“No, I want to. I just… I don’t want to overthink it. Help me not overthink, okay? Just… help me relax.”
He nods, and it’s like he’s reading the words that I can’t say. The next thing I know, he lifts me again, cradling me like I weigh nothing, carrying me up the stairs to my bedroom in just a few long strides.
The room’s dark when we enter, the cold sneaking through the old, drafty windows that Natasha wants to eventually replace. Gabriel mutters a curse under his breath.
“Why is it so damn cold in here?”
“The windows suck,” I say like that’s an explanation.
He growls softly, setting me down on the bed with a gentlenessthat tells me he’s taking my warning seriously. Standing between my knees, his hands trace the outline of my thighs.
“We should’ve just gone to my place,” he says softly, hands hovering at my waist like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch me yet. “Feels wrong undressing you in an icebox.”
I smile up at him. “Or… we could warm up another way. Shower?”
The reaction is instant. A low sound vibrates out of his chest, something between a laugh and a warning, and before I can brace myself, he hooks an arm around my thighs and lifts me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing.
I yelp, half startled, half thrilled, my laughter echoing as he carries me toward the bathroom. My pulse kicks up, wild and bright, as he flips on the light and nudges the door shut behind us. His eyes scan the chaotic aftermath of my rushed departure earlier—drawers left ajar, clothes scattered, a lacy red thong on the floor.
He moves to the shower and cranks on the water. Then he reaches down and scoops up the thong that I discarded before going to Rhiannon’s tonight and tucks it into his back pocket.
“I’m keeping this.”
My lips part in surprise.
Then he’s back at my side, his hands softer now, cradling my neck like I’m something fragile and breakable. And maybe I am. Because in the warmth of the bathroom, I sense what feels like ice slowly thawing from my body.
His lips find mine again, this time slow and patient, like he’s savoring every second. It’s the kind of kiss that makes the world fall away, as if the only thing that exists is the space between us and what we’re doing right now.
He breathes me in, deep and steady, like he’s trying to memorize the taste of my skin, and I’m doing the same, anchoringmyself to the feel of him. The way his rough hands run down my sides. The way his body covers mine in protection. My hands drift to his collar, fingertips grazing the hard lines of his chest before slipping lower, finding the hem of his shirt.
I tug gently, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over his head and discard it on my floor. Ink sprawls across his chest, tracing over boxy abs that ripple with every heavy breath he takes. His pecs look like they could crush steel, but there’s something beautiful in the contrast—all that strength wrapped around a man that’s surprisingly so gentle to me. I drag a nail along the outline of one of his tattoos, reminding myself to breathe and not get in my head.
“Okay for me to undress you?” he asks waiting for my permission. I nod.
He reaches for my shirt, lifting it slowly, his knuckles brushing lightly against my skin, sending goosebumps in their wake. When he unclasps my bra with a flick of practiced fingers, my breathing picks up. My breasts fall free, and he cups one in his hand, reverent, like he’s holding something sacred as he tests out the weight of them. His rough fingers roll over my nipple, hardening them into puffy peaks.
“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice a gravelly whisper against the steamy backdrop of the bathroom.
His hands move over me slowly, like he’s in no rush at all. Palms warm and steady as they cup my chest, thumbs brushing, teasing, dragging down the curve of my ribs. It’s unhurried. Intentional. Like he’s memorizing me.
I slip my hands to his waistband, fingers less patient than his. I fumble with the button, the zipper catching for a second because I’m moving too fast, too curious, too desperate to see him without anything in the way.
His jeans fall to the floor.
My breathing stills at the outline straining against his boxers,heat pooling low in my stomach at the sight of it. At the size of it. At the way his body reacts to mine without hesitation.
He lets out a quiet, rough chuckle, the sound vibrating under my fingertips. “Might as well take those off too.”
So, I do.
And—
Oh.
He’s huge, with veins running like intricate roadmaps beneath the smooth, soft skin. The size of him checks out for what I gripped that night in the bar but seeing it with no material separating us is an entirely different thing.
I wrap my hand around his width, giving it a few firm strokes when I feel something metallic. Lifting his cock slightly, I confirm what I felt: Piercings—three silver bars gleaming along the underside, a Jacob’s ladder piercing.
