Chapter 14 Gabriel
I extend my hand, giving Alessia the space to decide what she wants to do next. There’s no pressure, no expectations from me. Just the promise of warmth and release if she wants it.
She takes my hand without hesitation, and I notice the first signs of her walls lowering.
I guide her past the glass door and into the shower, steam curling around us as the water pelts down, hot and steady.
This house that my cousin purchased might be painfully outdated in a hundred ways that I still need to fix, but at least the shower has been remodeled.
It’s got modern fixtures and steady water pressure along with a showerhead that’s high enough to clear my height.
The second the heat hits her, I feel it—the slow, unfurling release of tension in her body. Shoulders loosening. Breath deepening. The rigid line of her spine softening against me as she melts. If you could physically feel someone letting go mentally, this would be the closest thing to it.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been intimate like this, and I don’t intend to rush it. Having her trust and feeling her relax gives me the push that I need to take my time and help her enjoy this.
I pull her back against my chest, letting her take the full force of the water to her front while I take the full weight of her. Her body is warm, slick, molding into mine like she belongs here.
My hands move over her curves. Down her hips, to her thighs. Then up to her ribcage, around her front to her breasts that I palm in both hands. Even in my grip, she’s spilling out and I love the weight of them and the way her nipples darken even more when she’s turned on.
She’s so curvy. Everything about Alessia is beautiful. The way her hips flare beneath my grip. The toned strength of her thighs. The delicate arch of her spine. And those two little dimples right above her ass—perfect for digging my thumb into when I take her from behind later.
“Soap?” I murmur against her ear, even though I know she’s already clean, it’s not about that. I want to touch every part of her; be sure she’s warmed like putty in my grip before I start anything.
She nods toward a bottle of shower gel that’s perched on one of the ledges. I reach around her, lathering up a pink loofah I find, then press it against her skin, dragging it over her body in slow, unhurried circles.
I sink to my knees, starting at her feet, massaging as I go. Every movement is intentional—rubbing the soap into her calves, kneading out the tension in her thighs, working my way up with steady, lingering strokes so that every part of her is touched by me.
Her skin is smooth, and warm under my touch, with a few stretch marks on her thighs and ass that I’d never notice but show growth.
I’ve always loved a woman with these. It shows that their body has changed, and they’ve matured.
It shows that they’ve lived. And there’s something so sexy about a woman who understands life because I’ve lived too.
Perhaps that’s what I’ve always needed. A woman who gets what it means to have a life that’s not always perfect to the outside world.
She’s been carrying so much. I can feel it when I reach her lower back. The stress, the weight of everything she’s been through with her piece of shit ex-husband. If nothing else, if tonight is only about bringing her the release she needs, I’m more than willing to do that for her.
When I get to her neck, I take my time, pressing my thumbs into the tight knots of muscle and forgetting all about the loofah. Her head tilts back slightly, a soft moan slipping free, and fuck. That sound. I want to hear it again.
I press deeper, finding the source of the tension, and she moans again, breathy and unguarded, sending a bolt of need straight through me to my cock that’s been unashamedly pressing into her ass, eager for some action.
I reach around her, detach the showerhead, and rinse away the soapy trails that I’ve left behind.
But before I can finish, she turns, pressing her front to mine, those heavy breasts against my chest, her eyes dark with intent.
Her hand wraps around my cock, firm and sure, stroking once, twice, and dammit, it feels good to have someone who isn’t me doing that.
“I want you to fuck me tonight,” she says, voice steady, gaze locked onto mine.
I nod, my pulse a steady roar in my ears.
“I’ll do whatever you want me to do,” I promise, my voice thick, raw. “This is about you. Not me.”
“It’s about both of us,” she replies.
I give her a nod. “You first.” And then I sink back to my knees, nudging her knees apart slightly, pressing her back against the shower wall, my lips brushing the soft skin just below her navel in a soft kiss. Taking my time.
She gasps, but I don’t look up. Instead, I part her legs just a little wider and my tongue traces a slow, deliberate line over the delicate skin of her pubic bone down to the top of her pussy.
