My body is still humming from that kiss, from the way he took control like he had every right to, like no boy ever had.
My thighs are pressed together so tight it hurts, and I can feel the wetness there, the evidence of how much I don't want him to keep his distance at all.
I open my mouth to answer and nothing comes out. Just a shaky exhale that makes his eyes darken.
Before I can find my voice, the screen door bangs open again. We both jerk apart like we've been caught doing exactly what we were doing. My dad stumbles out, cheeks red from too much whiskey, a sloppy grin on his face.
"Gabe! Lena! Perfect timing." He leans against the doorframe, swaying slightly. "Me and the boys are heading to O'Malley's for late-night burgers. You two wanna come?"
My stomach drops.O'Malley's. The diner. The one that's open until 2 AM where all dad's friends go to keep drinking after parties.If we go, this moment is over.
If we go, I have to sit across from Gabe in a bright, greasy booth and pretend I'm not thinking about his hands on my ass, his tongue in my mouth, the way he growled when I moaned.
Gabe's eyes never leave my face. "I'm good for now, Carter. Might join you later."
"Yeah," I manage, my voice sounding strangled. "I think I'm gonna call it a night. Early morning."
Dad shrugs, already halfway back inside. "Suit yourselves. Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" He winks—winks—and my face burns so hot I could probably light a match off it.
He's always talked like this, as if I'm invisible unless he's using me for a punchline. He doesn't think I could turn a man's head if I tried.
The door slams shut. We hear him yelling to his friends inside, the shuffle of bodies, car keys jangling.
Then the front door opens and closes, engines start, and the house goes quiet.
Not just quiet.
Empty.
They're gone. It's just us.
Gabe turns back to me, and the look in his eyes makes my knees weak. "So," he says, drawing the word out. "You were about to answer my question."
I swallow hard. "I don't… I don't know what I want."
"Liar." He says it softly, almost fondly, stepping closer until we're chest to chest again. "You know exactly what you want. You're just scared to say it."
His hand comes up, fingers tracing along my jaw, and I lean into the touch without meaning to. It's like my body has decided to mutiny against my brain.
"Tell me, Lena." His thumb brushes over my bottom lip, and I shiver. "Do you want me to keep my distance?"
I shake my head. Barely a movement, but he sees it. His eyes flare with satisfaction.
"Say it," he commands, and something in me melts at that tone. That voice that expects to be obeyed. "Use your words."
"No," I whisper. "I don't want you to keep your distance."
"Good girl." The praise shouldn't make me feel like this—warm and liquid and desperate for more—but it does. It really fucking does.
He takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine, and pulls me off the porch into the yard. I stumble after him, my heart hammering. "Where are we?—"
"Somewhere more private." He leads me around the side of the house, to the old garden shed Dad never uses anymore.
It's tucked back behind the oak trees, hidden from the street, from the house, from everything.
The porch light doesn't reach here.
It's just moonlight and shadows and the sound of our breathing.
