Page 43 of Good Guy Gabe

Leah gives me a pained but sympathetic smile. “None of this says she isn’t a good person, but this is bad. Her husband was a pediatric oral surgeon, did you know that, at least?”

I close my eyes, feeling reassured by what Leah’s said while simultaneously sicker about what he did for a living. He worked with children, and there’s murder involved.

“You need to know this.” Her hand lands on mine, and if there’s one thing we all know about Leah, she doesn’t like touching or being touched. The fact that she’s done this to comfort me is my worst nightmare. “He raped his patients. Looks like at least four of them. Teenage girls. One of them died during the assault.”

Chapter 20

Joss

WHENGABE RETURNSto bed after his typical early-morning wander, curls around me, and guides his cock into me, it soothes the ache of a particularly rough Round One.

I hum in pleasure as he slides one arm beneath my waist to reach around and lazily circle my clit while the other hand massages my breast. My thoughts go silken, like if I tried to grasp one, it would slide from my hold.

“You love having your pussy plugged up by my cock, don’t you?” His voice is deep and rough, barely human.

My response is another hum and a squirm of my ass deeper into the seat of his lap.

“That’s it. Take it all the way in, leave no space.” He bottoms out, hits the sensitive upper wall, backs out only an inch or so before nudging at it again. “Is that the spot? If I come right there, will I fill you here?” His hand lowers from my breast to my belly, below my navel. He spreads his hand wide and digs into the soft flesh there.

In the twilight of my sleep- and lust-fogged mind, his meaning is clear. But the delicate dance I’ve played with him ever since he told me about his vasectomy wounds me, the sting that much more poignant since he started talking like this in these ethereal half-asleep rounds. “Yes,” I moan.

“Will you grow here? Will you get bigger and bigger?”

“Yes! Come inside me, Gabe.”

“Yeah? You want that? You want the whole world to know you let me fuck you raw over and over? That I pumped my cum into you so many times I took root here?”

That part of me that knows only instincts, that id, that voice that’s forced to be silent in polite society but quietly waits for the most base, primal moment to speak, wails a desperate “Yes!” I want it so badly, and I can be nothing less than honest now even if he doesn’t mean it, if it’s his way of talking kinky.

His hands draw away from me, but his cock continues to pump rhythmically in that scant inch, driving himself ever forward to make good on his promise. A hand on my shoulder pushes me back onto the mattress, and even the twist in my spine, the lock he’s got on my position feels good.

He looms over me, a Viking warrior with his giant body, his rosy complexion, his copper beard, and takes hold of my breast, more roughly this time. “These are gonna get big and firm and sore, and you’re going to love that too, aren’t you?”

I toss my head back, pushing into his hand, wanting to ache everywhere.

“Fuck, baby. They’ll leak just as much as your pussy, won’t they? You’re going to make the biggest mess every time we fuck, and I bet you’ll beg for it again . . . and again . . . and again.”

He punctuates it with a hard thrust each time. Tears pool in my eyes, but all I can say is, “More.”

He laughs, darkly and knowingly. Possessively. “As many as you want, Joss. I’ll keep you full forever if that’s what you need. Is that what you need?”

My spine begins to rebel, my entire body driven to take from him the one thing only he can give me, mindless to the fact he’s made sure he can’t. I reach between my legs, ignoring my own pleasure to grab hold of his balls. “Now, give it to me now.”

He groans long and low, his head dropping down, his crown of copper hair dusting over my chest, making even the least sensitive spots go electric. Still, he manages to say, “What do you want me to do?”

He may be able to talk pretty and deep and playful, but I’m little more than an animal rutting. The best I can say is, “Give me a baby!”

He flips me onto my stomach and brings us on our knees long enough for him to get a few hard thrusts in before he leans his whole weight into my ass to go as deep as he can, making sure I can feel every hot, liquid jet blasting against my inner seal. And before either of us has a chance to cool down, he puts me back on my side, a hand on my clit and his mouth on my nipple.

He’s so tightly curled around me there’s no escape. His suckling is bruising, sure to leave both an ache and a dark, lasting mark as he forces me to come more, even as my pussy milks his cock for every drop until it softens within me, sealing everything inside.

It’s the perfect moment, this fantasy that he means everything he just said, he wants everything I want, far too soon for our relationship, but we’re both old enough for it. Stable and comfortable, too. I don’t begrudge Tilly for what she’s got, not when it’s an inconvenient miracle, but it’s going to be a struggle for her. If the impossible happened tonight and if Gabe really did mean the words he said, it would be the happiest of surprises.

I hold that fantasy.

I cleave to it.

And then Gabe makes a sound so faint I would have missed the distress in it if he didn’t also flop onto his back and groan in frustration at the ceiling.

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