15
MEGAN HUMMED ALONG with the upbeat pop song coming through her small Bluetooth speaker as she slathered lotion on her freshly shaved legs. It was Friday night, and she hadn’t seen Gabe in four days—the longest they’d gone without seeing each other since starting their arrangement. She knew he’d been busy training for his fight, and Jules had somehow managed to rope him into some publicity for the WFC. Not to mention the under-the-radar union stuff. She’d been busy too, finishing up her next article and working on a pitch for a new idea about plastic surgery addiction.
So it had come as a complete surprise when he’d texted her on Wednesday.
I miss you. Having a good week?
She’d stared at that text message, rereading it over and over again until the letters were seared into her brain. Apparently, phone calls were for sex, but texts were for something else. Something more. He missed her, and not just because of the sex. Maybe. Or maybe he’d been bored. It frustrated her that she knew how she felt about him, but wasn’t quite sure how he felt about her. It was the second time in recent memory that he’d opened up to her without any prompting from her. She’d been both surprised and happy when he’d talked to her about his union worries, just like she’d been when he’d texted her. It gave her hope that maybe, just maybe, there could be more for them. She’d texted him back, not wanting to ignore the branch he was extending.
I miss you too. It’s been pretty good. Busy with work. How about you?
The conversation had gone from there, and they’d texted back and forth consistently for the next couple of days. He’d called her that morning, but she’d been in the shower and he’d left a voice mail. His voice had been deep and hoarse, as though he’d called her the second he’d woken up. The idea that the first thing he’d done was call her sent a happy thrill through her.
“Good morning, sweet girl. Tonight at eight. I’ve missed that pussy. My pussy.” Her stomach had exploded into butterflies at his words. She loved the way his dirty mouth made her feel wanted and sexy. “I might have to spank you if I find out you’ve been touching yourself.” Then he’d made a low, gruff sound. “I hope you’ve been bad, Megan.”
He’d let her off easy the night they’d met up after the union meeting, teasing her and making her beg until she’d thought she might combust. Finally, he’d bent her over the back of the armchair and fucked her brains out.
But she didn’t want easy this time.
Right there in the middle of her bathroom, she’d slipped her hand between her thighs and gotten herself off thinking about his words, just because she wanted to be what he wanted. And if he wanted her to be bad, in this particular instance, she was happy to oblige. She liked the idea of getting spanked. Of being completely at his mercy, of letting him mark her with his handprint, of leaning into the sweet bite of the pain and letting it twist her insides tighter and tighter. She’d come almost embarrassingly fast, all of that pent-up arousal flowing through her veins and coalescing into something hot and bright.
She worked the lotion into her knees, enjoying the ritual of getting herself ready to meet him, luxuriating in the slow process of shaving, moisturizing, and putting on makeup and perfume. All the things she could wear for him while naked. She slipped into a pair of jeans and a cream-colored V-neck T-shirt, and then spent several minutes fixing her hair. She still had a little while before she had to leave, so she headed to the kitchen to whip up a quick supper.
She poured some leftover broccoli cheese soup from her favorite deli into a bowl and popped it into the microwave. Before she could hit the reheat button, her phone buzzed from her back pocket, and she pulled it out. Her heart did a happy little kick at the sight of Gabe’s name on the screen.
“Hi,” she answered, turning on the microwave.
“Hey. You haven’t left yet, have you?” There was a strain in his voice that she’d never heard before.
“No, I’m still at home. Why?”
He sighed. “Good. I tweaked my back in the gym today, so I can’t meet you tonight.”
Disappointment curled through her. She’d been so looking forward to seeing him. It had surprised her how much she’d missed him over the past few days, and sure, part of it was the sex. But she missed seeing him. Missed hearing his voice. Missed being around him. Missed the way he made her feel like the most beautiful woman on the planet, sometimes with just a look.
She leaned a hip against the counter, swallowing past the heaviness in her chest. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I just need to ice it and rest it for a day or two and I’ll be good as new. But I can’t rest it if I’m buried deep inside you, making you scream.”
