Chapter 18 Alessia #2
“Wow.” His voice is rich. He rubs at the beard covering his jaw. It was just enough friction to make everything better when he was between my legs, but not too much to lose the strength in his handsome jawline. “Why are you all dressed up?”
I swallow. I hope this isn’t awkward. It shouldn’t be. We agreed it was just a one-time thing. We haven’t even seen each other in two weeks. Plus, I’m only here, he’s only seeing me tonight all dressed up, because I had nowhere else to stay while my house doesn’t have electricity.
“I… I have plans tonight.”
His hands drop to his hips, head tilting slightly as he assesses me carefully.
“Plans,” he repeats. This time his voice isn’t soft and there’s a distinct, displeased edge to it.
I nod. “I have a date.”
His jaw flexes. His fingers skim over the beard on his chin, eyes heated like he’s turning those words over in his head.
“You have a date.” He says it slowly, testing the words on his tongue. “A Valentine’s Day date?”
“Yes,” I say, standing taller, aiming for confident and unbothered. “I do. I planned it last night. With your cousin.”
Why did I include that? I don’t need to explain myself.
“I see.” His voice is even, but there’s something unspoken beneath the words that tells me he isn’t pleased.
“Um, what are you doing?” I ask, pointing to the table to see if that’ll lighten the mood before I ask him what I really need his help with.
“I’m building you and Natasha a new kitchen table.”
“Y-you… you’re building us a table? With your bare hands?”
He nods, his eyes still narrowed in suspicion. “Yours isn’t functional. I noticed when I was over there tonight while looking at the wiring. You need something you can eat on.”
Okay, that does nothing but make me a thousand times hornier and a bit, completely unrelated, guilty.
Because he’s building us a fucking handmade table in twenty-degree weather for our new house.
Yes, our table is shit. Three legs, to be frank, because the fourth is shorter than the others and causes the whole thing to wobble constantly.
It’s annoying when I drink my coffee and scarf down my oatmeal in the mornings, but I make it work.
Memphis saw it when he helped me clear out the old furniture. Natasha said even her billionaire brother Roman noticed it when they did a walk through together. And neither of them did something about it.
But here's Gabriel taking care of it, without anyone asking him to, all because he saw a need.
I shift on my heels, smiling despite the sudden thickness in the air. “That’s really nice of you. Thank you for doing that for us. It’s beautiful.”
He gives a small nod. “Glad you like it. It’ll be ready when it’s safe for you to move back in your home.”
I hesitate because how do I move into my next question without seeming like a totally ungrateful, jerk. He knows I’m about to go on a date, so the hard part is out of the way now. I think.
“So, um, I was wondering if you could help me finish zipping the dress? I can’t…” I twist around to show him. “I can’t reach it.”
That... wasn’t very smooth.
I spin around completely, exposing my back to him, hoping he’ll just zip it up quickly so we can all move past this moment and onto our separate nights.
Maybe he has a date tonight too. He should.
A guy who builds tables with lumber they have lying around and uses table saws while shirtless should be the one person who has a date on the most romantic night of the year.
I just need to stop thinking about the fact that he is building me a whole damn table. No man has ever built me anything before. Not even an attempt at a birdhouse or a picture frame. And I am realizing that I like it. A lot.
I want to know what else he can build. Do you think he can build a house without any blueprint? Probably. He’s doing remodeling with his cousin in New York. It’s not that much of a stretch.
I look around his yard. It’s cold, and almost everything is grey or brown, dead until the spring. But then I notice the dock that stretches down to the lake that Brookhaven surrounds and the wood planks look pristine. I wonder if he built that with his bare hands.
Oh God, stop thinking about Gabriel shirtless building shit!
He doesn’t move.
He doesn’t zip.
He just stands there silently behind me. Waiting.
I turn slowly, our gazes connecting again. His expression is dark and unreadable.
“Let me make sure I understand.”
Oh… oh no. He doesn’t look like he wants to understand at all.
He continues, “You want me to zip you up,” he says, voice a little rougher now, “so that you can wear that hot, fucking dress... so you can go on a date… with another man… who’s going to stare at your tits…
and wonder how your pussy feels… then come back…
to my house… and sleep just a few doors down from me? ”
I blink. He’s serious. “Okay, well, when you put it that way, it might sound a little strange, but I had this date planned before I moved in with you. I planned it last night, with Natasha. You know, trying to put myself back out there and all since...”
