I take the plate he offers, not bothering to thank him. Buttery rich steam rises from the simple food, which is better than anything I’ve managed in months. Maybe years.
“I don’t appreciate stalkers following me to work,” I say between bites.
Gabriel pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth. “If by ‘follow you to work,’ you mean showing up at Foundation like I have every week for the past three months, then sure, I’m guilty.”
“Like a dog that just won’t take the hint, even after you kick him.”
He laughs, the rich sound filling my crappy apartment. “I’m good at reading people, but if you want to think of me like a dog, by all means, do so.”
We eat in silence for several minutes, and the food settles in my stomach, better than I want to admit.
When our plates are empty, I stand and take them to the sink. “I’m going to take a shower. You can leave now.”
“My replacement car won’t be here for twenty more minutes.” He leans against the counter, watching me wash the plates. “I could join you in the shower.”
The phantom sensation of his arms around me and his thighs hugging mine sends blood rushing south. “No.”
I turn away, heading for the bathroom. The door closes behind me with a satisfying click, and I strip off my jeans, dropping them to the floor. The shower hisses and spits before warm water cascades down, steam rising to fog the mirror.
Under the spray, I close my eyes and let the water pound my shoulders. Gabriel’s scent clings to my skin despite the soap, and my cock stirs as memories from last night surface again.
The wet heat of his mouth.
The pressure of his hands on my thighs.
The way he took me deeper than anyone before.
My hand slides down my stomach, wrapping around my hardening length. Water runs in rivulets between my fingers as I stroke, recalling the rhythm Gabriel set.
My free hand braces on the tile wall, head dropping forward as I pump faster. In my mind, Gabriel is still on his knees, mouth open, taking medeep. The fantasy builds, hotter and more vivid than I want it to be.
My breath catches as pressure builds at the base of my spine. Teeth scrape my bottom lip, holding back any sound from escaping. My hips rock forward into my fist, chasing my release.
When it hits, I press my forehead against the cool tile, muscles going rigid as pleasure washes through me. The water carries the evidence down the drain, but shame lingers long past physical satisfaction.
I scrub my skin until it’s pink and raw, trying to erase the ghost of his touch and the heat he left behind on my body.
By the time I step out of the bathroom, the blanket and pillow are put away. For half a second, I think he left, and my stomach squeezes into a knot. Then I find him by the window, phone pressed to his ear, speaking quietly so as not to disturb me.
Gabriel stays with his back to me, unaware of my entrance.
“Have them keep the container yard under surveillance,” Gabriel says into the phone. “If Tony’s people make another move, I want to be informed right away.”
As I take in the kitchen, a prickle of discomfort slides across my skin. The dishes I left in the dryingrack are now put away, and the countertops gleam, cleared of the takeout containers and coffee cups I’d left behind. Even the floor is cleaner. He must have swept while I lingered in the shower, draining the hot water tank.
I stride to the coffeemaker, getting out a new mug, since the one I used earlier has already been cleaned and put away.
Gabriel turns at the sound of my footsteps, and he raises a finger in acknowledgment, and the casual gesture somehow amplifies my growing unease.
“Keep me updated,” he finishes, ending the call and sliding the phone into his pocket.
Heat crawls up my neck. Did he hear me in the shower? The thought of him listening, knowing what I was doing, sends heat skittering under my skin.
He walks over to the kitchen. “That was Sebastian. I called him last night and asked him to look into our dockworker. He got me Hector Diaz’s home address,” he offers, leaning against the counter.
I scowl into my coffee. While I’d been panicking about getting my dick sucked, Gabriel had been out here, still working.
“His place is in the Oakridge neighborhood,” Gabriel continues. “He renovated a two-bedroom house last year, and it’s suspiciously nice for someoneon a port security salary, even accounting for what my family pays him.”
