Fluid like the tears prickling my eyes as I take him in and out, shallow and then deeper, playing with his balls and gripping the base of his shaft. I know how to work him, how slow and how fast, how much to tease and when to give.
I feel like a fucking goddess as he “ahhhh”s in that delicious voice of his and starts to moan out f-bombs. I’m doing so well, I want to grin around him. I can taste him, I can feel him getting thicker, harder, his hands more frantic as they tug my hair. It hurts, but I love it. I love the forceful, messy, painful sex. For it to be good, I feel like it needs to really strain you. God, my mouth and throat are so full right now…and yet—I’m wet myself. I’m getting wet and craving something in my pussy just from sucking on him.
I can feel his abs tighten…the way his legs start flexing…
“Marley, oh God, Jesus…”
He sounds so good begging my name and the good Lord’s. My very favorite sort of blasphemy, I think as I suck harder, deeper…stroking his taught balls with just the barest touch—and he explodes.
God, it’s thick and warm and good because as I swallow, he all but collapses on me. I leave him inside while his dick thumps and he sucks in a long breath.
“Marley.” And it sounds so sweet. It sounds so breathless. Almost needy.
And I love that. I love feeling vital to someone.
He pulls out gently, his palm covering my forehead as he peers down at me with his serious Gabe face.
“That,” he says, “was fucking art.”
I grin, because, why not. I’m proud of myself.
“Thank you. Someone smart taught me the basics.”
He chuckles, and then surprises me by stretching out on my bed, cupping himself as he leans against my pillows.
“Sorry,” he mumbles. His eyes are shut.
“No worries.”
I take the throw blanket at the bottom of the bed and spread it over him, and Gabe gives me a funny little half-smile something.
“Good head is revitalizing. I agree.” I smile. “I’m going to check the dumplings. Rest up, cowboy.”
I hear him chuckle as I walk into the kitchen.
Dammit. Shit fuck. I twirl in a little circle. This is intense. I’m surprised I have so many feelings. So many feelings that aren’t “I hate him.”
And yet…
I do my dumpling thing and step quietly back into my room, where I expect I’ll find him still stretched out, lounging with his hand around his half-soft cock. In fact, I’m kind of looking forward to seeing him like that. Instead I find him seated, cross-legged, with my current read in his lap. As I reach the bed, he holds his phone out toward me.
I frown at the chart that’s pulled up.
“Clean,” he says simply.
“Ooh.” I squint down at it, and yeah—that’s test results.
“From back in May, but…” He shakes his head slightly, and I nod.
“That works. I actually don’t have one, but…”
He winks. “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”
I don’t know why, but that makes me howl with laughter. “Did you really just say that?” I flop back on my bed, laughing because that’s something that my grandma says.
“Too good to be a goose?”
I howl some more. “Oh, hell no. I appreciate some down home Southern shit.” I lean my cheek against my shoulder and peer up at Gabe, still sitting cross-legged with my book. “It’s kind of good to know that being uber-famous hasn’t ruined you.”
“Ehh.” He gives a weak smile. “I think uber is a stretch.”
“Trust me, it’s not a stretch. Remember when you used to rail about James Patterson having his own special section in the bookstores out in Vegas?” I wiggle my brows, and his gaze drops into his lap.
“What’s this?”
“Are you embarrassed?”
“Mm, looks good. New author?”
I grin. “You’re embarrassed. And I like it.” I prop my cheek in my palm, my elbow on the mattress, and all but bat my lashes at him. “Modest is a good look on almost everybody, but especially Mr. Fancy Famous Author Man.”
Through his beard, which looks like it’s been trimmed, I swear I think I see a hint of blush. I take pity on him and move on.
“So, yeah, she’s new. Spec fiction, obviously. I’m not that far in, but pretty great so far.”
He runs his hand along the front. “I like the cover.”
“Really basic. Maybe sort of like yours.”
He shrugs. Then he sets the book back on my nightstand. I watch as he examines my bedroom.
“Your furniture?”
“Nah. Mostly came with the house. Did you not see this space before you rented?”
“Naw. She told me it was rented already, to a ‘nice girl’ from Fate. Asked me if I could behave myself,” he flashes me a crooked grin, “and I said yeah.”
“Clearly a lie.”
“Clearly.”
He’s sitting cross-legged in a way where I can’t really see him, but he didn’t put his boxer-briefs back on. As I recall, Gabe was always too unaware of his own sexy beastness to be shy about his nakedness.
“So is it time?” he asks. His eyes look so blue as they cling to mine.
“Time for what?”
“Is it that time,” he clarifies. “When you could get pregnant.”
“I think it could be—yeah.”
“You feeling okay still? I would be okay with it if you wanted to wait until I get the paperwork. But I’m also okay with not doing that.”
His brows arch. “Kind of surprised you would trust me.”
I shrug. “Kinda gotta go all in, you know? Otherwise, what’s the point?”
“Does that mean that I can trust you, too?”
I sit up, nodding slowly. “I would never take your baby from you, Gabe. I’m okay being a lone mama bear if that’s the way it ends up, but I’m better with a partner. We weren’t made to raise babies alone. Humans evolved to live in tribes, in villages.”
“It takes a village?” he quips, smirking slightly. But I think he’s hiding nervousness.
I nod. “I really think so.”
“And if my village is…in a lot of villages?”
“You mean you travel all the time?” I shrug. “I can handle that. You see little peanut when you can, and when you’re gone, you FaceTime.” I pull my lips tight as surprise tears blur my vision. “Do you know how happy it makes me to think about my baby having a father?”
He shakes his head slowly, his face somber. Then one corner of his mouth tucks up, and he looks sad. “I don’t.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Dammit.”
“I know, right? Emotions.” He wrinkles his nose.
“How is he? If you don’t mind that I ask?”
He shrugs, his gaze on the mattress for just a second before meeting mine. “I have him up at Cedar Crest, you know, assisted living.” He shrugs again, just one shoulder. “He’s not drinking.”
“That’s amazing. And it has to feel so good, you know? His body must be so much stronger now.”
He pulls his features into a neutral sort of look that might be a poker face but probably is cover for a frown. “Dementia. So—hard to say.”
“Ah, damn. I’m really sorry.”
“Gets me hard faster than anything. You wanna make a baby?” He smiles, and it’s a little desperate and for sure a cover for the sad.
“Oh yeah, after we talk about my grandma’s dentures. Kidding. She doesn’t have dentures.” I cross myself. “Sorry, Grandma Ellis. Her teeth are better than mine. WTH.”
Gabe smiles. “You always brushed excessively.”