My hands drop to her ankles, lifting them one at a time, placing them on my steady shoulders until she’s braced fully against the shower wall with her weight balance on me.
Her breathing stutters. “This feels… unsteady.”
I glance up at her, smirking. “Do you doubt my ability to hold you up?”
She laughs softly, looking down at me. “With those arms? No, I don’t. I’ve never been held up like this before.”
“Good.” I squeeze the back of her thigh, fingers pressing into soft, wet skin before they move up to both of her ass cheeks, more than a handful, exactly how I like it.
“Because you shouldn’t. I’ve worked in construction for years.
You feel like a feather to me. Now relax and let me eat your pussy. ”
I don’t give her a chance to respond before my mouth is on her, pressing a lingering, teasing kiss against her center before sliding my tongue deep inside for my first taste.
It’s heaven. She’s soaked, and not just from the shower.
She’s turned on. She’s already ready, but I know I need to earn this—show her exactly how much pleasure she deserves without bringing my wants into it.
Show her exactly what she’s been missing.
“Gabriel,” she moans when my tongue moves to her clit. I flick it a few times, feeling it swell against my lips. One of my hands moves between her thighs, slipping two fingers deep into her pussy, testing the way her walls clench down in a silent, involuntary yes please.
“Yes, Gabriel,” she moans, her hands finding my hair, nails scraping lightly against my scalp. “That feels amazing.”
The water cascades down around us, but she’s warmer than all of it—softer, more open, her usual guarded edges have dissolved under my touch. I like her like this. This is the Alessia her ex probably got before he fucked everything up. This is the Alessia he never deserved.
I drag my tongue across her pussy again while thrusting my fingers in and out of her opening. She moans louder. So receptive. So needy.
Fuck, I love her like this.
My mouth moves with more urgency, tongue flicking, lips sucking, my free hand gripping the curve of her ass to keep her steady.
“You taste so fucking good,” I say against her clit. “Show me how much you like it.”
She rocks her hips forward in answer, grinding against my mouth, and I respond—sucking, teasing, pulling at her clit, rubbing my mustache and beard all over her until she’s gasping. Begging. Pleading for release.
“Louder, Alessia,” I demand, my voice thick with hunger. “Show me how good it feels to come after so long. Tell me that it’s me. Tell me that you want to come on my face.”
“Yes, Gabriel,” she moans. “Give it to me. Wreck me. Just like that. I want to come on your face.”
I ease a third finger inside her, stretching her, filling her. Her entire body clenches. Her eyes open wide, wild and unguarded, and I glance up at her—face slick, mouth swollen, nose coated in the scent of her—feeling like a king.
I’ve always loved pleasing a woman. Always thought they were the superior ones—more in control, more intuitive, while men stumble through life led by impulse and ego, starting wars, killing innocent people, women are at home raising families, giving grace where it’s not deserved and holding the world together.
This—bringing her to pleasure, her to this edge after everything she’s been through—this might just be the highlight of my entire decade.
“Gabriel,” she gasps, and I flick my tongue against her clit, slow and relentless, driving her higher.
“Watch,” I command.
“I’m not looking away,” she breathes, her voice unsteady. She’s watching now. She likes watching me bring her to the edge. I grin against her skin.
“Good girl.” I blow on her clit then suck it hard and she shatters.
Her pretty brown eyes stay locked on mine the entire time—lips parting, cheeks flushed, nipples tightening into stiff, perfect peaks, her pussy weeping for me as her body releases, over and over and over.
Years of tension unravel, spilling out of her in an orgasm I’ve never felt before. I know—I know—some of it is tied to that piece-of-shit ex-husband and all the trauma he left behind, but in this moment, all of that fades away and makes me think she’s coming this hard because it’s me.
I hold her up through it, kissing her clit, her inner thighs, the soft curve of her stomach—gentle, reverent—easing her back down from the high of her release. She watches me through it all, panting, spent, and then—tears.
They spill silently down her face, catching in her thick, dark lashes, mixing with the water that’s streaming from the showerhead.
