I’ve imagined Gabe like this more times than I can count. More times than any sane person should admit to. But hearing him, actually hearing him, not some imagined sound, is different.
I can’t believe he’s touching himself thinking of me. Sweet, beautiful Gabe. Does he touch himself gently? Move his hand up and down slowly? Is there precum leaking from his cock as he thinks of me?
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I don’t even make it to the bed.
My sweats are down, and my hand is around my cock before I know it. I’m already so hard it hurts, and the first stroke rips a sound out of me.
All I can think about is Gabe. All I can see is Gabe—Gabe laughing, Gabe flushed in the cheeks, Gabe looking at me with soft green eyes. Gabe moaning my name like that.
My grip tightens. My hips jerk forward. I fuck into my fist like I’m chasing something I’ve been starving for. Ihavebeen starved. I’ve always tried my best not to think of him when I touch myself. I’ve imagined many things, but touching myself while doing that always felt a step too far. Now though…
I picture him straddling me while I fist us both, setting the pace as he thrusts into the tunnel of my hand. I picture him looking me in the eye while he drives me out of my mind. Those pretty lips parting on a moan.
My hand speeds up.
“Fuck,” I pant, stroking harder and faster, until my thighs are trembling. I’m leaking so much it’s running over my knuckles.There’s no finesse in what I’m doing—no tease, no slow build. I need this, and I need it right fucking now.
I imagine his hair sticking to his forehead, his lips catching the light when he smiles down at me. Imagine his hands braced on my chest, holding me still, telling me exactly what he wants. Would he talk dirty? I don’t know if he would, but would he like it if I did? Would it make him blush all the way to his ears?
That last thought tips me over the edge.
I come hard, spilling over my fist, vision going white.
I stand there, breathing hard, my whole body shaking.
When I finally clean up and drop into bed, I’m still hard, still buzzing all over until sleep pulls me under.
Thoughts of Gabe Shaw’s shy smile and green eyes fill my dreams.
I pad into the kitchen the next morning, heart thudding, nerves tight in my stomach. It’s not that I feel guilty for what I did—more like I have a secret. A dirty secret. And I am terrible at keeping secrets.
But if I told Gabe I heard him, he’d freak out. And what am I gonna say exactly? I heard you coming while saying my name, and then I made myself come thinking about it.
Yeah,no.
There’s a green mug waiting for me on the counter, smelling faintly of mint. My favorite, and he knows it.
The balcony door is cracked open, letting in a stream of cold air.
Gabe’s there, cross-legged in the corner chair, wrapped up in that chunky cardigan he loves, cradling his mug in both hands.His cheeks are pink, and not just from the chill, by the way he’s looking at me from the corner of his eye.
“Morning,” he says, sounding nervous. He has nothing to be nervous about. I welcome what happened last night. I’ve no idea how to tell him that, though, so I try to lighten the mood as best I can.
“Morning.” I grin at him, and he nibbles his lip, hiding that shy smile. So fucking cute.
I grab my tea and step outside, sinking into the chair beside him. Our knees bump, and I feel heat rush straight to my gut over the small contact. He doesn’t move away—doesn’t even look at me—but his blush deepens.
“You’re up early,” I say lightly, taking a sip. “Couldn’t sleep? Or just too much book club smut rattling around in your head?”
His ears go red instantly.
Bingo.
He makes a sound that’s almost a laugh, shaking his head. “No, I’m always up this early. You know that.”
Yeah, I do, but I like getting the opportunity to tease him, especially when that little smile hasn’t left his face.
