The cold emptiness of my bed feels awful tonight. All I can think about is Skye’s warmth wrapped around me in every way possible last night and how incredible it felt.
That damn clock on my nightstand reads 10:30. I can’t remember the last time I was in bed this early, but I was utterly useless at everything else I tried to do. Avoiding Savage all day zapped my energy and bed felt like a great idea. After I smoked more cigarettes than I care to admit, I climbed between the sheets hoping the stress of the day, a little booze, and some Nyquil would let me drift off peacefully.
Yeah, not so much.
Skye finally texted me two hours ago, telling me we need to talk.
Talk.
Like talking will solve anything?
We both know we won’t end up “talking” if we meet up, and that’s the problem. Last night was a mistake. I never should have put myself in that situation or let her tempt me to stray from my purpose. I intended to smooth things over, not dig myself into a deeper hole. I’ve been breaking out into cold sweats, and my chest has been tight all fucking day.
Dodging Savage’s inquisition and my physical break down are proof of how wrong it really was. If it weren’t, I wouldn’t be so terrified of him finding out and my body wouldn’t be screaming at me to get the fuck out of the situation.
When will this fucking Nyquil kick in?
Mixed with the glass of whiskey I had before climbing under the covers, I was sure I would pass out immediately.
I close my eyes and try to think of anything but Skye. The construction…yeah…the construction is going well. We should have the new location up and operational in six months, tops. The gym…things are going well there…I’ve upped my deadlift max to 550 pounds. Killin’ it in the gains department…
A door slamming jolts me from my almost-asleep state.
My hand automatically moves to the back of the headboard where I have my 1911 mounted. I tighten my fingers around the grip and slip out of bed silently, my heart beating wildly.
Bam.
Crash.
Someone bumped into something in the living room.
That was probably my bottle of Balvenie hitting the wood floor.
Son of a bitch!
The hallway is pitch black, but the light coming from the floor to ceiling windows in the living room illuminates a figure leaning against the couch and bending down toward the floor.
A very familiar figure—with wavy hair and curves for days.
I lower my gun and flip on the lights, earning a squeal of displeasure from the intruder. “Fuck, that’s bright!”
“Are you fucking insane, Skye? I could have killed you!”
She glances up at me from behind a wall of dark hair and finishes removing her other heel, letting it drop to the hardwood floor with a thud next to its partner.
“You wouldn’t have shot me. You’re too controlled for that, and you would never shoot before knowing what or who you were shooting at.”
My knuckles whiten around the grip. “Stay here. Don’t fucking move.”
I retreat to my bedroom, absolutely fuming. I need to calm the fuck down and collect myself. My hand shakes as I return my gun to the back of the headboard.
How can she be so fucking stupid?
My instincts and training make me a walking reaper…an angel of fucking death. And while she’s right, I wouldn’t shoot without knowing my target…that assumes I’m thinking clearly. I have been thinking anything but clearly the last couple days.
If I’d been in the middle of one of my nightmares when she came in, who the hell knows what I could have done.
A shudder rolls through my body. My chest tightens around my racing heart, making it almost impossible to take a deep breath.
I grip the headboard with one hand to steady myself. The last time I had one of the dreams, my own screams woke me, and I was standing in the middle of my living room with my gun in my hand, pointing it at nothing.
That could have been Skye.
A rolling stomach joins my body’s revolt. “Fuck…”
Get your shit together.
Everything is fine.
I tell myself that. Over and over and over again, but it does nothing to stop the full-body meltdown.
Breathe.
After another minute, the vise around my chest relaxes, and I’m able to take a few deep breaths. I grab the half-empty bottle of water from my nightstand and down it before gathering myself together to face Skye.
When I return to living room, she’s still leaning against the couch, but now, her eyes are focused out the windows toward the water.
“Skye, what the fuck are you doing here?”
Her eyes drift over me, and I’m suddenly very aware I’m wearing nothing but my boxer-briefs. She devours me with her gaze, her eyes lingering over my crotch long enough to make my cock jump to attention.
Shit.
“Seriously, Skye…why are you here?”
“We need to talk.” She’s been drinking. I can hear it in the slight slurring of her speech and see it in her bloodshot eyes. Although, I guess that could be from lack of sleep last night, too. Mine might be just as bad for all I know. I’ve avoided looking at myself in the mirror all day.
“Are you drunk?”
Her pink, tempting lips quirk up into an adorable little smirk. “No, just a little tipsy. Had a couple drinks with someone from work.”
The twinge of pain in my chest wondering if that someone was a man or a woman makes me take a step back. I can’t let myself think like that. She’s not mine.
“I’m calling you a cab. You didn’t drive here, did you?”
