Chapter Six
Gabby
It’s occurred to me that I haven't really described the camper we were staying in. So, let me do that now. It was painted red on the outside, decked out with elaborate gold trim. If I didn't know it was all new construction, I'd have assumed it was a lovingly restored antique. But the outside was only the icing on the cake, so to speak. Thanks to the clever use of mirrors, and drapes, and lovingly crafted built-ins, the wagon actually appeared larger on the inside. Yes, just like the Tardis. Crazy, right?
I understood from my conversations with Delaney and Phoebe that the owner, Liz, was a fortune teller—or maybe a magician, I wasn’t really sure—and the décor definitely reflected that kind of aesthetic. There were the aforementioned drapes, intricately carved wooden panels that slid open to reveal closets or shelves, or hidden doorways, and secret rooms. The "parlor" was furnished with a smallish table, a couple of comfy chairs, and a settee that pulled out to become a bed. The only thing that seemed mildly out of place was the newly installed cat door, but even that was anything but ordinary. If Delaney hadn't told me, I couldn’t have guessed its purpose. It looked like it had been designed for something more unusual than a cat. Pixies, perhaps. Or leprechauns.
The kitchen was surprisingly sparse—tiny fridge, single hot plate, minimal prep and storage space. There was just one cupboard, and it was stocked with nothing but a few mugs, a saucepan, and a couple of spoons. The bathroom, on the other hand, was positively sybaritic, in a cold, minimalistic sort of way. The surfaces were all cement and stainless steel. But there was an abundance of fluffy towels; dispensers filled with exotically spiced shampoo and body wash; and an extra-large shower, which boasted multiple showerheads—along with a hook in the ceiling whose purpose I could only guess at.
There were no windows in the bedroom, which, again, seemed a little unusual, but it definitely cut down on the outside noises filtering in, so I guessed it made sense. The walls were lined with shelves, drawers, and cabinets. A huge skylight, centered over the bed, provided some much-needed air and light—and made for a handy emergency exit, if you found yourself trapped, or otherwise troubled by the sealed-in-a-tomb vibe the room gave off.
The skylight also came equipped with a cover that could be locked into place, if you decided that no, unearthly quiet and unrelenting darkness really were what you wanted after all. I guess perhaps the owner was an insomniac, or found herself needing to sleep during the day. Or something.
The bed was enormous. Piled high with pillows and bolsters, it practically filled the room from end to end, and could easily accommodate three or four people at a time. We'd put that big bed to good use the night before. Very good use. Very good, loud use, with the skylight wide open. And that, as it happened, turned out to have been something of an issue.
All day today Derek had been fixated on the idea that my dad must've heard us. At first, I brushed off the idea. We were far enough from the house that it seemed unlikely. And even if he had heard us, even if he were up in the middle of the night, wandering around in the backyard when he should have been in bed asleep, why would he care? I'd told my parents about the baby. He had to know we were having sex.
But now, several hours later, I was starting to think Derek might've been right after all. Something I really hated to admit. I don't want to say that my boyfriend has a tendency to gloat or anything, but...my boyfriend has a tendency to gloat.
He was definitely acting more grumpy and standoffish than I could ever remember seeing him. My dad, I mean; not Derek. Although, come to think of it, Derek had been acting pretty moody today as well. Men.
I was in the bathroom, getting ready for bed, when Derek returned from helping his brother. I was relieved to see that he was smiling. "Everything go okay?" I asked feeling hopeful, especially when he hugged me from behind, and nuzzled my neck.
"Everything's fine," Derek assured me. "Assuming you're okay with our choosing Wyatt to be the baby's godfather."
I eyed him in surprise. "Do we have to decide this tonight?"
"I might have mentioned it to him."
"Seriously? Why? We haven't even discussed baby names yet!"
"I know. But...well, he is my brother."
"And you two aren't into family at all—right? Yeah, I can tell."
"I'm into you," he corrected. Then he stopped. "Actually, that's the best idea I've had all day." Then he lifted me into his arms and headed toward the bed.
"What are you doing?" I asked as he dropped me—oh, so carefully—on the bed, then came down beside me, smiling wickedly. And, let me tell you, no one does wickedly sexy like a Scorpio.
