Chapter 13 Alessia
The walk back to Natasha’s and my house sobers me up fast. The chill in the air bites at my skin, and yes, I’m a self-proclaimed February hater, but Gabriel’s hand is warm and grounding me as he squeezes it tightly.
We walk in silence, the kind that feels less like absence and more like anticipation of what’s to come. The tension between us crackles with every step and crunch of our shoes, thick enough to wrap around my chest. And squeeze.
Sure, the alcohol loosened my guardrails—the ones I keep welded around my heart to keep men out and people from seeing the vulnerable parts of myself that I’m still working to soften, but it’s not the drinks pushing me forward.
It’s something else, something undeniable.
A certainty I haven’t felt since my life flipped sideways a year ago.
It’s the first drop in my depleted trust bucket. It’s the first sliver of hope. I know exactly what I’m about to do. Be with Gabriel. Intimately. For the first time since my divorce. And for once, that thought doesn’t terrify me. It thrills me.
The front door creaks open, and Gabriel starts to speak, “Do you want me to make you a drink—”
I spin quickly, cutting him off as my arms sling around his neck, yanking him down to me. Our mouths crash together, messy and breathless, all heat and urgency. It’s completely different from the way I kissed him in the back of the bar but no less hot.
Maybe I should have brushed my teeth first, combed my hair, shaved my legs.
Maybe I should be taking this slower, but I’ve been taking things slow for a year now and I’m tired of waiting and overthinking things.
I don’t need everything to be perfect to take a chance.
This won’t go any further than my bedroom tonight.
And that means I need to just dive in and go with the feeling.
He freezes for half a heartbeat, then lets out a low, hungry growl as his arms lock around my waist, pulling me flush against the solid wall of his chest and pinning me to him.
God, he’s big. The kind of big that makes you feel small and safe all at once but not intimidated. Kissing him brings me back to that night in the hallway where I kissed him and took liberties with his body that I shouldn’t have.
His fingers tangle in my hair, tugging harshly until my head tips back with a gasp from the pain and pleasure. He captures my bottom lip between his teeth, biting just enough to make me moan before pulling back to search my face and see if liked that.
“Even better than our first kiss,” he says, his voice rough. His lips drop to my mouth then my eyes where he holds my gaze. “Beautiful.”
I manage a breathless smile. “Look, we both know what this is, right?”
He nods, his grip unwavering on my hip to the point where he’s lifting me off the ground to hold me against him.
“Sex only,” I continue, “an opportunity for us to both get something that we want.”
“Sounds good to me,” he replies, eyes dark and unreadable, still searching mine like he’s looking for me to back out. And I have. Several times when I’ve attempted to do this with other guys post my divorce. I never even got to the kissing part. I couldn’t stomach it.
But not tonight. I’m not backing out with Gabriel.
I swallow hard. “You know more about my past than most men do when they get to this point. So, I expect you to honor my insecurities and fear.”
His hands soften slightly on my waist, his brow furrowing. “I’d never disrespect you or what you’ve been through, Alessia. I understand you’ve been hurt. Deeply. We don’t have to do this if you’re not comfortable with me.”
I shake my head, pressing a finger to his lips because consent and the fact that he’s okay with stopping this and wants me to be comfortable tells me everything that I need to know.
Tonight is about me getting past the barriers that I’ve put up inside my mind.
Most of them have been self-constructed which means I’m going to have to do the work to bring them down.
“No, I want to. I just… I don’t want to overthink it. Help me not overthink, okay? Just… help me relax.”
He nods, and it’s like he’s reading the words that I can’t say. The next thing I know, he lifts me again, cradling me like I weigh nothing, carrying me up the stairs to my bedroom in just a few long strides.
The room’s dark when we enter, the cold sneaking through the old, drafty windows that Natasha wants to eventually replace. Gabriel mutters a curse under his breath.
“Why is it so damn cold in here?”
“The windows suck,” I say like that’s an explanation.
He growls softly, setting me down on the bed with a gentleness that tells me he’s taking my warning seriously. Standing between my knees, his hands trace the outline of my thighs.
“We should’ve just gone to my place,” he says softly, hands hovering at my waist like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch me yet. “Feels wrong undressing you in an icebox.”
I smile up at him. “Or… we could warm up another way. Shower?”
The reaction is instant. A low sound vibrates out of his chest, something between a laugh and a warning, and before I can brace myself, he hooks an arm around my thighs and lifts me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing.
I yelp, half startled, half thrilled, my laughter echoing as he carries me toward the bathroom.
My pulse kicks up, wild and bright, as he flips on the light and nudges the door shut behind us.
His eyes scan the chaotic aftermath of my rushed departure earlier—drawers left ajar, clothes scattered, a lacy red thong on the floor.
