Also, it put me in a better position to slam my hands on my hips and screech, “That bitch!”
“Cupcake—”
“Fuck her!” I shouted. “Yes, Gabriel Stark,”—I reached and took one of his hands and slapped it on my chest—“this is yours.” I reached to his other hand and shoved it between my legs. “And that is yours. Every inch, baby. Every fucking inch.”
He tried to gently extricate from my hold, murmuring, “Okay, Willow. I hear you, baby. Chill out.”
“You can tell me anything.”
“Okay, babe.”
“You can because I want to know.”
“I know you do, cupcake.”
Gah!
I let him go, went to the toilet, tugged up my robe, yanked down my panties and sat, unrolling bunches of toilet paper to clean him from me, doing this ranting, “I really hope I never meet her. I’m an Avenging Angel! I’d fuck her shit up good. I mean, how could she know what you went through, how you found her, you having those nightmares, and not be there for you?”
He didn’t answer because I was still ranting.
“And I can’t even think about her not listening to you talk about your adventurous grandma!”
“Babe, you’re almost at the end of the roll, and if you toss that heap in the john, it’s gonna clog it.”
I stared down at the massive bunch of toilet paper in my hand.
I looked back at him. “A little privacy, Gabe.”
His lips tipped up. “You already dropped trou and you’re sitting on the bowl, woman, doing it to clean up my cum. I think we’re beyond that.”
Well, I guessed our lightning quick relationship was going to translate into this happening far sooner than it normally would.
At least he busied himself with extricating my makeup from the sink while I saw to business.
I was up, and he waited for me to wash and dry my hands before he caught me by the back of the neck, gave me a hard, dry kiss, and asked, “Refill on coffee?”
Still in his grip, I looked down to the basin, grateful I’d drunk most of the cup he’d already delivered so it hadn’t sloshed over during our recent activities, then back to him.
“Yeah.”
He kissed me, hard but (alas) dry again, let me go, grabbed my cup and went to refill my coffee.
I watched him going thinking Ariana Whatever-Her-Last-Name-Was was the stupidest bitch on the planet.
This is fortunate for you, since, if she wasn’t, you wouldn’t have gotten fucked so good this morning, Real Logic reminded me.
She’s still the stupidest bitch on the planet, Dreamer said.
Agreed, Real Logic replied.
Whatever.
I retrieved my shading brush.
And a few seconds later, Gabe came back with my coffee.
When we left my apartment that morning, Gabe walked me to my car.
