Chapter 33 Alessia #2
He turns to his side so that we’re facing each other now.
His gaze flickers across my face, searching, hesitant.
Then, finally—“I realized that I no longer just wanted to fuck you,” he says, his voice serious.
“I want you, Aly. I want to date you. I want to be with you. I don’t want to share you with anyone else.
” His fingers brush against my cheek softly like he can’t help but touch me.
It only lasts for a moment before he’s quickly pulling his hand back to his side.
“But you have the right to explore other relationships first if that’s what you want.
And I need to give you that space instead of filling you with me every night before you go on a date.
I had a feeling Travis would ask you out, and I had a feeling you’d say yes.
I was right about both, and I get it. You want to date other men, and I will respect that.
I have to respect it.” He finishes it with a deep sigh. “Even if it fucking kills me.”
I exhale slowly, processing his words. “Where were you when I got home after the date?”
“Rhiannon’s.”
A breath leaves me. It’s relief, honestly.
I didn’t think he’d be with someone else that soon, but I wouldn’t blame him if he was.
I pushed him away. I hurt him and in hurting him, I hurt myself.
And now he thinks I want to date other people.
That I need to date other people to see the good man that’s right in front of me.
He’s wrong. I don’t need any more dates. I already know. I’ve known it from our first day together, I just didn’t think I deserved to find love so fast.
“I see.” My voice is softer now. “So, because you want me to date other people first, you won’t fuck me tonight?”
“Correct.”
I swallow. “Gabriel, by your logic, are you saying you want me to fuck other guys too?”
His lids lower, his brows pulling together like the very idea physically pains him. It pains me too. He breathes in, controlled and measured and I can see the hurt in his gaze. “If that’s what you want, Aly.”
Are you fucking kidding me right now?
My fingers lift, tracing his jaw, forcing him to really look at me. “What’s going on? I don’t… I don’t understand.”
Gabriel exhales, tilting his head back, but his arms don’t leave me. They stay firm around my waist, holding on, even as he fights whatever this is.
“What’s going on,” he says quietly, “is that I’m letting you go. And hoping you realize that it’s me you want once you’ve finished your searching. That you choose me.”
And suddenly, it all clicks. I’ve been so caught up in my own post-divorce mess—my pain, my insecurities, my fear of getting hurt again—that I haven’t stopped to see his.
Gabriel isn’t some untouchable, confident, always-in-control force even though he looks that way to the outside world. He’s just as afraid as I am. Just as vulnerable as me. He wants to be chosen by someone, too.
He was left, just like I was, by a spouse.
Maybe Amber hadn’t cheated on him, but she’d still abandoned him.
Someone had once made promises to him—committed to him—said vows, only to break them, leaving him when he needed them most. During the hardest time of his life.
And now he’s standing back, giving me space, hoping I don’t walk away from him just like Amber did.
He’s waiting for me to choose him because he’s already chosen me. And I’ve already chosen him he just doesn’t know it.
I roll back to my side, giving him my back again.
This time, he comes closer. His arms wrap around my hips, pinning my back to his chest. I feel his warmth against me and it’s a reminder of how solid and steady Gabriel has always been.
His hands tighten around my waist as if he knows he can’t give me what I want, but he can’t resist holding me either.
He’s just as drawn to me as I am to him.
We’ve been lost in each other since that night in the bar when I thought he was his cousin, and this has always been inevitable.
My fingers drift to the waistband of my fleece pants, dipping just inside before moving lower. I push my underwear aside and swipe across my opening. The second my fingers brush against my slit, I feel it—how soaked I am. How needy. How wound up he’s made me.
Gabriel is still as stone, but I know he feels my arms start to shift, the subtle movement of my fingers beneath his grip as I pleasure myself.
I let out a slow, measured breath and slip a finger inside, my body clenching around the intrusion, my thumb finding my clit and rubbing in soft, teasing strokes—diagonal, then horizontal—just to feel the way it pulses while being held by him.
Just to imagine it’s his fingers doing it instead.
My nipples tighten, my body starts to unravel, and I know that it wouldn’t take much to get myself to come in his bed.
Gabriel still doesn’t move. Doesn’t react. But I can hear his breathing pattern change.
I push a little further, letting myself feel the stretch, the slickness, the soreness that was left behind after he had me last. I let my breath catch just enough to break the silence as I slide a second finger inside. It’s not a moan. But it’s enough. His restraint snaps.
Suddenly, I’m on my back, flipped so fast the air is stolen from my lungs.
Gabriel’s on top of me, arms bracketing my head, eyes burning as they search my face, breath coming out in a pant.
His grip finds my wrist, pulling my hand away from my pussy, and before I can even process what’s happening his mouth is on my fingers.
His tongue glides over them, slow, sensually, tasting and sucking each digit before ending with a flick on the nails as if it’s my clit.
Holy shit.
He meets my gaze, voice dark and unsteady.
“What are you doing, Aly?”