Page 53 of Vicious Temptation

But I know I’ve seen him looking at me, too. I’ve felt the tension between us on a few occasions, now. And I can’t help letting my thoughts wander, just a little, until he stands up and walks towards where I’m still sitting on the mats.

For a brief moment, I’m looking up at him, and it takes everything in me not to let my gaze settle between his thighs, to try to see if I can make out what’s there, beneath that thin fabric of his black shorts. I swallow hard, looking up at his face, and when I do, there’s something in his green gaze that I’ve only seen there once before—that night that I thought he was going to kiss me.

Something darkens in his eyes as he looks down at me, something hungry and almost possessive, before he takes a quick step back, giving me room to get up as he averts his gaze.

“We can start, if you’re warmed up enough,” he says quickly, but I hear the rasp in his voice, see the way he swallows as he looks past me towards the boxing bag at the far end of the room.

I stand up, rubbing my hands against my shorts, and follow him to the bag. For the next few minutes, he shows me how to make a fist—not to tuck my thumb under my fingers, for instance—and how to balance my weight so that I can move back and forth easily. We practice that stance for a bit, until I have a good center of balance and can bob back and forth without wobbling, and then Gabriel starts to show me how to strike the bag.

“Don’t really hit it yet,” he explains. “You’ll hurt your hands. I’ll give you a pair of gloves once you actually start striking it. But for now, just get the motion down.”

It’s slow and repetitive, but I can understand how in time, this might help me. Gabriel gets a pair of gloves for himself, showing me how the moves work in practice, promising me that next session, he’ll show me how to actually hit.

He never actually touches me, but as I run through the movements over and over, he moves closer, mimicking the motion as I do it, close enough that if I shifted, I would bump against him. The heat in the room feels as if it ticks up another notch, and I’m viscerally aware of how close he is, of the scent of his skin—spicy soap and deodorant mixed with the warm male scent of his sweat. I feel my blood pulse a little faster, my heart in my throat, and I swallow hard, trying to focus. But it’s harder the longer he’s close to me, and no longer for the reasons it once was. It’s not until I falter a little and Gabriel steps back, dropping his arms to his sides, that I realize I didn’t feel a flare of panic at having him so close. Not even once.

“You look like you’re getting tired,” Gabriel says abruptly. “We’re probably good to stop for now. That was a good start,” he adds encouragingly, turning away slightly. “I’m going to go through the rest of my workout, if you want to go get ready for the day. We’ll try this again tomorrow.”

I nod, hesitating as I glance at him. I can’t help but wonder what he would do if I reached out and touched him right now. I can see the way he’s angling himself away from me, as if there’s something he doesn’t want me to see, the way he doesn’t quite look me in the eye. I can feel the tension between us, thick and heavy in the air, pulsing the way my blood is throbbing through my veins, a heightened awareness of arousal I haven’t felt in a very long time, heating me from the inside out.

“Tomorrow,” I manage, and make a beeline for the door.

I don’t glance back to see if Gabriel is watching me. I hurry up the stairs, to my room, closing the door behind me and locking it as I strip out of my sweaty clothes and go to the shower. It’s not until I’m behind that second locked door, the sound and steam of the water filling the room, that I step into the glass cubicle of the shower and lean back against the tiles, my hand sliding between my thighs.

For once, I’m not thinking about anything that I’m afraid of. I’m not thinking of any of the terrible things that sex has come to be associated with, in my mind. All I can think about is the ache between my legs, and what I can do to ease it.

I gasp when I slip my fingers between my folds, the tiles of the shower cool against my overheated skin as I tip my head back against the wall. I’m slick and hot, wetter than I can ever remember having been before, so wet that it’s almost hard for me to find purchase with my fingers as I slide them up to my swollen clit. The sensation is intense, pleasure fluttering through me as a moan slips out, and I arch my hips into my hand, chasing more of that feeling.

I shouldn’t think about Gabriel while I do this. I know that. But the truth is, I don’t know what else to think about. Being around him is what’s awakened these feelings, when I thought I’d never have them again. And the ache is so strong, so insistent, that I don’t want to lose it. I want so badly to come, to feel that flood of pleasure, and I don’t want anything to ruin it. To chase it away.

