“I should get a first aid kit. Or we can go inside. Do you have first aid stuff at your house?”
He shakes his head. When his gaze rises to meet mine, his blue eyes are just a hint too round.
“I’ll go grab mine, so you don’t have to do the stairs to my place.”
He blinks, losing that vulnerable look. “I can walk up,” he says, sounding normal.
I’m not sure if that means he doesn’t want me in his place, so I say, “Okay. That works. But I don’t mind going to get it.”
He looks at his foot again, then shrugs. “If you don’t mind.”
“I’ll be right back.”
My heart is pounding double-time as I hurry upstairs and pull the first aid kit from underneath the bathroom sink.
When I get back downstairs, I find the swing empty and the front door slightly ajar.
“Hi there,” I call softly as I walk in.
I look down the long, dim hallway, dotted on each side by doors to various parlors and libraries. This house was empty for most of my childhood, its regal doors opened for holiday or Pilgrimage tours, all the furniture and décor kept as close to period as possible. So I wonder what area Gabe lives in. I find out when he appears in a doorway toward the end of the hall.
“Got this first aid kit…” I hold it up.
“Thanks.” I follow him into a beautifully appointed bedroom done in mostly pink and olive green.
The bed, freshly made and clearly never used by him, is lacy and pillow-laden. I wink as he hoists himself up on the mattress. “Like your style.”
“Real men love lace.” He grins.
“Especially a certain kind,” I murmur, as I drop down on my knees in front of him.
“Shame to see you there for this,” he says, and my chest tightens so much, I can barely speak to whisper, “You should take care of yourself.”
Both his socks are off now, exposing quarter-sized raw spots on both sides of each foot, at the widest point, up by the base of his toes. And still, Gabe’s feet are beautiful. When we were living out in Vegas, someone asked him to be a foot model. I drag my eyes away from them and flick my gaze up toward him.
“Did you wash them, by chance? Like with soap?”
“I did.”
Another flicker of my eyes toward him reveals a Gabe who’s looking unexpectedly delicious, with his curls and flannel button-up and long-lashed blue eyes peering down at me. His lips curve in a panty-melting smile as he wiggles his toes.
I laugh. “Good. That means I won’t need to put this alcohol on. Just Neosporin.”
“Thank you, Doctor Roberts.”
“Of course.” I squeeze some ointment on his foot, surprised to find that just the act of touching him is making me sweat. C’mon, Marley. Get a handle on it. “So you don’t mind my addition to the porch?” I ask as I put ointment on another spot.
He shakes his head. “You know my stance on porch swings.”
I smile, because I do. Gabe has always loved porch swings. He told me once the one on his dad’s house was the only thing he liked about the place when he was growing up.
“How’d you get it by Miss Shorter?” he asks.
“Welllll.” I laugh. “I’m going to have to take it down for Pilgrimage tours in the spring. She thinks it would compromise the home’s elegance. I believe that’s an exact quote.”
“Fuck. She’s not doing the tour of homes at Christmas, is she?”
“No. Thank God. You didn’t clear that with her before moving in?” I tape the first bandage to his foot and give him a chastising look. “C’mon, Mr. Famous. Can you even imagine the number of rubberneckers that would line up down the street to see your lair?”
He rolls his eyes. “No one gives a shit about an author, Marley.”
“I do,” I murmur, as I press the second Band-Aid on.
And then, softly, suddenly…his hands are on my head. He smooths his palms down my hair, pressing his hands gently on the sides of my face.
I freeze in the act of grabbing another Band-Aid. As I shut my eyes, Gabe’s hands stroke my hair. I can barely draw a breath as his big hands caress me. When I tilt my head toward him, I find his eyes both soft and intent.
“I was missing you,” I confess in the silence of the old house.
He nods once, and then his fingers come under my chin—a call to rise—and I do, standing between his knees.
“I still feel like I know you,” he says, as his hands stroke from my shoulders down my arms. His hands encircle my wrists as his eyes burn mine.
“I feel the same,” I whisper. And this time it’s me who leans in close and kisses him. I thread my fingers through his hair and wrap my hand behind his head and hold him to me, as Gabe’s arms come fast and strong around my back.
Not just sex, my mind screams. I don’t feel like this is only sex and baby-making.
Gabe leans back and pulls me down atop him, and oh God, he’s gorgeous: all big shoulders, wide, hard chest, and forceful, almost frantic kisses.
I rub myself against his bulge, and he groans in my mouth.
“I need this,” he says, when I pull away to pant.
Me too. God, I need his mouth on mine. I need his scent, I need his scratchy face…I need his careful hands and thrusting hips and big, responsive cock. I need the way the rhythm of this hastens into frenzy and he’s suddenly on top of me, he’s nipping at me, pulling off my clothes. His head is in between my legs and God those curls… I arch up off the bed, just so I can tug at them—and Gabe works me back down; I spread my legs and can’t help moaning, so much moaning.
Everything he does sets me afire, until I burst into a molten flame…and then he’s kissing up my belly. Then he’s whispering “you’re beautiful.” Gabe’s rough cheek is on my hip and he’s kissing my ribs and it’s not like the other times.
I let myself caress his hair and smooth my fingertips over his cheek, and he groans—not because of sex.
I rub his hair, and he makes low sounds in his throat.
“I always wanted you,” I whisper as he kisses up my sides. He unbuttons my blouse, shifts my breast out of my bra, and takes my nipple in his mouth. I arch up.
“Everything…about you,” he says between sucks, “is delicious.”
My nipples are so achy, I feel a clench of pleasure-pain down to my core. I start panting…writhing—so much so, Gabe chuckles.
“Marley, Marley,” he murmurs as he makes me shake and shiver.
I can only moan.
And then, when I think I might come just from this, he rises up on his knees and works his pants down his hips. His dick boings just like a Tumblr .gif, and I reach out to touch it, and Gabe puts his hand around mine, guiding as I stroke him. His eyes slip shut, and when I’m leaning down to take him in my mouth, he urges me onto my back, dips two fingers into me, and, after spreading my slickness all around, wedges his cock’s thick tip inside me.
As he pushes slowly in, I moan. I’m so…full.