She tries to blink them away, tries to hold herself together, stifle any noise that she’s making, but I see it, and I hear the soft gasps from her taking in too much air.
I feel it.
Because I’ve been there too. I know what it’s like to stare at the wreckage of a marriage you thought was going to last forever. To ask yourself a hundred impossible questions you’ll never get an answer to:
What went wrong?
How did everything I pictured for my future just… disappear in an instant?
Was it my fault?
Could I have prevented it somehow?
How did I not see this coming?
Maybe it’s still too fresh for her to see the horizon.
Maybe she’s not ready to hear the truth yet.
Her pride is too strong, her walls still half-standing.
I don’t say anything about the tears. I don’t press to find out what she’s thinking.
I don’t want her to ever feel self-conscious with me or like she needs to hide.
I just let her be. Because I get it.
I set her feet down firmly on the shower floor, brush a damp strand of hair away from her pretty face, tucking it gently behind her ear. My fingers cradle her jaw, thumb skimming over the sharp edge of her cheekbones and then across her lips. The prettiest lips I’ve ever been able to kiss.
I meet her eyes.
“Take it from someone ten years out from his divorce,” I say, voice softer. “You’re stronger than you think you are. It gets better.”
She nods quickly, trying to take a deep breath, but it stutters out in a broken, little, gargled hiccup that only makes the tears fall harder.
“Eventually,” I continue, smoothing my thumb along her skin, grounding her to calm her racing heart, “you stop wondering what went wrong and start seeing all that went right. You’re alright. And you’re going to be okay.”
She bites down on her lower lip, blinking hard, trying to stop the fresh wave of tears. Another nod from her, tighter this time.
I exhale, shifting my weight slightly. My cock is hard, my balls tight, my whole body wired with the need for a release, but I’m going to put all that aside because tonight doesn’t feel like the time to take care of my physical needs.
And I care more about Alessia’s emotional well-being than anything else.
“Look,” I run my fingers through my damp hair, “how about we stop here.”
Her fingers tighten around my biceps, nails biting into my skin, and when I search her gaze for hesitation, I find none.
“No,” she whispers. “I want you. We’re finishing this.”
There’s no waver in her voice. The tears are gone now, replaced by something else. Something sure and determined.
She swallows once. Lifts her chin. “I want you, Gabriel. Fuck me tonight. Please. I don’t want to stop this. I’m not ready to say goodnight yet.”
I let out a slow breath, steadying myself. “Alessia.”
She shakes her head again. “You said you’d follow my lead. This is my lead.”
She seems sure. “Okay. Just give me a second—I’ve got a condom in my wallet.” I move to turn out of the shower, but she stops me, her grip fiercer.
“I’m on birth control.” Her nails dig into my skin.
“Maybe it’s reckless, but I haven’t been with anyone in over a year, and you said it’d been a while for you too.
” A hollow little laugh escapes her. “I couldn’t get pregnant with my ex anyway so even if I weren’t in birth control, the risk would be non-existent. ”
Bitterness laces her words, her eyes take a temporary, far off look in them, but beneath it, there’s something else. Pain. A whole hell of a lot of it that she’s still carrying around.
She wets her lips. “Just pull out before you come.”
All the blood in my body rushes to my dick.
“Fuck,” I say. “Are you sure about this?”
She nods once. “I want this first time back in the game to be raw. If you’re going to wreck me, wreck me properly. I want to be doing more than crying over my loser ex-husband and my divorce when you finish.”
I hesitate, just for a moment. Because I told myself I didn’t want to take on another project.
Didn’t have time to fix another broken thing in my life when everywhere I look I have things that need done.
Windows to mend. Problems to patch. But now I’m starting to think maybe I’ve been seeing this all wrong. Maybe I’ve been looking at her wrong.
Maybe Alessia isn’t a project that she needs someone else to fix. She’s completely capable of fixing herself on her own.
Maybe she’s just a woman—one who’s had the kind of shitty, unfortunate luck that forces you to build walls, to protect yourself however you can but is desperate to bring them down through sheer force.
Maybe she doesn’t need me.
Maybe… I need her more.