38. Chapter 38
Chapter thirty-eight
Abbie
A bbie
“What do you think that I’m going to do to you, Abbie?”
I don’t focus on the question as much as I do the use of my name: Abbie. The way Gabe chose that name for me. The way he makes sure that I know he’s here with me, focused solely on me. So sure that I’m naked, on my knees, and at Gabe’s feet, but it doesn’t feel the way it might feel with another man. I’ve been naked and exposed with a man before, but it wasn’t like this. I didn’t feel emotionally vulnerable like I do with Gabe. I felt physically vulnerable and physical vulnerability is something you can compartmentalize. It’s something you can control. This man tears down my walls. He makes me smile. He makes me feel alive again in a way I didn’t think was possible.
“Maybe it’s you who should be thinking about what I’m about to do to you,” I suggest, thinking of all the places my mouth could go.
He stands up and takes me with him. “You want your mouth on my cock?” he demands roughly. “Is that what you’re offering?”
“Yes,” I whisper, my sex clenching, the bold way he talks affecting me, arousing me. “That’s exactly what I’m offering you.”
He tangles his fingers into my hair and tilts my head back, his long hard body pressed to mine, his free hand cupping my breast, fingers tweaking my nipple. “As much as I want your mouth on my cock,” he says boldly, “tonight isn’t about me. It’s about you.”
“You assume I’d do that just for you,” I dare.
“Now you’re just trying to make me forget how sweet making you beg is going to be.”
I moan with another roll of my nipple in his fingers. “I don’t beg,” I pant out.
“That’s okay. You don’t have to beg. Not if you moan like you just did.” His hand slides down my waist, over my hips and then he’s stroking his fingers along my sex, his grip tightening on my hair. His woodsy scent is all around me, his mouth a breath from mine when he says, “You’re so damn wet you’re going to make me insane, woman.” His lips slant over my lips, and then his tongue is stroking deep, so very deep, a possessive, intense kiss that I feel everywhere. And his fingers keep stroking my sex, dipping inside me, a tease that is there and gone before I’m suddenly facing the bed and his hands are settling on my hips.
“Don’t move,” he orders. “Stay right there.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I won’t get naked.”
“Oh.”
He laughs, low and sexy. God, I love that laugh. I know he jokes and smiles to cover up some hidden pain, but somehow, his laugh is straight from his soul, the real man that is stripped of pain and a past I don’t yet understand. “ Oh ,” he mimics, nuzzling my neck. “Don’t move.”
“I want to watch.”
“I want you to want to watch and then not get to watch.”
“You got to watch.”
“Yes. I did.” He doesn’t give in. “Don’t move or I don’t undress.”
He steps away from me and I’m instantly cold and aching for his touch, my nipples puckering in the cold air of the room, that is not all that cold, or it wasn’t until he stopped touching me. But he is touching me. His eyes are on me, a caress that I feel in the tingling of my skin, all over. The idea that he’s now staring at my naked body while I can’t see him undoes me. It steals my control. It gives it all to him. I try to turn. He catches my hips. “I said don’t move.”
“I can’t stand like this.”
“Easy enough to fix,” he says and then he’s pressing me onto the mattress, forcing me to catch myself on my hands and knees.
I’ve barely digested my new, more vulnerable position, when he shocks me and smacks my backside. He’s then down on one knee beside me, his lips at my ear, his fingers flexing on one of my butt cheeks. I try to move, and his hand settles in the middle of my lower back. “Don’t move. Stay here. Stay like this for me, with me, for you.”
“For me?”
“What do you feel right now?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, but I do know I realize even as I say differently. My adrenaline is pumping. My heart racing. My skin tingling.
“What are you thinking?”
“Nothing. I can’t think.”
“Exactly. You can’t think. That’s the idea. I can take you away. I can show you how more is less and less is more. I can show you how to escape.”
Escape.
It’s what I want.
It’s what I need.
“What are you going to do to me?”
“That’s where that trust you said an orgasm doesn’t give me comes in. You have to trust me, but I’ll give you the chance to say no.”
“I need a chance to say no? What are you going to do?”
His lips press to my ear. “Trust me, Abbie. Stay just like this while I undress and then if you want to stop—”
“Hurry up,” I demand. “Hurry up—”
“I’ll hurry. Don’t move. Remember. It’s all about anticipation. It’s all about—”
“Control? Yours?”
I can almost feel the shift in the air before he rolls me over and suddenly we are side by side, facing each other, and he’s folding me against him, his hand on my cheek, guiding my gaze to his. “No, sweetheart. It’s not about my control. It’s about yours. You say yes. You say no.”
“But you give the orders.”
“To give you the chance to stop thinking.”
“I could stop thinking if you were kissing me right now. I really need you to kiss me right now.”
His mouth comes down on mine, a deep stroke of tongue that feels like a lick in other intimate places. That stroke and his hard, big, perfect body next to mine is all that it takes. I need him. God, how I need him and I press into him, trying to get closer.
My desperation seems to feed his desperation and it’s as if a match ignites between us. A smoldering heat going up in flames. We are all over each other, touching, kissing, sounds of need and hunger sliding from my lips, his lips. I don’t even know how his pants come down, how he’s pressing between my legs, but his fingers are rough in my hair, almost a pull, not a tug, but it arouses me. God, it arouses me and then his hand comes down on my backside again, a firm smack that radiates through me seconds before his shaft thrusts into me.
I gasp and moan and then his hand smacks my backside again. “Gabe,” I pant.
His fingers tangle into my hair. “What do you want?”
I don’t even think. “More,” I whisper. “I want more.” And I know I mean his hand on my backside again.
He pulls back and looks at me, his eyes burning, probing. “How much more?”
“I don’t know the answer to that. Just more.”
“We’ll find out together,” he promises, and then he’s kissing me again, rolling me on top of him, but he doesn’t let me sit up. He folds me close, his hand coming down on my backside, squeezing my cheek as his hips lift with a thrust of his cock. I moan and this time when he smacks my backside and thrusts into me, he is so hard, so thick, and so very deep. The sensations that roll through me are all-consuming. I can’t think all over again. I can’t feel inhibitions. I can’t do anything but press into his thrusts, my mouth on his mouth, kissing him with desperation again, the wildness between us like nothing I have ever known. I’m on the edge of that blissful, perfect place where there is nothing but pleasure. I just want to be there, I need to be there. And then I am. I’m shattering, and moaning in this deep, from the soul way I don’t even know as my own self, and he’s cupping my head, shuddering right along with me.
I’m lost in pleasure and sensations that are eternal and yet so very short. I don’t want it to end, but it’s inevitable. It’s over and I slide back into reality. I collapse on top of Gabe and the thing that feels so new and right with this man is that I don’t even feel the need to move. I lay there naked, exposed, vulnerable on top of him, and I never want to leave. He doesn’t want me to, either. He holds me tight. He holds me the way I’ve always wanted to be held. Like he doesn’t want to let me go. Like he fears that I really will break his heart.
I won’t.
Why in the world would I leave a man this perfect?
A tiny voice tries to remind me of how bad I am for him, but I squash it. I don’t want to leave this man. I’m not going to leave him.