She bit her lip and closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her. God, she was becoming so, so addicted to him and the way he made her feel. She glanced at her soup in the microwave, and then decided to push, just a little. To take a chance and ask for what she wanted, just like he’d taught her.
“Have you eaten dinner?” she asked, toying with a belt loop on her jeans.
Silence filled the line for a moment. There was a soft shuffling noise. “No. Unless Tylenol counts.”
“It most certainly doesn’t.” She paused, carefully considering her next words. “I could bring some food over. To your place. If you want. I mean, you should eat something.” More silence, and she couldn’t stop herself from adding, “I’d like to see you, even if we can’t . . . you know.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m fine.” There was a stiffness to his voice, and she wasn’t sure if it was because he was in pain, or because he was annoyed with her, and it irritated and frustrated her that she couldn’t tell.
“You don’t sound fine. You sound like you’re in pain. I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be. It’s an old injury, and it flares up from time to time. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
Another silence filled the line, and she decided to try a different tactic, not ready to take no for an answer. “Is it that you don’t want me to come over? Do you live in a hovel? Under a bridge?” She heard him huff out a quiet laugh on the other end.
“Are you asking if I’m a troll?”
She laughed. “I mean, it’d make sense. A beautiful woman offers to bring you free pizza, no strings attached, and you’re like Nah, pass.”
“Hey now, you didn’t mention pizza. Not specifically.”
“Does that change things?”
“Maybe.” He sighed. “I don’t know.”
She couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit hurt that he seemed reluctant to have her in his space. “Is it that you don’t want me to see you injured?”
“No, Megan, it’s not . . .” He let out a long sigh, and she could almost feel him wrestling with himself. “What kind of pizza?”
“Oh, nothing special. Just a Fatboy from Naked Pizza.”
He let out another laugh. “Dammit. How did you know?”
“Lucky guess. And it happens to be my favorite too.”
He fell quiet, and she decided that if he still said no, she’d let it go for tonight.
“I’m on South Durango, the apartment building just north of Russell. Unit 411. You know where it is?”
“Ish, yeah. Nothing my phone can’t handle. I’ll be there in about an hour.” She hung up before he could take it back or change his mind. Even if she’d nudged it along, she couldn’t help but see it as progress.
Just over an hour later, Megan stood in front of Gabe’s door, pizza in hand. He’d buzzed her up and she now waited nervously for him to open the door, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She was intensely curious—about his place, about what it’d be like to spend time with him knowing sex was off the table, about how he felt about her, or them, or if there really even was a them. She wasn’t a person who handled not having answers well. She became frustrated, and impatient, her thirst for clarity sometimes almost overwhelming. It was a great attribute to have as a journalist. In other aspects of her life, maybe not so much.
The door swung open, revealing Gabe in a black T-shirt and a pair of gray sweats, his hair damp and up in a knot. Heat flushed over her body, and she smiled up at him.
“Hey. I come bearing cheese and carbs,” she said, hefting the pizza in her hands.
He returned her smile and moved to lean against the doorjamb, but then winced and stopped. She wanted to reach out to him, but she had a feeling he wouldn’t appreciate being coddled. She stepped forward and rose up onto her toes, pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek, and then walked into his apartment.
She was immediately struck by how sparse it was. The walls were clean but bare. A galley kitchen was off to the right, the countertops pristine and lacking any of the usual knickknacks. Ahead of her, the living room was simply furnished with a couch, an armchair, a coffee table, and a flat-screen TV mounted to the wall above a small console. It was utterly devoid of personality.
She set the pizza down on the breakfast bar at the edge of the galley kitchen. “Did you just move in?”
He moved away from the door, one hand pressed to his lower back, just above his left hip. With a slight limp, he walked stiffly toward her. “No. I’ve been here for a couple of years.”
She just nodded, not really sure what to say to that. He held so much of himself back, as though he wasn’t really living, just existing. As though if he allowed himself to live, whatever it was he was running from would swallow him up. All she wanted was for him to let her in. To give her a chance to show him that he didn’t have to be alone. That maybe she could help him not hurt so much. He’d given her so much, and she wanted to give something back to him.