Those expressive eyes sharpen with concern. “Of course not, I’m not that fucking stupid, Gabe. You really think I would drink and drive after what happened to Star and Savage?”
No. She wouldn’t. We all lost so much that day.
“And you aren’t sending me home. We’re going to talk. Now.”
Her eyes spark with determination, but I know we won’t get anywhere talking tonight. Not when I am so on edge, and she’s a couple drinks in. “This really isn’t the time, Skye.”
She scoffs and takes a step toward me. “There will never be a good time, because you keep running away from what’s happening, from what you’re feeling. You think it will just go away if you ignore it. Or maybe you thought you could fuck me out of your system?”
He recoils at my words, and a slight frown turns his lips down. The defensive posture he took relaxes, and he drops his arms to his sides instead of crossing them over his chest.
Good.
I knew that wasn’t what he was doing, but I needed to make sure he knew that too.
There’s no other way I can think of to make him see what’s right in front of him, what’s been right in front of him for years.
I approach him, and I’m not cautious about it. I don’t give him any time to think.
Thinking is bad.
I press my hands to his bare chest—one over his heart and that goddamn nipple ring and one on his other pec. The racing thud of his heartbeat against my palm fills me with hope.
He can’t deny what’s happening here any more than I can. His hot skin tenses and ripples under my touch.
“Look me in the eye, Gabe, and tell me you don’t want this.”
His hooded gaze darkens but never leaves mine.
War.
That’s what I see there, but below the belt, things are much clearer. His cock presses against me, and I push into him, rubbing my stomach against it to prove my point.
Let’s see him say no now.
Rising up on my tiptoes, I run my tongue across his lips. His body vibrates with restrained need.
I whisper against his lips, “Let it go, Gabe.”
After a moment of hesitation, he groans and wraps his arms around me, crushing me against him and plunging his tongue into my willing mouth. The warm, spicy tang of the whiskey he must have drunk before I got here mingles with the taste that is all Gabe, making my mouth water. I tangle my tongue with his, craving more, needing to drown in his flavor.
His hands drop to my hips and dig into my flesh. He doesn’t even need to say the words for me to know what he wants. I jump up and wrap my legs around his waist, pinning his cock between our bodies. With a small shift, I align him in the perfect position. He groans into my mouth.
God, that’s incredible.
He tightens his hold on me, sliding his hands down under my ass as he moves down the hallway toward his bedroom.
Gabe’s. Fucking. Bedroom.
I’m headed for the promised land.
Finally. After twelve fucking years.
With every step he takes, his erection grinds into my clit, eliciting moans from me every single time. By the time we reach his room, my pants and his boxers will be soaked. But our progress stops.
I jerk away from his mouth.
“No. Don’t stop.”
His eyes drop to my lips, and he grins. “I couldn’t even if it tried.”
He turns and slams my back into the hallway wall. His lips crush to mine, and he grinds his cock against me. I drop my head back against the wall, close my eyes and tighten my grip on him with my legs. He isn’t getting away from me.
I don’t care if we make it to the bedroom. The promised land can wait. I can’t. I need him inside me. I need him to make me forget everything that’s fucked up in the world and in my life. I need for there to just be us.
A low rumble in Gabe’s chest vibrates against mine, and my already hard nipples ache for his touch. His tongue slides over mine, then slowly retreats, stopping to swipe along my lips.
I open my eyes and find him staring at me—his normally light emerald eyes darkened and hard with passion and need. “What the fuck are you doing to me, Skye?”
“Nothing you don’t want.” My reply is breathy and barely audible, but I know he hears me because he groans and descends on me again before yanking me from the wall and continuing to his room.
He leans down and deposits me on the bed, breaking the delicious contact with his dick and his mouth. With him leaning over me like this, I almost forget all the bullshit in our lives. He scrutinizes my face—for what, I have no idea—but he seems to find whatever it is he’s searching for, because he wraps his arms under me and rolls onto his back, taking me with him.
I straddle his hips, staring down into the eyes of the man I’ve know most of my life.
Please, God, let us figure this out.
“You have far too many clothes on.” His voice is rough with need and, damn, if it isn’t the fucking sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.
I giggle. I fucking giggle and climb off him so I can strip out of my jeans and top.
His eyes follow my every move, and his cock strains against the confines of his boxer-briefs. I’m tempted to take him in my mouth again—to force him to finish there unlike this morning—but he reaches over and opens a drawer in his nightstand.
The last piece of my clothing drops to the ground, and his underwear goes flying across the room. In the dim moonlight, I watch him slide the condom on his straining cock. He reaches a hand out to me and urges me back onto his lap.
With my eyes locked on his, I slowly lower myself onto his waiting dick.
Oh, sweet fucking God…
If this is wrong—what’s happening between me and Gabe—then, fuck, I never want to be right again.