Chapter 20 Alessia
I’m horny, and I’m pissed.
It’s a lethal combination, made worse by the fact that Gabriel always seems to know exactly how to get me exactly where I need to be. Except this time, he refused to let me come.
Who fucking does that?
What man in their right mind, who looks like that, and carries that kind of power in his hands, brings a woman right to the edge only to pull away so that she craves him even more?
Gabriel.
A guy who I didn’t think existed outside of fiction.
His voice… the dirty talking… the tenderness…
then the roughness. It’s a lethal combination and one that I can’t quite wrap my mind around.
He’s kind and thoughtful (builds me a table; helps me get past my aversion to men), then possessive and jealous (fucks me with my underwear on, comes inside me without letting me finish, then tells me to enjoy my date with another man.)
It's a mind-fuck that I need time to process but don’t get a chance to. Because here I am, gripping the steering wheel, driving to meet someone new while my body still remembers the way Gabriel made me feel.
Fuck my life.
Every time I press the gas pedal of my car, another slow, humiliating trickle of his cum seeps out of me, soaking through my thong and into the thin fabric of my black dress.
A dress he zipped up. A dress he smoothed over my hips before sending me out into the cold outdoors, smug as hell like he knows I’ll come back to him.
There was no way in hell I was taking an Uber like this.
And walking in this weather wasn’t a choice.
Not with the mess he left inside me. Not with the way I still feel him there—his cock, his fingers, his mouth—all of it is a throbbing, aching reminder of what he just did to me. Of what he didn’t let me finish.
Because he had to prove a point. I swear, he had to have blown the biggest load in the history of mankind inside of me. Like he knew what he was doing and did it on purpose. Like he made sure I’d be dripping with it, walking into this damn date to meet another guy with his cum sliding out of me.
And I hate that his plan worked. I hate that with every drip, every gush, I’m getting even more turned on knowing that he’s at his house waiting for me.
By the time I pull into the parking lot of the bar—the one I work at, of course—I’m gripping the steering wheel like it’s going to keep me from screaming and crying at the same time.
I should just go home. I should take care of this myself. I could slip into bed with my vibrator and pretend it’s him; pretend I don’t know exactly how much better the real thing feels. Get myself off and then clean myself up. But that would mean letting him win.
And I get his point. If I need a release, he’s right there. I know that. He made it painfully clear. But I need him to see my point too.
I’m trying to look at men differently now. Trying to view relationships differently. I’m trying to be open and soft to the potential of loving someone new again. I’m trying to remind myself that there’s more to intimacy than what Gabriel and I just did on his freaking rug.
So that’s why I need to do this. I need to go on this date to remind myself that the physical stuff is good, it’s important, but so is connection.
Emotional connection, trust and vulnerability are even more important to me.
I’m doing this to remind myself that all men aren’t shitty people who are out to hurt you.
I exhale sharply, unclench my thighs, and step out of the car. The dry, winter air bites at my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the slow, warm trickle of liquid between my legs as I take a step.
I force my spine straight, smooth my dress—gritting my teeth as I feel another gush slide down my inner thigh—and then I push through the doors of Brookhaven Brews.
The bar is alive with music, conversation, the low hum of a Friday night crowd that I’m usually here working, not walking into as a customer.
It feels weird to be here again when the last time I was here on a date was with Gabriel. Like stepping into a world that I don’t fully belong to.
Loud, country music plays from the stereo while I scan the room and find the guy who matches the profile picture from the dating app I downloaded last night.
He stands, and I take him in. He’s tall.
Classically handsome. Sandy blond hair, kind green eyes.
A strong build, the kind that says he probably lifts heavy things for a living which checks out with the whole construction career.
He looks…nice.
Like the kind of guy who wouldn’t fuck me raw just to make a point even though I asked him to.
Like the kind of guy who wouldn’t leave me desperate and dripping on my way to a date with another guy.
He opens his arms for a hug just as I reach for a handshake, and there’s an awkward beat before I correct myself, stepping into his arms. It’s warm. He smells… nice. It’s different. And it immediately reminds me that the last time I was in a man’s arms was—Five seconds ago with Gabriel.
My breathing struggles, my body going stiff for half a beat while I try to catch up.
Because Gabriel hugs differently. Holds differently.
There’s nothing tentative about the way Gabriel touches me.
There’s no hesitation when he wrapped me into his arms as I cried in my shower, no second-guessing his actions.
He’s confident in everything that he does, even if it’s not something I like.
I hate that my body reacts to this with a thought about him. That I still feel the ghost of his touch lingering on my skin, even as another man wraps his arms around me.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Alessia.”
I smile. “You too.” I’ve already forgotten his name and that makes me feel even shittier.
“You been here before?” he pulls back and releases me, his gaze dragging over my dress with eyes that say he likes what I’m wearing a lot. Well, at least I got one thing right tonight.
“Yes,” I say smoothly, sliding into my seat that he pulls out for me. “I work here part time.”
He settles into his chair across from me. “That’s a story. I thought you were a teacher?”
“I am. Kindergarten,” I tell him, forcing a smile. “Just got back into it. But on weeknights and weekends, I pick up occasional shifts here. Helps fill in the gaps in my income. Pays off some debt.”
He nods, thoughtful, as we wait for our server. And I force myself to stay in this moment. To be present. To stop thinking about Gabriel. And to ignore the fact that I can still feel him inside me.