He moves to the shower and cranks on the water. Then he reaches down and scoops up the thong that I discarded before going to Rhiannon’s tonight and tucks it into his back pocket.
“I’m keeping this.”
My lips part in surprise.
Then he’s back at my side, his hands softer now, cradling my neck like I’m something fragile and breakable. And maybe I am. Because in the warmth of the bathroom, I sense what feels like ice slowly thawing from my body.
His lips find mine again, this time slow and patient, like he’s savoring every second. It’s the kind of kiss that makes the world fall away, as if the only thing that exists is the space between us and what we’re doing right now.
He breathes me in, deep and steady, like he’s trying to memorize the taste of my skin, and I’m doing the same, anchoring myself to the feel of him.
The way his rough hands run down my sides.
The way his body covers mine in protection.
My hands drift to his collar, fingertips grazing the hard lines of his chest before slipping lower, finding the hem of his shirt.
I tug gently, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over his head and discard it on my floor.
Ink sprawls across his chest, tracing over boxy abs that ripple with every heavy breath he takes.
His pecs look like they could crush steel, but there’s something beautiful in the contrast—all that strength wrapped around a man that’s surprisingly so gentle to me.
I drag a nail along the outline of one of his tattoos, reminding myself to breathe and not get in my head.
“Okay for me to undress you?” he asks waiting for my permission. I nod.
He reaches for my shirt, lifting it slowly, his knuckles brushing lightly against my skin, sending goosebumps in their wake.
When he unclasps my bra with a flick of practiced fingers, my breathing picks up.
My breasts fall free, and he cups one in his hand, reverent, like he’s holding something sacred as he tests out the weight of them.
His rough fingers roll over my nipple, hardening them into puffy peaks.
“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice a gravelly whisper against the steamy backdrop of the bathroom.
His hands move over me slowly, like he’s in no rush at all. Palms warm and steady as they cup my chest, thumbs brushing, teasing, dragging down the curve of my ribs. It’s unhurried. Intentional. Like he’s memorizing me.
I slip my hands to his waistband, fingers less patient than his. I fumble with the button, the zipper catching for a second because I’m moving too fast, too curious, too desperate to see him without anything in the way.
His jeans fall to the floor.
My breathing stills at the outline straining against his boxers, heat pooling low in my stomach at the sight of it. At the size of it. At the way his body reacts to mine without hesitation.
He lets out a quiet, rough chuckle, the sound vibrating under my fingertips. “Might as well take those off too.”
So, I do.
And—
Oh.
He’s huge, with veins running like intricate roadmaps beneath the smooth, soft skin. The size of him checks out for what I gripped that night in the bar but seeing it with no material separating us is an entirely different thing.
I wrap my hand around his width, giving it a few firm strokes when I feel something metallic. Lifting his cock slightly, I confirm what I felt: Piercings—three silver bars gleaming along the underside, a Jacob’s ladder piercing.
I’ve never been with a man who had a piercing like that, but just looking at it, I can imagine it’s going to feel delicious.
His smile is cocky, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Got it after my divorce. A parting gift to myself. Felt a little ridiculous at the time but I was in my twenties and wasn’t thinking clearly. Never took it out.”
“Damn,” I breathe out, laughing softly. “The only thing my ex-husband gave me after my divorce was distrust for men, a mountain of legal debt, and an inability to orgasm.”
His brows shoot up, eyes darkening with something that feels dangerously close to a challenge. “Inability to orgasm?”
I shrug, trying to play it off, but my cheeks are now burning with the admission. This isn’t something I’d normally share with a date, but I’ve also never gotten this far to hooking up with someone who wasn’t my ex-husband.
Gabriel isn’t a normal guy, and this isn’t a date. He’s my neighbor, my roommate’s cousin, and tonight, he’s the one person I desperately want to see me—really see me and help me come for the first time in years.
“Yeah,” I say quietly.
He steps closer, fingers hooking into the waistband of my jeans, eyes locked on mine like he can see straight through me.
“We’re going to change that tonight. If you’ll let me. Okay?”
I nod, my throat tight with emotion I haven’t let myself process. “Okay.”
He pushes my jeans down slowly, along with my underwear, until I’m standing there completely bare, my skin tingling under his gaze.
He steps out of his own clothes, and suddenly it’s just us—no barriers, no pretense, just skin on skin.
His warmth seeps into me, grounding and electrifying all at once as he wraps his arms around me in a hug.
It’s not sexual. It’s not intimate. It’s just two people doing something that they both consent to and healing parts of their selves individually in the process.
I feel that ice melt a little more.
“We’re not leaving this bathroom until you come,” he whispers, and there’s something about the way he says it that tells me I believe him.
I’ve never had a man’s sole focus be on my pleasure. It’s relieving. It’s attractive. It’s exactly what I need.
I’m not leaving this bathroom until I come.