Chapter 35
Ella
Well.
That happened.
I haven’t written a thing since Gable kissed me in the hallway, and that was six days ago.
Six. Days.
Six days of pretending like it didn’t happen. Six days of hoping he’d never do it again while wishing every second that he would.
It’s driving me to distraction. It lit a fire inside me. I’m torn between my feelings for Asher and that snatched moment with Gable. It was seconds, but the moment pushed itself into me with such force that I can’t shake it. I tried to shake it. Three times this morning.
But I’m seeing him in a totally different way.
A way you shouldn’t look at a man like him.
Usually, when I’m turned on, I channel it through my writing. It helps because I can put my wishes onto paper and at least let my characters get what I can’t. But I’m living in the same house as the man my body wants and can’t escape him.
But I won’t do it. This is Asher’s best friend. His brother. It’s wrong.
Hot, though.
Wrong.
And fucking hot.
“What’s Todd saying today?”
I look up from my laptop. I’m in my usual chair by the window, and Gable is watching me from the couch. I must have tapped my temple without realizing.
“Nonsense, as usual,” I say. He glances at my clenched toes.
It’s New Year’s Eve. The tree is still up, the TV is on but muted, and I have no plans to stay up to celebrate midnight. I’ve fallen completely out of my sleeping and writing schedule, and I’m tired already. It isn’t even ten yet.
“I might call it a night,” I say, closing the laptop.
He raises his eyebrows. “Already?”
“Yeah, I’m in a funk. Todd isn’t pulling his weight.” I get to my feet. Motor is snoring near the fire.
“Okay,” Gable says, and as I walk by him, he takes my hand.
I snatch it away, my skin hot from his touch. He stares at me, hand still hovering near mine, and I dart up the stairs.
I need to get out of this house. I need to roll around in the goddamn snow.
“Ella.” Gable follows me up the stairs and into the hall. This fucking hallway. “You have to stop doing that.”
I tap my fingers against my leg and turn to him. “Doing what?”
“You flinch whenever I’m near you. And every time you do, it just reminds me …” He sighs. “Just stop. I’m not going to do anything.”
“Then why did you do it at all?” I ask, my heart racing, wondering why I’m asking when the answer doesn’t matter.
“Because … because I got caught up. It was the day, reading what you’d written … I reacted and I shouldn’t have. And like I said, it won’t happen again.”
It shouldn’t hurt, but it does. Reducing that kiss down to a split-second mistake really fucking hurts.
“So, you didn’t want to do it?”
Give it up, Ella.
“No,” he says.
“Why?”
He sighs. “Fuck, you’re annoying. You want to know why I didn’t want to kiss you? There’s your answer. You piss me off.”
“Right, okay.”
“This can’t happen, Ella. It can’t ever happen.”
I’m breathing fast now, my heart ruling my head, because my head is telling me to walk away and ride out these next few weeks in peace.
“I know,” I say. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Not just that,” he says, and he makes to move closer but stops himself. “Asher wouldn’t want it.”
“You don’t know what he would have wanted, because this situation is so out of left field, he never would have even considered it,” I say, raking my hands through my hair.
“Believe me, I know exactly how he’d feel,” he says. “And he wouldn’t like how I’d treat you.”
What the hell does that mean?
“Treat me?” I ask. “It was a kiss; I’m not asking you to go steady, Gable.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
I sigh and roll my eyes. “Then be fucking clear. You’ve never had an issue with cold-hearted truth before, so lay it on me.”
His eyes search my face. “I know how he was with you. I won’t make you feel loved; I won’t make you feel wanted, Gibson. I’ll make you feel good, and that is where it will end.”
My heart is racing so fast that my neck warms, and my fingernails press almost painfully into my thighs.
“I don’t have his kindness in me,” he says. “I never have. So, while he’ll have … admired you, appreciated you, I would use you. So yes, I know he wouldn’t have wanted this. And that’s why I don’t want it, either.”
I take in a deep shuddering breath, cheeks warm.
“So, you’re saying you’d just fuck me?”
“That is exactly what I’m saying.”
Walk away, Ella. You don’t even want this.
My breath shakes when I let it out. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Okay, maybe you do. What the fuck?
He stares at me. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, Ella. You’ll only hate yourself tomorrow.”
“I already hate myself! I hate myself for keeping him here when he should have left; I hate myself for replaying your kiss; I hate that my body wants you when my heart hates you. Hating myself tomorrow is no fucking change.”