"Getting into you," he murmured as he coasted his hand down over my belly to cup my mound. "Get it?"
"No, I don't get it. What do you mean you're...oh." I whimpered breathlessly. I could feel the heat of his hand through the silky fabric of my pajamas. And then his meaning became clear, and I groaned even louder. "Oh! Puns, Derek? Really? That's indefensible. I could refuse to marry you on those grounds alone."
"But you won't, will you?" he murmured, in between teasing me with light, delicious kisses. The ones I love. The ones that make me crazy, and leave me craving more.
"I won't what?"
He raised his head to stare at me, his gaze hot and intent. "You won't refuse to marry me. Not for any reason."
I bit back the truth—I was pretty sure I couldn't refuse him anything—and answered simply, "No, I won't."
"Good."
As he leaned in for another kiss, I pressed a hand against his chest to hold him off. "You know, we never did get to the haunted house..."
He arched an eyebrow. "The week's not over yet."
"Yeah, but rather than wait and see, why don't you show me what you think might have happened if we'd gone in?"
He paused to consider it. "Well, for starters, I imagine it would be a lot like this room."
"Really? You think haunted houses are sexy?”
He looked surprised. “Given the way everyone here reacts when you mention the place, what else would I think?"
I nodded. "Fair point."
“But, there’s more to this place than sex too, which is what I was saying.”
“You mean the supernatural vibe?"
"Exactly. I think a haunted house would be plenty spooky. And maybe a little sinister, as well."
That surprised me. "We're not still talking about the wagon, are we?"
"Well, yeah. I mean, that hook in the shower? C'mon, now."
"What, too kinky?" I batted my eyes innocently. "Are you saying that sort of thing doesn't do it for you?"
Derek's gaze turned predatory. "I wouldn't say that." Then something in his expression shifted. "But not tonight, okay? Tonight, I just want to worship my goddess."
His goddess. He'd called me that the first time we made love. My body responded now with a head-to-toe flush.
Taking my silence for acquiescence, which it was, Derek sat up and began to undress me. A slow process, involving minimal direction—raise your arms, lift up—and punctuated by long pauses during which he lavished kisses on nearly every inch of skin he’d uncovered.
When I was finally naked, heated, trembling, he sat back on his heels and gazed at me. “Beautiful.” It was not the first time he’d said so. But I never knew, in these moments, whether he was commenting on my body, or the quality of my submission. Maybe it was both?
As Derek settled himself between my legs, I was only distantly aware that it had begun to rain. I could hear the patter of drops as they hit the roof. But my focus was elsewhere. Derek’s eyes were heavy lidded and intense His voice was a hot whisper against my skin, and it left me feeling utterly molten. “Open for me.” Unable to resist his entreaty, unwilling to resist it, I did as he asked. I lay back and spread my legs, offering myself to his touch. Aching for his touch. Begging for it. "Yes. Like that."
And maybe it was something about the words he used, or the way he said them. Or maybe it was in the way he looked at me—as though he were the one begging for favors. But I felt something inside me unfurl, something immense and powerful. As though I really were a goddess.
The first touch of his tongue on my clit drove any other thoughts from my mind. He stroked over my flesh for several minutes, circling and flicking with his tongue. Then he took it in his mouth, sucking hard, until I was twisting in the sheets. Finally, he moved lower, thumbing my lips open and licking inside.
I was keening in pleasure by the time his mouth had been replaced by two long fingers, curved just right...
Outside, the rain continued to fall, harder than before, clattering against the skylight like gravel. Thunder echoed off the walls. A sudden flash of lightning illuminated Derek's face, the sexy passion in his smile, the fierce love burning in his gaze. All mine. I reached for him, pulling him in for a kiss, gulping back a sob as his fingers continued to work inside me, stretching me, filling me, claiming me. And with every thrust he pushed me that much closer to the edge, that much closer to surrender.
Abruptly, the pounding of the rain increased in tempo, accompanied now by the sound of a fist beating on the wagon’s door, and by Wyatt's voice, yelling, "Derek, c'mon, man! Fuck! Open the goddamn door!"
