His thrusts somehow increase, and my lips part as he fucks me so hard the couch legs groan across the wooden flooring.
“Call me Ella again.”
He pauses, his thrusts slowing, his face close to mine as we lock eyes. His breath is quick, and he presses his forehead to mine. “Ella.”
Goose bumps shiver across my skin, and I close my eyes and arch up to kiss him again. He takes my mouth withheated passion, and when his hips start moving again, I allow myself to enjoy the moment.
To forget what regrets tomorrow might bring.
The fire is lit.Motor is asleep in front of it. We’re lying on the couch, Gable on his back, me on my side next to him. I’m delicately tracing my fingers across his broad chest, down his solid abs, and stop at a small, white mark.
“What’s this one from?”
“Knife,” he says quietly, his gaze fixed on my face. “A small one.”
I run my fingertip across it. “When?”
“The night before I saw you again. Someone left an orchid on your porch to fuck with you.” He takes hold of my hand and kisses my palm. “I killed him.”
My heart races from the contact and the words.
After we slept together a second time, Gable wasn’t finished with me. He made me come on his fingers and tongue, and I fell asleep, exhausted, waking up hours later to him watching me sleep. We found something to fill our stomachs, mainly Oreos and beer, and we’ve been talking ever since.
“What about this one?” I gently touch a larger scar on his ribs.
He swallows. “That’s a story for another time.”
I shift down and rest my head on his shoulder, his arm around me, my hand on his stomach. He plays with my fingers quietly, and it’s strange that he’s so tactile. I never thought he’d be the kind of lover to want to touch, caress, even cuddle, but we’ve been in almost constant contact since we arrived home.
“I’m sorry for what I said,” I whisper. “I put all of this on you.”
He gently runs his thumb across my palm. “It is on me.”
“No, it isn’t. We can’t blame ourselves. Things just … happen.” I’m unsure if I’m trying to convince myself or him, but I cling to the words anyway. I need them, or the guilt might eat me alive. “I should shower. I have like, eight buckets of cum in me.”
He laughs. “Such a wordsmith.”
I grin, pulling a blanket around me before getting up. I step over our scattered clothes and head upstairs.
As soon as I’m in the shower and the hot water hits me, I’m beyond exhausted. But that exhaustion is short-lived when the shower door opens and Gable steps in behind me. A slow smile creeps across my face as he laces his arms around me and pulls my back to his chest.
“Miss me already?” I ask as he kisses my neck.
“Annoyingly, yes,” he says, and I laugh.
I expect him to fuck me again, but he doesn’t. He takes his time washing me, soaping me up, getting to his knees and kissing my stomach, my thighs, my hands. The man fucking worships me when all he’s ever done is hate me, and the change is jarring but so needed that I find myself fighting tears. He washes my hair, conditions it, then I watch him clean himself.
Soap cascades down his muscular chest, slipping across solid abs and down to his cock. His muscles flex in his back as he washes his hair, and I watch him, ogle him, as I marvel that this god-like man has just been on his knees for me. A man who rarely smiles, who only loved his brother, who has killed countless people.
We dry off, I put on my favorite pajamas, and we get into bed. Gable immediately pulls me close, and as heswitches out the light, Motor hops onto the bed, curling up at our feet.
It all feels remarkably normal. Not like I’m the hunted, and he’s the killer who has sworn to keep me safe. Not that countless people want me dead, and he’ll die to protect me. Not that I fell for his brother, and now I’m in his arms.
We’re just two people who found each other when we were lost.
Chapter 38
Gable