He looks away and wets his lips. “Then deal with that hate. I’m not adding to it. I’m here to keep you alive—that’s it.”
This isn’t how this was supposed to go. None of this was supposed to happen. “God, I need to get out of this house.”
I stride by him and down the stairs, going for my boots at the back door and yanking them on, along with my coat.
Gable isn’t far behind. “Where are you going?”
“For a walk.” I pull up my hood and go to the front door, almost running out into the snow. I almost slip down the steps but grip the banister in time.
“Gibson.”
“Leave me alone, Gable!”
“So you can freeze to death?”
I ignore him and keep walking, passing the car and heading for the path that leads to the forest. I want to be alone, but his footsteps are approaching fast.
Fuck this.
I break into a run.
“Gibson, what the fuck are you doing!”
My hair whips back as I push my legs harder, ignoring the cold biting into my cheeks. But the snow is too deep, and Gable catches up with me quickly, grabbing my hand and yanking me to him so our bodies meet.
“Where are you going?” he demands, glaring down at me.
“Away from you! Away from that fucking place!” I scream, pulling my wrists free from his grip. He takes hold of my hand and starts half-dragging me back to the cabin. “Let go of me, Gable!” He ignores me until I snatch my hand back, and he whirls to face me.
His expression is furious as his breath billows out like smoke between us. “Am I really that bad? Is me saving you really that fucking awful?”
“No, it’s the opposite!” I scream, my words fueled by guilt and the terror behind what I’m about to say.
“You’re not just keeping me alive, Gable, you’re making me feel alive.
You’re fixing wounds you didn’t even make.
And I don’t know how you’re doing it, but …
” I almost choke on a sob. “You’re making me feel things for you and I can’t—”
He rests his forehead against mine, eyes squeezed closed. “Don’t fucking say it, Gibson. I’m holding on by a fucking thread here.”
My lip trembles. “I’m falling for you and I don’t know what to do about it.”
Gable exhales, jaw tight. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck …” He opens his eyes, lifting his forehead from mine but remaining close. “Fuck it to fucking hell.”
It's seconds. Seconds, and his lips crash against mine. The flame between us roars to life and I respond with the same animalistic need, raking my fingers through his hair as he devours my mouth, his tongue stroking against mine.
It’s reckless, foolish, pointless to do this. We’re only hurting ourselves, but I meant every word I said.
I’m falling for him, and I already know he’ll break my heart.
But he can have it anyway.
I don’t know how we end up in the snow, me on my back, him on his knees, but he tears my coat open. He kisses me again, one hand resting by my head, the other unbuttoning my jeans.
His kiss is everything. His hands on me sends warm pulses of pleasure through my body. I shouldn’t want this, I know that, but right now, I don’t know how to want anything else.
“Touch me.” I roll my hips, grinding against the hardness in his jeans.
He growls, a low rumble of need coming from his throat. “Are you sure you want this?”
“I came three times this morning thinking about your fingers, Gable,” I whisper, and he groans into my throat. “Make that fantasy come true.”
Cold bites into me as he tugs my jeans down, enough for him to delve his fingers into me.
My eyes roll back as pleasure washes over me, a strange concoction of warm lust and bitterly cold air.
“Don’t make a sound, Gibson,” he demands. “Not a fucking sound.”
My toes curl in my boots as he fingers me, the heel of his palm grinding against my clit.
I grit my teeth, desperate to moan, but eager to do as he says, whatever the reason may be for it.
The air I breathe in is so cold it almost hurts, so I focus on the pleasure, on the pebbling of my nipples against my bra, the feel of his fingers, my wetness, the look of raw need in his expression as he drinks in every move I make.
That’s what sends me over the edge—the way he looks at me like he’d devour me whole if he could, like he wants to fuck me, hurt me, punish me for every time we ever argued.
My entire body tenses as my orgasm hits me.
My back arches, snow crunching beneath me, and Gable kisses me as if swallowing the sounds I’m not allowed to make. It’s as if my moans spread through me, heightening every other sensation, the pleasure trapped in my body amplifying every feeling.
“Good fucking girl,” Gable says against my lips. “Get in the back seat.”
I think I’ve misheard him until I realize we’re lying by the car. He stands and pulls me to my feet, keeping me standing on wobbly legs, then opens the door.
I do as I’m told.