My body still clamored for release, but Derek had pulled away. Muttering curses of his own, he stormed from the room, slamming the bedroom door behind him. I groaned in frustration, my heart continuing to race.
Snatches of conversation drifted in from the other room. "Fucking hailstones the size of golf balls... Hell no, I'm not... Did you fucking see that lightning?
After what felt like several minutes, Derek returned.
"What's going on?" I asked, as he stripped off his jeans and climbed into bed.
"Hailstorm," he answered, his voice clipped. "I guess his tent wasn't much good against that."
"I wouldn't think so."
"And between that and the lightning." He sighed deeply. "Hell, Gabe, I can't ask him to stay out there and get hit by lightning."
"No, of course you can't."
"Yeah, so, he's gonna sleep on the couch tonight."
I blew out a long breath, doing my best to ignore the rioting hormones that were demanding satisfaction. "Okay. Well. I guess we should try and get some sleep too."
"Not so fast.”
That wicked gleam was back in his eyes. I didn't trust it at all. "What?"
"I think we should go back to what we were doing before he got here. Don't you?"
"Derek..."
"Now, where were we?" I could hear the amusement in his voice as his thumb brushed across my clit. "Was it...here?"
"Your brother," I protested, stifling a moan when Derek's mouth closed over one nipple. "He'll hear."
"Not if we're quiet."
"I don't know if I can."
He chuckled quietly. "Try."
Derek's eyes were hot as they locked with mine. He slid his fingers back into my pussy. The pads of his fingers were just the right amount of rough against my sensitized flesh. And maybe my mind wasn't all the way on board with this idea, but my body totally was. My legs fell open wider, all on their own. I felt my sex swell, all tight and achy. "Yes. Like that. Right...there."
My orgasm swept over me suddenly. And all the stimulation was not enough, not enough, and all at once, "Too much," I gasped, as I pushed at his hand. "Stop."
He pulled away at once, sat up and began to adjust the covers. I figured he'd give me a minute to catch my breath, and then it would be my turn to make him lose his mind.
Instead, when he'd finished tucking the covers in around us, he slanted a quick kiss against my lips, then he lay back down and spooned himself against me. He pulled me close, wrapped an arm around my waist, sighed deeply. I wriggled against him encouragingly. I was feeling impatient. I wanted him inside me—now.
He clamped a hand on my hip. "Lie still, okay?"
"What?"
"It's late. Go to sleep."
I blinked in surprise. "Wait. You mean...that's it?"
"Yeah."
"But what about you? Don't you want—"
"Not tonight."
I was hit with a raging case of been-here-before. Curious, I craned my head around to look at him. "Is this one of those tantric things you never want to talk about?"
For months, back when we first were friends, I'd pestered Derek for lessons in Tantric Yoga. From what little I knew about it back then, it sounded sexy as fuck. But he'd always refused.
I stopped asking about the time we became lovers. For one thing, I now had all the sexy-as-fuck I could handle. For another, I'd realized there was a lot more to Tantric Yoga than great sex. There were aspects to it in which I had absolutely no interest—abstention, sublimation of desire, orgasm avoidance.
I glared at him now, convinced I’d guessed right. "It is, isn't it?"
"Maybe. Don't worry about it, okay?"
"Oh, I won't." I was not worried—I was annoyed, and maybe a little hurt. Mostly I felt let down. I'd really wanted to make love to him too. But apparently, Derek wanted something else. And didn't that just figure?
Seriously, I've never known anyone who enjoys edging more than he does. All those advanced techniques that allow you to stave off orgasm, yet keep yourself endlessly on the verge of coming? They could have been invented specifically with him in mind. He likes to think of himself as being an ascetic—all that self-discipline and self-control. I have another word for it, however. Masochist. But, hey, if that was what he wanted...
It took me awhile to get to sleep that night. I had a hard time getting comfortable. As I shifted around trying to find the best position, I'm afraid my ass might have brushed up against Derek's erection a time or two. Okay, maybe three.
When I finally settled down, he breathed a sigh of relief. "Good night, Gabe."
"Mm-hm. Sure is." For one of us.