“So what happened?” she asked, tipping her head toward where his hand still sat on his hip. She flipped open the pizza box and opened a cupboard, looking for plates but finding shelves stocked with protein powders and shakers, nutrition bars, and water bottles.
“One more to the right,” he said, easing himself down onto one of the bar stools. “It’s nothing. Just an old injury that flared up while I was wrestling today.”
Her eyes dropped to where he’d pressed on his hip, and she thought of the scars she’d seen there. Burn marks and puckered indentations that she’d never dared to ask him about. She found the plates and grabbed a couple, then put two slices of pizza on each. She extended one toward him. “How did the original injury happen?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light.
He took the plate from her, something darkening and shifting in his eyes. “Doesn’t matter.” He shuffled into the living room, adjusting the ice pack he’d left lying on the couch and then easing himself down. She stuffed down her hurt at the way he was still shutting her out and plopped down beside him before taking a big bite of her slice.
He let out a low groan and then closed his eyes as he chewed. He swallowed, then leaned back into the couch. “Thanks, Megan. This . . . is nice,” he said, the corner of his mouth tipping up.
“You’re welcome. Sorry about your back.”
His gaze dipped down her body, and she felt her skin warm in response. “Me too.”
He picked up the remote as they ate in companionable silence, opening the guide and flipping through the channel listings. Eventually they settled on Billy Madison, and when they were finished eating, Megan cleaned up the dishes and stashed the rest of the pizza in the fridge, which was filled with premade meals. She poked her head out of the kitchen.
“Did you cheat on your diet for me?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows.
He laughed and then winced, adjusting the ice pack behind him. It hurt to see him in pain, even if it was minor. She suddenly wondered how she’d feel about watching him fight.
“Yeah, you really twisted my arm, baby,” he said. Their eyes met and a silence fell between them. He’d never used a term of endearment like that outside of the bedroom. She let the word sink into her, feeding her hopeful heart.
“Can I get you anything? More Tylenol? Something to drink?”
He shook his head slowly. A warmth had crept into his eyes, and she wanted to pause this moment, savoring it. “No, you’ve done lots already. Just come here.”
She walked back to the couch and he patted his thigh. She lay down, curling up and resting her head in his lap. His hand found its way into her hair, gently stroking and playing. Even though her head was in his lap, his hand in her hair, it wasn’t sexual. It was comforting and peaceful.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, continuing to move his fingers through her hair. She closed her eyes, letting herself bask in how good it felt to be here with him.
“Me too. Thanks for letting . . .” She’d been about to say letting me in but then stopped herself. She knew she was pushing him into new waters, and had to tread carefully. “Thanks for letting me come over. I’m glad that even though we couldn’t, um, do our usual tonight, I still got to see you.”
He massaged her scalp lightly, and she had to stop herself from purring. “I wanted to see you too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You make . . .” He sighed and twirled a strand of her hair around his finger. “I feel good with you.”
She snuggled into him. “Me too.”
She hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but she woke at the feel of Gabe shifting beneath her, getting up from the couch. He shut the TV off, casting the living room into darkness, the only light coming from the parking lot outside. She pushed up off the couch, stretching.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to crash on you like that,” she said, stifling a yawn. “I guess I should—”
He moved toward her as she spoke and cut her off by wrapping his arms around her and kissing her forehead. “Don’t go.”
“No?” she asked, smiling wide at the idea of spending the night with him.
“No.” He grabbed her hand and led her through the dark toward his bedroom, still limping slightly. He clicked on a bedside lamp, casting a dim light over the room. His bedroom was much like the rest of his apartment—clean but sparse. Not lived-in. He rummaged through a drawer and tossed her a T-shirt. She happily stripped then tugged the shirt on over her head, reveling in the fact that it smelled like him. Without a word, he stripped down to his boxers, popped a Tylenol, and then pulled the covers back.
She slid into bed with him, and he pulled her against him, his arm tucked around her waist. He kissed her neck, softly and gently.
