Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Gabbi
The car was silent, but the air inside it wasn’t.
It was thick, heavy with something neither of us wanted to name.
Bobby’s hands were tight on the steering wheel, his knuckles white, his jaw clenched so hard I could hear the grind of his teeth.
The streetlights flashed through the windshield in rhythmic patterns, casting shadows across his sharp features.
He hadn’t said a word since we left Maria’s house, and I wasn’t about to be the one to break first. But the longer we drove, the more unbearable it became, the more I could feel it pressing down on my skin, the same way his eyes had burned into me at dinner.
I crossed my arms, shifting in my seat. "You’re awfully quiet."
His fingers twitched on the wheel. "Just tired."
I let out a humorless laugh. "Tired? That’s funny. I thought maybe you were still brooding over dinner."
His shoulders tensed, but he didn’t look at me. "Drop it, Gabbi."
That only made me want to push further. "What exactly pissed you off more?" I asked, turning toward him fully now. "The fact that Maria was treating me like a hero, or the fact that I didn’t push Mateo away the second he sat down next to me?"
His hands flexed, gripping the wheel so hard I swore the leather would rip. "I said drop it."
"Why? Because you don’t want to admit that you were jealous?"
His jaw ticked. "I wasn’t jealous."
I let out a scoff, shaking my head. "Right. You just glared at Mateo all night and nearly snapped your fork in half because you thought the food was that good."
His nostrils flared, and in a single, sharp movement, he pulled the car over to the side of the road. My breath caught as he threw the gear into park, his body tense, his breathing harsh. The street was deserted, the world outside dark and quiet, but inside the car, everything was alive, burning.
His eyes turned to me then, green and wild and filled with something barely restrained. "You drive me fucking crazy, Gabbi."
The words sent a shockwave through me, my pulse hammering, my throat tight. "Good."
That was all it took.
He reached for me, his fingers wrapping around my jaw as his lips crashed into mine.
A hard, desperate kiss, filled with every unspoken thing between us, with anger, with need, with years of something unresolved and festering just beneath the surface.
The moment his mouth claimed mine, I stopped thinking.
I grabbed at his jacket, pulling him closer, wanting more, needing more. His hands slid into my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping against mine, demanding, relentless. Heat shot through me, pooling low in my stomach, curling into something sharp, something aching.
His hands found my waist, gripping tight, pulling me forward. I climbed over the console, my knees pressing into the seat as I straddled him, my dress riding up my thighs. He groaned against my lips, his hands moving down, gripping the backs of my thighs, pulling me flush against him.
"You shouldn’t be doing this," he muttered, his mouth trailing down my jaw, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of my neck. "You shouldn’t want this."
But I did. I always had.
I let my head fall back, gasping as his lips brushed, then bit, his tongue soothing the sting immediately after. My fingers dug into his shoulders, gripping his jacket as he pushed it off my arms, his breath ragged, uneven.
"Tell me to stop," he whispered, his lips hovering over my skin.
I shook my head, no hesitation. "Don’t you dare."
A curse rumbled from his chest, his hands dragging up my thighs, spreading heat in their wake. His fingers slid under my dress, tracing my skin, slow, deliberate. His touch was too much and not enough, leaving a path of fire everywhere he went.
I shifted against him, rolling my hips, and he let out a low, guttural sound, his hands tightening, his breath hitching. "Fuck, Gabbi."
"Shut up and kiss me."
He did.
He kissed me like he needed this to breathe, like he had been starving for years, like he hated how much he wanted it. His tongue tangled with mine, his grip unrelenting, his body hot and hard beneath me.
I reached between us, my fingers finding the buttons of his shirt, slipping them free one by one. I needed to feel him. I needed to remind myself that this was real, that this wasn’t a dream, that we weren’t still trapped in the past.
His shirt slid open, my hands smoothing over his chest, over warm skin, tense muscles. He exhaled sharply, his head dropping back against the seat for a split second before he flipped us, his hands gripping my hips, pressing me into the seat beneath him.
The windows fogged. The world outside disappeared.
His hands skimmed my body, pushing my dress higher, exposing more skin to the cool air and his burning touch. Every brush of his fingers sent a shiver through me, a fresh wave of longing, of ache.
He hovered over me, his eyes searching mine, his breathing uneven. "This is a bad idea."
I reached up, my fingers curling into his hair, tugging him down. "I don’t care."
His lips crushed against mine, and that was it.
He pressed against me, all heat and tension and too much emotion. His hands, his mouth, his everything consumed me, made me forget every reason why this was wrong.
And when he finally pushed into me, slow and deep, a sharp gasp left my lips, my body arching into him, taking, needing, drowning in him.
His forehead pressed against mine, his breath heavy, his hands gripping my waist like he would never let go.
"Gabbi," he murmured, voice wrecked, raw.
I kissed him, holding on, pulling him closer.
Because in that moment, he wasn’t pushing me away.
He was right here.
And that was all I ever wanted.