So instead, I close my eyes, and I let myself think about him, as the tip of my finger circles my swollen, pulsing clit. I think of the soft shape of his mouth, so close to mine that night in the living room. The heat of his body next to me on the sofa. The way he towered over me earlier, just in front of me, so that if I’d risen up on my knees, I’d have been eye-level with his cock.

A pulse of arousal throbs through me, that pleasure tightening between my thighs, and I gasp, focusing on that thought. I didn’t let myself look to see if he was aroused, but I imagine that he was, that if I had looked, I would have seen the shape of him through the shorts, thick and hard, aroused by me. I imagine hooking my fingers in the waist of his shorts, tugging them down his hips, his hard cock springing free. I imagine?—

No, not that. Not yet. I rush forward through the fantasy, past the parts that I know might dredge up bad memories, to the part I want to imagine. Gabriel, laying me back on the gym mat, pulling my leggings down, one hand pushing up my workout top so he can drag his lips over the firm plane of my stomach. Those kisses dragging lower, past my navel, down to where my fingers are now. His lips on my clit, kissing, sucking?—

“Oh!” I moan aloud, arching into my hand, feeling the pleasure intensify at that thought, my orgasm suddenly significantly closer. I’ve always wanted to know what that would feel like, a man’s lips and tongue on my pussy, licking and sucking, how that warm heat would feel on my most sensitive places. I imagine Gabriel groaning as he licks me, murmuring how good I taste against my pussy, fingers stroking my thighs as his tongue swirls over my clit and he begs me to come for him, to come all over his face?—

The orgasm hits me before I’m ready for it, the pressure in my belly spiraling outwards and making me cry out, a pleasure so intense that I couldn’t have anticipated it rushing over me like a tidal wave. My knees nearly buckle, and I gasp, steadying myself against the wall as my fingers keep rubbing over my throbbing clit, a flood of my own arousal dripping over my fingers. I can feel myself clenching on nothing, my body aching to be filled, to have a thick, thrusting cock shoved inside of me as I come hard, and all I can think of is Gabriel, and how he would moan my name as he pushes himself inside of me and fills me up.

“Oh god,” I whisper as the last tremors flutter through me, my hand falling to my side as I lean my forehead against the tiles, trying to catch my breath. I’d forgotten what I was missing, having not touched myself in so long—but I’ve also never come that hard before. It felt so fucking good, my muscles loose, and my body relaxed in a way that feels bone-deep, like a release that I needed more than I knew.

And all I can think, as I remember how to breathe and collect myself, is how it might feel if it were Gabriel’s tongue and fingers, making me come instead.

18

GABRIEL

Iknow, as I watch Bella hurry from the gym to the stairs outside, that I’ve gotten myself into a situation that can only end badly.

It’s easy enough to rationalize the guilt of wanting another woman away. I loved my wife, was fiercely faithful to her when she was alive, and I’ve grieved her deeply. It took me over a year to even come around to the idea of going to bed with a woman again, and longer still before I acted on it casually, so desperate for touch that I couldn’t bear it any longer. I’m young still, and I know that Delilah wouldn’t have wanted me to be miserable and alone. She would have understood. I just haven’t really wanted anyone, other than brief moments of desperation, until now.

But Bella has changed that. What I feel for her is a desire that I haven’t felt in four long years, and worse still, it’s mingled with more than just lust. I care for her in a way that’s dangerous, a way that complicates desire. Even worse than that is the fact that she works for me. It would be bad enough if she didn’t live in my house as my employee, care for my children, if she wasn’t part of a structure that I don’t want to undermine in the slightest. But sex will complicate that to a degree that I don’t even want to begin to consider.

And then, beyond that?—

Even if I could rationalize away every other objection to my desire for her, even if I could find a way to justify wanting her against every other consideration—there’s the fact that I know she deserves more than something casual. And that’s all I can offer her, if I were to offer her anything at all.

I don’t think I have the capacity to fall in love again. To give my heart to another woman, after the weight of the grief of losing my first wife. The most that I think I could offer someone else is an exchange of pleasure—maybe, in time, a friendship, if I found someone who I saw more often than once every year or so. But Bella has never had any kind of relationship at all, and she deserves so much more than that. Far more.

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