“Ah, I see. I get that. Paying off debt is always a good thing.”
He says it easily, like he actually does understand. And maybe he does. I consider asking if he’s in debt too—how deep, how bad, what for, all the questions I’d want to know on a first date before proceeding to a second—but I bite my tongue. I don’t know if I care enough yet to ask him.
The server swings by, all chipper efficiency, one of my coworkers that I don’t know all that well, and we rattle off our drink orders.
Chris, whose name I finally remember, is already set on food, which works for me.
I don’t exactly have an appetite when I’ve got a bucket of Gabriel’s cum slowly leaking out of me, making a disaster of my thong and dress, but I know I should eat since I haven’t since the Valentine’s Day party at school.
At least I know the menu like the back of my hand, so there’s no decision paralysis.
When the server leaves, we’re back to our awkward little dance of small talk that all first dates must experience.
“So, tell me more about teaching kindergarteners. You said you just got back into it?”
I nod, shifting in my seat. It’s a big mistake, because the movement only causes a fresh gush of cum to slip out and into my sad, completely ruined, underwear.
“I love it,” I say, trying to ground myself in the conversation again. Don’t think about the geyser between your thighs. “I love the children. Love their joy for learning and love teaching. I taught years ago but had to take a break due to... life circumstances.”
Chris takes a sip of his drink, waiting for me to elaborate. I wasn’t going to open with my divorce, but I suppose it’s important for him to understand where I’m coming from. I take a deep breath and then release it slowly.
“I was married for a few years,” I tell him, studying his face carefully for any negative reaction. Nothing so far. “My husband cheated on me. Went through a nasty divorce when I found out he got his mistress pregnant while still married to me.”
His hand is on mine before I even register the movement. It’s warm. Solid. A little unexpected but not horrible.
“Damn.” His voice is soft and genuine. “I’m so sorry.”
It’s the appropriate response. The normal response when someone unloads information like this. And yet, my mind instantly flicks back to Gabriel’s response when I told him about my husband cheating and getting his mistress pregnant.
“I’m not going to tell you sorry because I’m not sure if I’m sorry yet. Sounds like you dodged a bullet.”
I almost laugh at the difference. I just offer Chris a small, polite smile and leave my hand where it is, though it suddenly feels like it’s burning a hole into the table.
“Thanks. Yeah, so that had me putting teaching on pause for a bit. Amongst other things.”
Crippling anxiety while navigating infertility; blood draws looking for explanations and getting nothing.
But this is a first date. I’ll save the rest of my trauma dumping for the second. If he gets a second.
“I’m so grateful to put that chapter of my life behind me and start fresh.”
Chris nods thoughtfully, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s mentally calculating whether a year post-divorce is long enough for me to be back out here. But then he says—
“Mine was one month ago.”
I blink.
“This is the first date I’ve gone on since things were finalized,” he continues with a nervous chuckle.
Damn.
One month is fresh. I know where I was one month after my divorce, and it wasn’t here. It wasn’t this. And it wasn’t doing what Gabriel and I just did on the floor of his living room.
One month out of my divorce I was barely functional, wondering if I’d ever be okay again.
It was crying in the shower and avoiding mirrors because the bags under my eyes were so dark I looked like a vampire.
It was tequila straight from the bottle and swearing off men entirely.
It was taking extra PI gigs just to feel something other than sadness over the life I thought I knew and redirecting my anger and frustration into vengeance for other women who’ve been hurt.
Maybe everyone processes divorce differently. And perhaps his wasn’t as... messy as mine was. But one month still feels too soon to know what you want.
He chuckles, shaking his head like he already knows how it sounds.
“I’m not sure whether I’m ready to jump back into dating again. I figured I just needed to put myself out there. Meet someone. Try not to get too deep in myself loathing and jadedness while I can avoid it.”
“I get that.”
And I do. And I also get that this, for him, tonight is probably only about sex. A trial run to see what’s out there after being out of the dating game for so long. It’s something easy. Something sure. Something purely physical. Something that won’t leave any bruises.
And if Gabriel hadn’t done what he did before I left…Maybe it could have been just that for me too. Sex without anything more. But I can’t ignore what we did. And even more than that, I can’t ignore that I don’t want just sex anymore. The entire point of this date was to get back into dating.
I shift again—another huge mistake because I feel it, feel Gabriel still inside me, a physical reminder that I let him have me before walking straight into another man’s presence. That I wanted him to bring me to orgasm before walking into a date with another guy.
What’s wrong with me? What am I doing?
And while I’m considering those questions, my phone lets out a loud ping! from my purse stored underneath the table.
“Sorry about that. Let me turn it off.”
I fish it out from under the table while Chris takes another sip of his vodka tonic, not bothered at all by the interruption and distraction. My thumb hovers over the screen, ready to silence it—Until I see the name from the notification.
Gabriel Carpenter.
My stomach tightens. My breath catches. My heart races. I swear, even my nipples get harder wondering what he could be saying.
I open the message. That’s the third mistake I’ve made tonight.
Gabriel: Having fun?
I swear I can feel his smirk through the screen.
I force myself to ignore it. Try to will away the heat that’s creeping up my chest. Try to forget the way my body is still responding to his, even though he’s not here.
But then another message comes through.
Gabriel: I can still taste you on my lips, smell you on my fingertips, and feel your cunt wrapped around my cock.
Gabriel: When are you coming back to me.