my face, not from what we did, but from how I lost control.
“I’m going to bed.” The words come out rougher than intended, panic riding me hard.
Gabriel rises slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing.” The honesty of the answer surprises me. He did everything right, and that’s the problem. “I’m tired.”
He studies me long enough that I know he sees through my deflection. “Can I join you?”
The question hangs in the air between us, weighted with implications beyond the physical. Sharing a bed means sleeping beside someone, trusting them with my unconscious body, and exposing the nightmares that wake me most nights.
“You can sleep on the couch or leave.” I turn away, putting my back to him. “Your choice.”
I don’t wait for his response, striding to my bedroom and closing the door behind me. The lock engages with a satisfying click, a barrier between me and the fallout of my rejection.
My back slides down the door until I hit the floor, knees drawing up to my chest as my breathing comes in shallow gasps. My body still hums with residual pleasure, but my mind recoils from it.
The ghost of Gabriel’s touch lingers on my skin, his pheromones clinging to my clothes. I dig the heels of my palms into my eye sockets, pushing back the sting of tears.
This is why I don’t let people get close. This is why I keep my walls high and my boundaries clear. When defenses drop, even for a moment, the past comes rushing back in a flood, ready to drown me.
No sound comes from the other side of the door. No footsteps heading for the exit. No creaking of the couch as Gabriel settles in for the night.
Only the quiet of someone waiting.
I reach for the leather case in my nightstand drawer, fingers closing around its familiar shape. Inside awaits a release I can manage rather than relying on someone else.
The case remains unopened in my palm as Gabriel’s words echo in my head.
“Get used to me, because I’m not going anywhere.”
My fingers tighten around the leather, but for reasons I can’t explain even to myself, I return the case to the drawer without opening it.