Chapter Aria
Aria
I was elbow-deep in soapy water, scrubbing the remnants of Caleb's mac and cheese off a pot, when I heard the front door open and close.
My heart did a little skip—which was ridiculous, considering I'd been around these men for weeks now.
But something about Gabriel always set me on edge in the best possible way.
"Aria?" His voice carried through the house, rough and tired.
"Kitchen," I called back, rinsing the pot and setting it in the drying rack.
Heavy footsteps approached, and then he was there, filling the doorway in his uniform. His dark hair was slightly mussed, his jaw tight with the kind of tension that came from a long shift. Those intense eyes found mine immediately, and I felt that familiar flutter low in my stomach.
"Caleb asleep?" he asked, loosening his collar.
"Out like a light. We read three books and he was done." I dried my hands on a towel, trying not to stare at the way his uniform stretched across his shoulders. "Long day?"
"You could say that." He moved into the kitchen, and suddenly the space felt smaller. He opened the fridge, stared at the contents for a moment, then closed it without taking anything. "I'm starving, but I'm too tired to figure out what I want."
"When's the last time you ate?"
He had to think about it. "Lunch? Maybe?"
I shook my head, moving toward the fridge. "That's not okay. Sit down. I'll make you something."
"You don't have to—"
"Gabriel." I turned to look at him, one hand on my hip. “Sit down. Down."
A slow smile curved his lips, transforming his whole face. "Bossy."
"You have no idea," I shot back, pulling out eggs, cheese, and some leftover vegetables. “Omelet, okay?"
"Perfect." He pulled out a chair at the kitchen table, but instead of sitting, he leaned against the counter near the stove, watching me. "You're good with him, Caleb."
"He's a great kid." I cracked eggs into a bowl, hyperaware of Gabriel's proximity. "He told me today that you're the strongest person in the world."
Gabriel's expression softened. "He says that?"
"Mmhmm. Right after he tried to arm wrestle me and I let him win." I whisked the eggs, then poured them into the heated pan. "You're his hero, you know."
"I'm just trying not to screw him up."
The vulnerability in his voice made me look over at him. His jaw was tight again, eyes distant. Without thinking, I reached out and touched his arm. "You're doing an amazing job. He's happy, he's loved, he's thriving. That's all because of you."
Gabriel's gaze dropped to where my hand rested on his forearm, then slowly travelled up to meet my eyes. The air between us shifted, charged with something electric.
"You make it sound easy," he said quietly.
"I know it's not." I should have moved my hand. I didn't. "But you're not alone anymore. You have the guys. You have me."
"You." He said it like he was testing the word. His hand came up to cover mine, warm and rough. "You know you're making this really hard, right?"
My breath caught. "Making what hard?"
"Keeping my distance." His thumb stroked across my knuckles. "Following the rules."
"What rules?" My voice came out breathier than I intended.
"The ones that say I shouldn't be thinking about you the way I am right now."
The eggs were going to burn. I should turn around, flip them, finish cooking. Instead, I stood frozen, drowning in the intensity of his gaze.
"And how are you thinking about me?" I whispered.
Gabriel moved closer, his free hand coming up to cup my jaw. "Like I want to kiss you until you forget every other man you've ever met. Like I want to hear you say my name when you come. Like I want to—" He stopped himself, jaw clenching. "Fuck. I shouldn't be saying this."
"The eggs," I breathed.
He reached behind me and turned off the burner, never breaking eye contact. We were inches apart now, his body radiating heat. "Tell me to stop."
I should. This was too fast, too intense. But I'd been feeling this pull toward him—toward all of them—since the moment we met. "I don't want you to stop."
That was all the permission he needed. His mouth crashed into mine, hungry and demanding, and I melted into him. His hands gripped my waist, lifting me onto the counter in one smooth motion. I gasped against his lips, and he took advantage, deepening the kiss until I was dizzy with it.
"Fuck, you taste good," he growled against my mouth, his hands sliding up my sides. "Been thinking about this for weeks."
"Me too," I admitted, threading my fingers through his hair. It was softer than I expected. Everything about this moment was overwhelming in the best way—his taste, his touch, the way he kissed like he was starving for it.
His lips moved to my neck, and I tilted my head back, giving him access. One of his hands slid higher, thumb brushing the underside of my breast through my shirt, and I couldn't stop the moan that escaped.
"That's it," he murmured against my skin. "Let me hear you."
His phone rang, shrill and insistent in his pocket.
We both froze. Gabriel dropped his forehead to my shoulder with a muttered curse. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."
The phone kept ringing. He pulled back, jaw tight with frustration, and checked the screen. "It's the station. I have to—"
"Answer it," I said, trying to catch my breath. "It's okay."
He answered with a clipped "Stone," his eyes never leaving mine. I watched his expression shift from frustrated to focused. "Yeah. Yeah, I can come in. Give me twenty minutes."
When he hung up, we stared at each other. My lips felt swollen, my body still humming with want. His hair was messed up from my fingers, his uniform rumpled.
"I have to go," he said, his voice rough.
"I know."
"But this—" He gestured between us. "We're not done."
"No," I agreed, sliding off the counter on shaky legs. "We're definitely not done."
He caught my wrist, pulling me close for one more kiss—slower this time, but no less intense. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark with promise. "Soon."
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
He grabbed his keys and headed for the door, then paused and looked back. "Aria?"
"Yeah?"
"Next time, there won't be any interruptions."
Then he was gone, and I was left alone in his kitchen, heart racing, body aching, and completely certain that I was in way over my head with these men.
I looked at the half-cooked omelet in the pan and laughed breathlessly.
Worth it.