“Good night, baby,” he whispered, and turned the light off. She snuggled into him, feeling so damn hopeful she thought her heart might burst.
With the warmth of his body surrounding her, his heart beating steadily against her back, she fell into a deep sleep.
Several hours later, she woke up needing to pee, the apartment quiet and dark. Gabe’s breathing was slow and deep beside her. Easing gently out of bed, trying not to wake him, she tiptoed to the bathroom. When she was finished, she ducked into the kitchen and flipped on a light, then started opening cabinet doors, looking for a glass. She found them to the right of the sink, and pulled one out. She’d been about to close the door when a flash of color caught her eye. Unable to help herself, she reached into the back of the cabinet and pulled out a plastic mug. It was blue with green and yellow stars on it, and the name Mason spelled out on it in red letters.
She bit her lip and turned it in her hands, examining it. Why did Gabe have what was clearly a child’s cup in his cabinet? Did he have a son? Maybe it belonged to a friend’s kid or something. She realized that despite the intensity of her feelings for him, she really didn’t know anything about him. She put the cup back exactly where she’d found it and took a glass, filling it at the sink and taking a long drink.
Maybe she should just ask Gabe in the morning. Last night had felt like a big step for them, the way he’d let her come over, let her care for him, had wanted her to stay. It made her think that he liked being with her as much as she liked being with him.
She finished her water, put her glass in the sink, and crept back into bed. Gabe stirred slightly as she adjusted the covers, pulling her against him.
“You okay?” he asked, his deep voice rumbling over her skin.
“Just needed some water,” she whispered, draping her arm over the top of his.
The next morning, Megan woke up to see sun streaming in around the curtains hanging over Gabe’s bedroom window. For a split second, she forgot where she was, and then her entire body tingled with happiness when it all came rushing back. She shifted and turned onto her side, taking in Gabe’s sleeping profile, his face peaceful and relaxed, his hair still in its messy topknot. Something tightened and then expanded in her chest as she watched him, and for the briefest second she felt so light she was surprised she wasn’t floating.
Oh God. She was falling for him.
She nuzzled into his neck, inhaling the scent of his skin. She opened her mouth and trailed soft, sweet kisses over his collarbone and up his throat. He made a low rumbling noise and his arms came around her, pulling her closer.
“Morning,” she said against his skin, her voice rusty with sleep.
“Mmm, Megan,” he said, and she pulled her head up. Her heart stuttered and stopped at the look in his eyes, so clear and open. He wove a hand into her hair and pulled her mouth to his for a slow, sweet kiss. She almost gasped at the shock of it. He hadn’t kissed her since their first night together, and she knew it was one of his many ways of keeping some sort of barrier between them.
She sighed against his mouth, the warmth of his unexpected kiss washing over her. His hand came up and cupped her breast, teasing her pebbled nipple through the cotton of his shirt. She hooked her leg over his hip and pulled him closer, his cheeks scratchy with stubble against her palms. He broke the kiss and dipped his head, kissing a slow, teasing path up her neck.
She arched against him, moaning quietly as she trailed her hands down his chest, tracing the contours of hard muscle beneath warm skin. She brushed her fingers over one of his nipples just as he nipped at her ear.
“Mmm, Gabe, that feels good,” she sighed.
But then he pulled away, and when she opened her eyes, his had changed. He’d put his mask back on, and while the lust in his eyes was familiar, the openness she’d just seen was gone. As though he’d put his armor back on, protecting himself against feeling anything for her.
“Get naked, sweet girl,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. Her entire body responded to his command, even if a tiny part of her heart crumbled, just a little, at the way he’d fallen back into their usual roles, putting that distance between them. For a split second, she almost wanted to say no, but then his hand skated up her thigh, and she knew she was far too weak to deny them what they both wanted.
She sat up and pulled his shirt over her head, tossing it to the side. “Is your back okay?” she asked, letting her hair fall around her shoulders. His gaze roamed over her breasts.
“It is for what I have planned.” He reached under the covers and shucked his boxers, throwing them across the room. He raised himself onto one elbow and cradled her jaw. “I want my cock in your mouth, and I want a nice view while you suck me.” He eased onto his back. “Show me that sweet pussy.”
