“Zalea, if you’re talking about the abortion, I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. You know I already had the tour?—”
My blood runs cold and I squeeze my eyes shut to try and force away the nausea that hits me. “I don’t want to talk about this,” I cut in.
Everytime I’m reminded of that day, it makes me sick to my stomach. I rush toward his door, almost making it before his hand closes around my wrist, pulling me to a stop.
“Okay,” he says softly behind me. “We won’t talk about it.”
I quietly let out a deep breath, willing the feeling of panic to go away.
“Not tonight,” he adds.
I swallow the lump forming in my throat and let him pull me back against his chest. He sweeps my hair over one shoulder, baring my neck, and I close my eyes as his lips press to my skin in a gentle kiss. He knows this is exactly what I need; a distraction from the chaotic storm in my head.
“Tell me you missed me,” he murmurs, his mouth skimming along my neck as he speaks. “Tell me you won’t disappear again.”
When I don’t say anything, his hand slides around my waist and slips beneath my shirt, warm fingers tracing upward until they find the edge of my bra. He tugs it down roughly, a sharp contrast to the softness of his mouth still working over my skin, and my body arches instinctively as his fingers circle my nipple, teasing and possessive.
I bite down on my lip, fighting the sound rising in my throat because this is exactly how he always gets me. Exactly how I forget everything I swore I wouldn’t.
Gabriel grabs onto the hem of my shirt and lifts it over my head before swiftly unclasping my bra. He slowly traces a finger down my bare torso until he reaches the waistband of my skirt and tugs it down until it pools at my ankles, followed by my underwear.
I turn in his arms and kiss him desperately, as if I’ve been holding my breath for years and he’s the only air left. I don’t bother fussing with his shirt as I reach for his belt and undo it, yanking it out of the loops and abandoning it on the floor beside us before I undo the button and zipper and yank his pants down with his boxers, his already hard cock springing free. He makes a low sound in his throat and holds me tighter, backing me toward the bed like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go.
Everything about him feels familiar in the most dangerous way. The way his hands know exactly where to go, the way my body responds before my mind can even catch up. My skin humsunder his touch, every nerve lighting up as if it’s been waiting for this moment before coming back to life.
I should stop this. I know I should. This is not helping me reinvent myself. In fact, it’s sucking me back into my old ways. But the second the backs of my knees hit the mattress and he follows me down, the thought slips away, drowned out by my aching need.
Gabriel presses his forehead to mine, breathing hard, like he’s trying to ground himself. When he finally pulls back, his gaze tracks every change in my expression, every shallow inhale, like he’s cataloging the ways I’m already coming undone.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.
I don’t say anything, hating that he notices. His thumb brushes the corner of my mouth and I part my lips without thinking. His eyes darken with approval and hunger all wrapped together in one.
“Still can’t help yourself,” he says quietly. “Even now.”
I cover my face with my hands, embarrassed at how easily my body responds to him, and he pulls them away before leaning down just enough to kiss me once. Soft and teasing as if telling me to stop overthinking. Then he pulls back again, denying me more, and watching the frustration flare across my face as a needy whimper slips from my lips before I can stop it.
“There it is,” he murmurs. “That sound is exactly what I’ve missed hearing.”
“Gabriel,” I breathe, half warning and half plea.
He smiles, lowering his mouth to my neck and trailing a torturous path, lips barely brushing my skin, like he’s savouring every inch of me. I buck my hips under him, restless and needy, but his hand immediately clamps down on my waist.
“Easy, Red,” he warns in a low voice. “You don’t get to rush this after disappearing on me like that.”
The words send a shiver straight through me as his hand slides from my waist to my underwear, gently shifting it to the side before his fingers sink into my wet entrance. I gasp sharply, my head tipping back against the mattress.
“There you go,” he murmurs, pleased. “Let me hear you.”
My breath turns uneven as he works his fingers in and out, broken sounds slipping from my lips before I can swallow them back, and he smiles as he listens. I grab onto his shoulders, nails biting into his muscle as I try to ground myself because I can already feel myself drifting into a state of bliss.
He shifts, his fingers pressing into me from a new angle, and the pressure coaxes sharp gasps from me. It feels so overwhelming, but also so familiar in the most unholy way.
I bite my lip, trying to hold myself together, but he notices and presses his thumb into my chin firm enough to force me to release it.
“Don’t,” he says. “I want to see it. All of it. I want to see you fall apart.”
The sound that leaves me is so needy and entirely humiliating, but he groans in response, forehead dropping to my shoulder as his breath goes uneven.
