Sex is one thing; what is before us is something more. I thought of him as my friend, a man I wanted to bed. But, if I let myself, I will completely lose my heart to him, a man who refuses to let himself commit to anyone.
I force myself to lift the camera, focus it on him, make my voice light. I probably fail, my hands are shaking, my voice is too breathy. "And yet you don't want to fuck me."
It's supposed to be a tease. We both know it's not. And I'm cursing myself for speaking because I know he'll volley right back. I feel it in the air, and my heart starts to pound.
Gabriel smiles then. It's the smile of a predator: a slow curl of the lips, his eyes narrowing on me. A deep rumble sounds in his chest. "You believe that, do you? Shall I tell you all the ways I want to fuck you, chatty girl?"
I make an incoherent sound, my insides swooping wildly. "Tell me."
"You talk of scars," he says. "You have one too. On the right side of your upper lip."
"An Indiana Jones moment gone wrong when I was six."
His eyes crinkle, but he doesn't smile. His expression borders on pain. "I've wanted to suckle that little bump from the moment I noticed it on the plane. Every time you talk I want to tongue that lip, taste your soft mouth."
I breathe harder, setting the camera aside.
"It drives me to distraction," he says, "wanting to hunt you down at all hours of the day. Just to hear your voice, see those lips move."
I can't talk now, and my lips are parted, flush and wanting.
He doesn't seem to mind my silence. His gaze moves over me like a hot hand. "The nights are the hardest. But I suspect you know that."
"Yes." It's a strangled whimper.
"I lie there holding you, telling myself I will not roll you onto your back. I cannot push up those thin shirts that taunt me with the shape of you to finally find out if your nipples are pale pink or blush brown."
He takes a deep breath, and his abs clench, drawing my eyes to the thick rise of his cock, growing visibly harder as he speaks.
"There are times I torture myself by thinking of those fantastic tits. Of how I'd lick them like ice cream, tasting every luscious curve. Slow, long licks." His lids lower as he stares at my breasts, and my nipples stiffen painfully. "How would they taste? Would you like it best if I sucked those nipples hard? Or mouthed them so softly you barely feel it and have to beg for more?"
God. I'm squirming now, everything going deliciously tight.
He makes a low hum in the back of his throat, seeming to enjoy the show. "Some nights, it's so bad I don't want to bother with foreplay. I want to lift your leg, make room for myself between your thighs, and rut like a selfish, greedy bastard. I want to fuck the wetness into your sweet box, feel you grow slick around me."
His rough voice is so disgruntled, I let out a breathless laugh-because my head is spinning, my skin so hot, I feel faint. "You think I'd object?"
His eyes snap with heat. "You want me to use your body for my pleasure?"
Fuck yes. "As hard as you can."
A shudder wracks his frame, and he digs his fingers into the chair arms as if holding himself back.
I can't have that. I slouch further on the couch, spreading my legs just at bit. The air feels cool against my heated skin.
His gaze goes immediately to the shadowy space beneath my skirt, and my thighs clench in response.
"But you wouldn't have to fuck me wet," I whisper, heart pounding. "Anytime I'm in bed with you, I'm wet."
A low, strangled grunt leaves him.
"So fucking wet, Gabriel. Every night. All night."
As his head lolls against the back of his chair, his gaze going somnolent, I give him a weak smile. "Why do you think I'm washing so many panties?"
It's almost sleepy, the look he gives me, but I see the calculated gleam in his eyes. "Are they wet now?"
"They've been wet since you walked through that door."
His nostrils flare as if he can draw in my scent from all the way over there. "Show me."
My clit swells, pressing tight against the gusset of my panties. I'm so turned on, my stomach quakes. I spread my legs for him, the soft fabric of the skirt slithering up my skin. With shaking hands, I pull the skirt higher, present myself fully to his gaze.
Color floods his sharp cheeks, his lips parting. I picture myself, white panties darkened by a flood of need, outlining the rude shape of my swollen sex, and I whimper, canting my hips.
"More," he rasps. "Give me a peek of that honey I've been craving."