Despite her hurt at the fact that he still wasn’t letting her in, she trembled with how turned on she was, as though every cell in her body was screaming yes, even if her heart was questioning things. Her pulse throbbed between her thighs, and she felt that small painful twinge of arousal.
She climbed onto him, facing his feet and straddling his chest, leaving her completely open and exposed to his gaze. Dipping her head, she took his cock into her mouth, swirling her tongue over the head and feeling him thicken against her lips. His hands slid up the backs of her thighs to her ass, squeezing her and pulling her apart, opening her even more. She let out a breath and eased more of his impressive cock into her mouth.
“Mmm, good girl. Let me feel your throat,” he said, his thumbs teasing at her outer lips. “Such a pretty pussy. Smooth and sweet and all mine.” She swallowed more of his cock and he let out an approving moan. He trailed a finger over her and moaned again. “You’re always so fucking wet.”
His words only made her crave more, and she took him as deep as she could, fighting the urge to gag as her throat worked around him.
“Just like that,” he said, his hips flexing up a little. He worked two fingers into her as his thumb stroked her throbbing clit. “Whose pussy is this?” he asked, stretching her, playing with her.
She slid his cock out of her mouth and took a deep breath. “Yours. It’s all yours.” She was surprised by how much she wanted that to be true.
“Did you touch yourself without my permission?”
She kissed the head of his cock. “Yes. You wanted me to be bad, so I was bad.” Eager to provoke a reaction from him, any reaction that would take down the barrier he’d erected between them, she asked, “Are you going to punish me?” The last word came out a long moan as he pinched her clit.
He withdrew his hand and then filled his palms with her cheeks. “I’m going to spank this sweet little ass until it’s nice and pink and then you’re going to ride my cock.”
Her insides twisted and tightened, and she nodded, giving him the permission he’d been looking for. He reached forward and pressed her head down so that she was resting her cheek just above his cock. He caressed her ass and then without warning, his hand came down on her right cheek with a hard smack. She cried out and jerked forward, but then pressed back toward him, the burn radiating across her skin and stoking the fire in her core. His hand came down just as hard on her left cheek, and a shudder worked through her. She felt achy and empty, her clit throbbing desperately.
She closed her eyes, and each crack of his palm against her flesh took her higher, the bite of pain like a searing kiss. She floated in that world he created for her, the soft fog in between reality and fantasy. The cancer—past or potential—couldn’t touch her. His barriers were gone. He was hers and she was his and together they were perfect. After several more smacks on each cheek, he trailed his fingers over her pussy.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, almost reverently. “You’re soaked.” She moaned and pressed back into his touch. He teased her clit, circling it, pinching it, working it with firm strokes. She jerked and fisted her hands in the sheets.
“Please, can I come?” she asked, almost incoherent with need.
“Two more, and then I’ll let you come,” he said, taking his hand away. “Your ass is the prettiest shade of pink right now.” He stroked her tingling cheeks.
She made a series of jumbled sounds, half words and throaty moans. He was the only one who’d ever been able to do this to her, to make her practically lose her mind with pleasure.
The sound of his palm on her ass cracked through the room, louder and harder than any of the other strokes, and she bucked, the stinging pain vibrating right to her clit. He gave her one last smack, the hardest one yet, and then brought his fingers to her clit, circling in a steady rhythm. It took less than a minute for her to explode, her entire body shaking as she rode the waves of her orgasm.
She still hadn’t fully come down when he pulled her arms behind her back, maneuvering her upright. “Ride my cock, sweet girl. I want that pussy.” It was a bit awkward with her arms pinned behind her, manacled by his hands, but she managed to move down his body. He used one hand to hold his cock up for her, and then she sank down onto him in one deeply satisfying movement.
They both cried out, and as she rode him, she tried to tell herself that she could be happy if this was all there would be for them. Even if he kept shutting her out, she needed this. Craved it. Had become addicted to it. She’d take whatever he was able to give her, even if it meant sacrificing her heart in the process.