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 yourfingers, 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.
Chapter 36
Gable
Iclimb into the back seat with Ella, laying her down. She’s still catching her breath, and I undress her, taking off her boots and socks, pulling her jeans down her legs, and she barely moves. The only time she does is to help me pull off her T-shirt, and she still hasn’t said a word.
Once she’s only in her underwear and bra, I kneel between her legs and lean over her, resting my elbow by her head.
“Tell me what you want, Gibson,” I say, kissing her softly. “Tell me how you like to be fucked.”
A small breath escapes her, and she falters, as if she’s never been asked the question before. That pisses me off. I know she never slept with Asher, so the conversation between them never happened, but what about the others? Did no fucker care what she wanted?
“I … I don’t know how to answer,” she whispers, blushing a deep red.
“Okay. Do you like it slow?” I ask, and she shakes her head slowly. “Do you like to be on top?”
“Absolutely not.”
I grin. “Do you like it hard?” A slow, barely perceivable nod. My gaze drifts across her face, and excitement coils in my belly. “Rough?” Another slow nod, and an anxious swallow that has me kissing her throat.
“At least … I think I do. I’ve never really had it like that.” She runs her fingers through my hair, the sensation giving me shivers. “I like the idea of you fucking me like you hate me.”
Just when I thought this woman couldn’t pull me in any more, she says things like that.
“Do you want me to hurt you?”
Her throat quivers beneath my lips. “Yes.”
“Dominate you?”
A soft moan. “God, yes.”