Since you fucked me and showed me how good it could feel to be with a man who takes care of my needs.
Since you showed me that not all men are only out to hurt me.
Since you gave me hope that I might be able to find love again someday.
Since you gave me the courage to start over and be vulnerable.
His chuckle is soft, and he seems almost amused, but there’s something darker curling at the edges of it that tells me he’s not happy at all.
He takes a step toward me, and fuck, the air is cold, but his body isn’t.
I can feel the warmth of his bare chest before he even touches me.
I can see the beads of dried sweat tangled in the dark hair on his strong pecs and coating his tattoos.
His pupils are blown so wide they almost disappear into the rich hazel brown of his eyes.
He’s not shivering. He’s not backing down either.
Then he turns me slowly so that my back is to his front. His hands find the zipper. And instead of pulling it up—He drags it lower. All the way down. Back to where it started right above where my thong is currently hiked into my ass.
The cold air snaps against my exposed spine, chasing goosebumps down my skin all the way to where the swell of my ass begins. His fingers linger there, hovering, brushing so lightly I can’t tell whether that’s him or the wind. Then, without hesitation, he pushes the dress off my shoulders.
I gasp as it pools at my feet, leaving me in nothing but my tiny red bra and panties. The wind wraps around me, but I barely feel it. Because he’s turning me around to face him and he’s looking at me.
Not just looking—devouring.
I try to cover my chest again. “You—Gabriel—”
His eyes flick up, slow and deliberate. “You want me to dress you for another man to enjoy your beauty?” His voice is deep, like smoke and embers.
“I will. If that’s what you really want.
But first—” His hands grip my waist, and he pulls me toward him before he’s dropping his face to my ear, his warm breath tickling my neck. “I’m going to fuck you.”
“W-what?” My voice is barely a whisper.
He doesn’t answer me. He just steps forward, guiding me backward, back into the warmth of the house and the door that’s still open. I’m still in my heels, still in my red lingerie set that suddenly feels too fragile under the weight of his heated gaze.
When we get inside his home, he closes the door to keep out the cold. I wish he’d keep it open. It’s suddenly much hotter inside than it was before. His eyes sweep over me like hot coals, appreciating, approving as he continues to guide me backward.
“You want to go on this date tonight?” His fingers trail down my arm, then lower, teasing just over the top of where the underwear covers my pussy.
“Fine. It’s good that you’re ready to put yourself back out there.
I’m happy that you’ve found your confidence again.
That you’re interested in letting your guard down. ”
I exhale shakily. I don’t think he’s happy about that at all.
“But don’t ask me to dress you for another man’s gaze. For another man to enjoy your beauty.” His voice dips, dark with warning. “To look at you. To touch you. Especially when I know that you’re coming back to my house to sleep afterwards.”
I shudder, my thighs clenching together. “Gabriel—”
“I’ll look the other way.” He brushes his lips against my ear, barely touching, but I feel it everywhere.
“But tonight, you’re going on this date…
” His hand slips lower, resting on my waist before moving to my pelvis.
His palm spans the entire length below my navel before he gently pries back the fabric and slides just one knuckle across my pussy.
I let out a soft gasp.
“Tonight, you’re going on this date with my cum deep inside you,” he finishes before thrusting one rough finger inside my opening.
My hands clamp around his wrist to steady myself.
He guides me back another step and I realize we’ve somehow made it into the living room in front of the fireplace that he lit earlier.
It’s still crackling and warm, casting everything in long slants of golden orange.
And his hands are still inside my underwear.
“Lay down,” he says, removing his finger from my aching core.
I do. On a soft rug that’s stretched out on the floor, glowing with the reflection of the embers.
“Spread your legs.”
I do that too. I wonder if he’s going to join me, but he doesn’t. He stands above me, looking down, dragging his thumb across his mouth like he’s deliberating on what to do next.
Then, voice thick and rough, he murmurs—
“You look fucking pretty in red. Now, let me add a little of my color to it.”