Morning light hits my eyelids and warmth envelops me.
Hot, hard flesh presses against my back, and a large, warm hand squeezes my left breast.
I moan and arch back. A satisfied groan answers me and fingers tug at my nipple playfully before sliding down my stomach. They find my clit and rub slow, rhythmic circles, working me up at a torturous pace while lips explore the back of my neck.
Fuck yes!
My clit pulses under his ministrations and a finger slips into me. I’m so fucking wet already. A finger just isn’t going to cut it this morning.
I need him, inside of me, now.
A whimper slips from my lips when the finger slides in and out faster, brushing up against my clit with every movement.
“Shit.” I bite my bottom lip and roll my hips back. My ass is greeted by a hard cock pressed between us.
Why are you not in me?
I want to scream it, but the only thing that comes out of my mouth is a gasp when another finger joins the party and my body starts trembling. I’m so close to coming already, but I need to come around cock, not fingers.
Nothing but cock is going to cut it.
With as much will power as I can muster, I fight off my impending orgasm to reach behind me and grasp his dick.
He growls in my ear and kisses my neck while I stroke him. His fingers fill and stretch me, and he increases his pace.
My head spins and any ability to think clearly fogs.
There’s no fighting it anymore. I come, crying out and bucking against his hand. My fingers tighten around the thick shaft, and he gasps in my ear.
“You’re fucking beautiful when you come.”
I barely hear him—it’s nothing but a hazy whisper in the periphery of my world while my body spins off into nirvana. My pussy clenches around his fingers, and I tug on his cock, urging him to replace his hand with what I really want.
His chest vibrates against my back with his chuckle. “Patience…”
“No…please…”
My orgasm wanes and in the afterglow, my only concern is getting him inside me as quickly as is humanly possible.
Now!
The wall of his body heat disappears, and his cock slips from my hand as he rolls to the other side of the bed. I start to protest, but the sound of ripping foil assures me I won’t have to wait long.
He sidles up behind me and kisses my neck while he pulls my hips back to get into a better position. The head of his cock slips inside me, and he stills.
What the fuck?
The pause is only momentary before he pushes into me in one hard thrust. I gasp and squeeze my eyes shut. His cock stretches me, and fuck, does it feel incredible. He pulls my leg up over his thigh, spreading me open and giving him better access.
He withdraws slowly before shoving into me again—deep and hard. We move in unison, establishing a fast, driving rhythm. His hand grasps my breast and tugs at my nipple.
It won’t take long for me to come again. Being fucked like this—hard and fast—right after coming is a surefire way to set me off again.
Our gasps and groans mingle, and I squeeze him with my inner muscles.
A moan in my ear meets my cry as I come.
“Oh, fuck! Gabe!”
His body tenses, and he stills behind me. “Who the fuck is Gabe?”
My eyes fly open and the bliss from my orgasm vanishes instantly when I realize what happened.
Holy shit! Lucas!
This is bad. This is so, so bad.
He pulls out of me quickly, and I turn my head toward him. He props himself up on his elbow, watching and waiting for an explanation, although it’s pretty clear nothing I say is going to remove that look of betrayal from his eyes.
“No one. It’s no one.”
His eyebrow shoots up, and his lips press into a hard, thin line. “No one, huh?”
I shake my head and roll over toward him. He shifts back, away from me and toward the edge of the bed. Somehow, I know that reaching out to him would be a bad idea right now, so I lie completely still, waiting for him to erupt.
It’s not like I don’t deserve it.
Fuck. What’s wrong with me?
Lucas takes a deep breath and stands. He doesn’t even look back at me before he disappears into the bathroom, closes the door, and starts the shower.
“Fuck!” I scrub my face with my hands and try to figure out where the hell it all went so wrong.
When you said the wrong man’s name, dumbass.
Gabe is fucking up my sanity and my life.
Shit, what am I supposed to say to Lucas?
I reach over to the nightstand and grab my phone. Last night is a bit of a blur. I remember Lucas picking me up and the sex when we got back here. But after that, a potent mix of little food and lots of alcohol the rest of the night has left things a bit fuzzy.
Before I have time to review my text messages from last night, the shower shuts off. I need to come up with a plausible explanation for my slip of the tongue, and fast.
When the door opens, I expect him to be shooting daggers at me and ignoring my presence or ranting and raving like a madman. Instead, he calmly bends down and digs into his bag for his clothes, letting his towel drop when he changes.
The silence is deafening and makes me feel about a thousand percent guiltier than if he had just come out raging. When he’s dressed, he turns to me and raises his eyebrows. “Are you getting out of bed? We have to be at work in half an hour.”
We have to be at work?
He can’t seriously still want to drive into work together after what just happened? Can he?
His dark eyes search mine, waiting for my response.
“Uh, yeah, I just need a quick shower, and then I’ll be ready to go. Give me five.” I climb from bed and brush past him on my way to the bathroom.
Well, this is hella awkward.
And I thought things with Gabe were uncomfortable. This gives “uncomfortable” a whole new definition.
It feels like I got hit by an RPG again. The ringing in my ears, ache in every damn joint in my body, and the hammering pain in my head only compare to the time the caravan I was in was attacked in Iraq, and I was thrown from the turret when the Stryker flipped.
I clench my eyes closed against the offending morning light and groan.
