I pressed my palms against his chest and felt the rumble of a groan deep inside. Hot little sparks spread through me as he gave my hair a tug, opening the kiss, taking my tongue with his, his other hand sliding down to my hip to pull me closer.
I didn’t need much encouragement to climb onto his lap, my legs on either side of his hips. My own hips moved forward, the seam of my jeans coming into direct contact with the zipper of his—and everything that was happening behind it.
I sighed. He smiled. My hands clutched his shoulders, his squeezed my ass.
I could taste the whisky on his tongue, but also something minty. Like very fancy toothpaste—the mint grown in the same forest as his exclusive cedar cologne.
It was all happening so fast. Heat rippled through my body, short-circuiting any rational thoughts I might have had. Because if my brain had a chance to catch up, it might have told me that what I was doing was a very bad thing. That Gabe was used to women throwing themselves at him. That if I did this, I would be just another starstruck fangirl who slept with her favorite movie star. That if I ever wanted to have a normal relationship with a normal person then I was setting myself up to be disappointed after this kind of experience.
Jeremy would probably never forgive me.
It was completely and utterly unprofessional.
But I wasn’t thinking any of those things.
I was thinking that Gabe’s hands and mouth and all the rest of him felt fucking amazing. I was thinking that I wanted desperately to tear off his clothes and lick him like a lollipop. I was thinking that it was very, very possible I could come apart just like this.
Gabe’s arms were wrapped around my back, and I could feel them shaking. It was unbelievably hot knowing that he was just as affected as me. That he wanted me as much as I wanted him. Or if he didn’t, he was an incredible actor.
He pressed his forehead against mine, both of us breathing heavily.
“This okay?” he asked.
“Uh, yeah,” I said. “Very okay.”
He leaned back far enough that I could see his grin. It was a little soft, a little droopy.
“Good,” he said. “Great.”
Then, before I could comment on his level of sobriety, and with great balance and dexterity, Gabe flipped us both so I was lying back on the couch, and he was on top of me.
“Still okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
His body settled on mine, his hips moving, his hand sliding up my shirt. He was going so fast but I didn’t want him to stop. Instead, I shoved my palms beneath his shirt, bunching it up under his arms.
He leaned back as I did, just far enough for me to pull it over his head.
And there was his chest. His movie star chest—all mine for the touching. He was strong. Lean. I could feel the slight stubble on his chest as if he’d waxed or shaved it recently and it was just starting to grow back. It was a reminder of the work required to look the way he did. Work that I was very grateful for in the moment.
His skin was damp, his hair sticking to his forehead, which he pressed against mine as I raked my nails down his back.
“Do that again,” he ordered, stretching in my arms like a bear rubbing up against a tree. “Oh yeah,” he said, his voice a low rumble, his mouth hot against my throat.
He reached down, grabbing my leg and wrapping it up against his hip. My body opened up to him and he pressed himself against me. Right there. And then he began to move.
My head went back, eyes closed.
Oh. Holy. Wow.
We were still mostly dressed, but I was close. So incredibly close. Gabe was still kissing my neck, his body pressed against mine, so lost in his own rhythm that it seemed possible that he didn’t know I’d almost just come from the sheer pleasure of us moving together.
“Fuck,” he murmured. “I want…”
Whatever he wanted, I was completely willing to give him.
“You feel so good,” he said. “You feel so good…baby.”
It was the pause that slapped me out of my sexual haze. The hesitation between his sweet, hot praise and his whispered, unearned endearment.
He knew my name. I knew that he knew my name.
But something about the way he had paused, the way he’d said “baby,” quiet and questioning, made me think that there was a very real possibility that in that moment Gabe had completely forgotten who I was.
It was the metaphorical cold shower I needed but didn’t want.
Suddenly all the thoughts I hadn’t allowed myself to have—all the very real reasons I should not sleep with him—came rushing back.
“Wait,” I said.
I said it quietly, the word lost in the sound of his lips against my throat, the squeak of couch beneath us, and our shared heavy breathing. Because that metaphorical cold shower was already heating back up.
I was about five seconds away from losing myself in the pleasure again.
Gabe was moving against me, and I kept forgetting why I wanted to stop. It felt so good. He felt so good.
Baby.
It pinged across my brain.
“Wait,” I said.
This time he heard me, and his arms, his hips froze, pressing hard against me. A body-length shudder rippled beneath my hands as he buried his face in my neck. His skin was damp, my hair still fisted in his hand.
He let out a groan of disappointment.
“Sorry,” I said.
“Shit,” he said.
What was wrong with me?
Neither of us moved for a long moment, and then slowly, Gabe raised his head.
He didn’t look me in the eye as he untangled his fingers from my hair and lifted himself off me. My stomach dropped as he pulled back.
We sat next to each other on the couch, the silence awkward and overwhelming.
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “I—”
Our words overlapped.
“Did you—” He started, paused, and tried again. “Do you—”
He was making some sort of gesture with his hand that I didn’t quite understand but he also wasn’t looking at me. His brow was furrowed as if he was trying to figure out how to get out of this situation.
“I should go,” I said quickly.
“No,” he said. “No, don’t go.”
“It’s okay,” I said.
He tapped his fingers on his knee.
“Really, it is,” I said. “I can just get my stuff.”
“Just, uh…” He looked away. “Just give me a moment, okay?”
“Um, yeah, of course,” I said.