Oh, shit. I can't breathe. My hand shakes as I hook a finger in my panties and almost shyly pull them aside. I feel so naughty, a dirty girl giving an illicit glimpse, that my skin flares white hot.
He groans, low and pained, his body tensing in the chair. His gaze stays locked on my exposed flesh as his hand slides over his hard abs and closes over the immense erection straining against his pants. He gives himself an impatient squeeze.
"Gorgeous," he says, gripping himself tighter.
"Take it out," I tell him, trembling. "I want to see you too."
He doesn't hesitate, just unzips and pushes his trousers and underwear down low on his thighs. His cock bobs free, rising to kiss the hollow of his navel.
Gabriel's cock. For a second I can't believe I'm actually looking at it. My gaze slides over the tender curve of his weighty balls, up to the meaty jut of his dick, so engorged it visibly pulses. As if it pains him, he strokes its long length. Just once.
I swallow hard. "I want to do that."
He strokes again, a lazy glide. A tease. "If you get anywhere near this cock, it's going to be fucking you."
I want that so badly. I can almost feel him between my legs, pushing in hot and thick and strong. Somehow I find my voice.
"You should know, I can't be a fling. Not with you. If you want me, you have to be all in."
A frown knots his brows, and when he speaks, his voice is a rasp. "I've lived my whole life denying myself what I truly want. And yet I cannot turn from you. Haven't you realized it yet? I am yours. I will always be yours, whether I touch you or not."
Something inside of me snaps. I'm through waiting. In a daze, I rise from my seat. My skirt flutters around my legs, my skin so sensitive now, the fabric tickles.
Gabriel watches me come to him. With each slow step I take, his breathing gets deeper, as if he's struggling to draw in enough air.
I straddle his lap, and that first point of contact-my bare thighs sliding over his-has me whimpering. God, he feels good. His skin is hot, a sheen of sweat covering his chest, his body thrumming with tension. The length of his cock lies heavy and thick between us, pressing into my fluttering belly.
A grunt escapes him, and his big hand comes down on my butt, kneading it-as if he can't help himself-before he hauls me closer. My breasts cushion on his hard chest. His other hand grips of my hair, holding me right where he wants me.
Our breath mingles as we stare at each other. Gabriel studies my mouth, a tremor running through him. When his eyes meet mine again, they're filled with heat.
"I wasn't prepared to need you this much. I don't know who I am anymore if you aren't with me."
He trembles again, holding himself so stiffly.
"I need you too," I whisper, stroking his shoulder. "So much it hurts. Take the hurt away, Gabriel."
"Sophie." His grip in my hair tightens. But when his lips touch mine, they're soft, a gentle brush. I've been waiting so long for this touch, it does something to me, sends my pulse skittering. My belly clenches sweetly, breath leaving me in a rush.
And he sighs, as if he too has been waiting for this. My eyes close, and I let myself just feel him, the way he slowly explores me-a nuzzle of my lower lip, a slow, delicate suck of my upper lip.
We're locked tight, his cock pulsing between us, our hearts thudding so hard I can feel the answering beat of his against my chest. And yet he kisses me as if he's memorizing this moment, our lips melding, then drifting away.
My head spins, my body becoming heavy. I kiss him with more intensity, needing, just needing. He feels so good; every time I touch him, my insides ease with relief and then tighten with greedy want.
The chair beneath us creaks. Gabriel's other hand slides up my back to tangle in my hair. His kiss grows hungry, going deeper, wetter. He groans, and then he's not so gentle or polite.
Whatever tether he's had on himself snaps. He lurches up to devour me with a hot intensity that has my head spinning.
The sounds he makes, as if he's so hungry, dying for it. There is no end, no beginning, only our mouths meeting, messy and uncoordinated.
More and more, I'm whimpering and impatient, needy and lustful. His mouth moves to my jaw and down my neck, where he finds a spot that curls my toes. Rough hands grab my ass, haul me closer.
The thick, round tip of his cock notches against my sex and pushes in, stopped by my panties. But he's in me, that wide head pulsing and stretching my opening. I'm balanced there, unable to get more, unwilling to move off.