My throat is on fire, and the tell-tale taste of nicotine in my mouth and smell of smoke clinging to my hair and skin alert me that I fell off the wagon again. Another six months smokes-free out the fucking window.
Fuck. What happened last night?
After leaving the Hawkes’, I went to one of my favorite clubs to try to find someone to help me forget the Skye drama. I vividly remember the images of Skye in that bathing suit flitting through my head on the ride to the club in the cab.
There’s a foggy memory of a bottle of Maker’s Mark, but after that, nada. I’m afraid to even check the bed for who’s next to me. Did I come home with someone last night?
I take a deep breath and a quick glance to my left assures me I’m safe.
The space next to me is empty, and the sheets are cold when I reach out and lay my hand on them.
Thank God.
I can’t deal with another incident like yesterday morning—not when I feel like this.
A terrible squawking beep comes from my nightstand, and I scramble for my phone. It’s only 6:00 a.m. Savage and I usually don’t go to the gym until seven on Mondays.
Why the hell did I set an early alarm?
I turn it off and open my texts, searching for answers about last night. The last message is from Savage telling me he wants to get started early today.
Asshole. That explains the alarm.
My eyes move down to the next text conversation, and my breath stalls in my chest.
Shit.
Skye’s name is there in black and white. I don’t read what I can see of the message. I don’t even want to open it. Who the fuck knows what I may have said in the state I was in last night. If I don’t open it, I can ignore it. That’s the adult thing to do—ignore it, and it’s like it never happened.
A shower sounds like a much better idea than dealing with whatever reality lies in those messages. My pores seem to be seeping a nauseating stale booze smell to mix with the smoke, and there’s no way I’m going to be able to concentrate on my workout smelling like this.
I set my phone on the nightstand, and it vibrates.
Fuck. It’s Savage.
> Meet me in the hall in five. <
No shower. Fabulous.
I stare at the screen.
Just get it over with.
Skye’s name practically burns under my fingertip as I click on our exchange.
It’s worse than I thought.
I sent the first message, initiating whatever clusterfuck this surely was.
< Can’t stop thinking about you >
Seriously, fuck me!
Why the hell did I think it was a good idea to text her and tell her that? I must have been a full bottle in. A vague, hazy memory of a dark-haired, blue-eyed girl at the club hovers in the corner my mind. I push my free hand back through my hair and groan. I probably saw her and it sent me down the road to Idioticbehaviorville.
Skye’s response breaks my fucking heart and makes me feel like even more of an asshole than I already do.
> That’s not fair. <
She’s right; it’s not fair. I have no business telling her I’m thinking about her, or texting her in the middle of the night, or doing anything to her.
At least it doesn’t appear I elaborated and explained how I think about her with my cock in my hand. How I did exactly that right before I saw her yesterday.
And it’s all because of that fucking night. If I hadn’t let her kiss me, I could have remained blissfully ignorant of how sweet she tastes, and how soft her lips are…
I should have asked Storm to help me with Skye that night. We never would have been in that situation. I never would have been tempted. I wouldn’t be thinking about her practically every waking moment. And I wouldn’t be doing asshole, unfair shit like this to her.
All she did was point out the truth of what I’m doing to her and, rather than apologize, I only reiterated my position.
< It’s true. >
Safe enough response, I suppose.
Given the situation, and my apparent level of intoxication last night, it could have been much worse.
Her final text burns my eyes and brings back that unfamiliar pang I felt yesterday, knowing she left with another man. That feeling I have absolutely no business having.
< You rejected me, left me alone when I needed you, but I’m not alone pining for you anymore. >
As if her words weren’t enough…
This fucking picture. Shoot me in the fucking heart why don’t you…
Her…
In bed…
With someone else…
His sleeping silhouette…
Her smirking face…
And her middle finger.
It’s not like I don’t deserve it, but that doesn’t make the sting any more bearable.
Climbing out of bed is agonizing, and I clamp my eyes shut to prevent my stomach from ejecting what’s left of the booze.
Did I even eat, or did I just enjoy a liquid diet last night?
When I make it to the bathroom, I have my answer staring back at me in the mirror.
Fuck. I look like death warmed over.
Another scan of my phone reminds me I don’t have time to shower before Savage will be waiting in the hall. A quick brushing of my teeth and change into workout clothes is all I manage before I open the door and find him already there.
“Jesus, Gabe, you look like fucking hell. What happened last night?”
I sent a text to your baby sister basically telling her I want to bone her.
“Uh, nothing. The usual.”
He doesn’t appear convinced, but he doesn’t push it, either. A year ago, he never would have let this slide. He would have been down my throat and up my ass about drinking enough to be this big of a mess. Not to mention he would whoop my ass for giving in and smoking again, which I’m sure he can smell all over me and hear in my voice.
But he also knows that after everything we went through last year, he needs to back off me. He has no idea how much killing Abello’s men affected me, but he suspects it, and has gratefully been focusing all his attentions and worry on Dani instead of me.
I’m thankful for the reprieve, although I do feel for Dani…having to be the focus of all Savage’s worry and dominance. Thankfully, she’s one fucking tough woman and probably the only person on this planet who can truly handle him.
“Well, are you still good to go, or are you going to puss out on me?”
God, I wish I could puss out, but what I really need, and deserve right now, is an ass-kicking.