Page 36 of Blue Collar Hotties

We make it three steps inside Gabe’s apartment before I’m climbing him like a love-struck monkey. He’s so tall and strong and sturdy, and seriously, whatever soap he uses has a direct line between my legs. Gah.

A laugh rumbles out of him, vibrating through my whole body, and Gabe grips my ass to hitch me higher. My legs wrap around his waist, and the floorboards creak under our shared weight as he walks.

“This is the entryway,” he says, nodding at a neat line of coat hooks beside us. The floorboards here are smooth oak, anda vivid abstract painting hangs on the wall. The light dangling above has an industrial-style brass cage.

It’s gorgeous. It’s all gorgeous. Not beige at all.

I don’t care. Too busy kissing Gabe’s perfect neck.

“There’s a bathroom through that door. And through here is the living area, with the TV and sofas and breakfast bar and all that stuff. I knocked this wall through when I first bought this place. Made it all open plan.”

“Uh-huh.” Rocking against the hard line in Gabe’s jeans, I suppress a shiver. It’s sweet of him to give me this tour, but I sure wish he’d give me somethingelseright now. Something long and thick, something prodding me in the hip—

“Do you like the walls?”

Rubbing my nose against Gabe’s five o’clock shadow, I pause. Do I what?

“The walls.” He jiggles me in his arms. “The sage color. Do you like them? We can repaint if you prefer.”

My breath bursts out in a huff, and I lean back in the builder’s strong arms. He smiles down at me, eyes teasing, and god, Iknewhe must be messing with me. Who can think about wall paint at a time like this? Not me, that’s for sure.

“Gabriel Dempsey,” I say, mustering up all the leftover Hattworth arrogance I can possibly manage. “Put me down this instant and let me suck your cock.”

His grin widens. There are those freaking dimples! God, they should be illegal.

“Is this how it’s gonna be, then, gorgeous?” He sets me down carefully, like I’m delicate. Precious. It’s so different to the way he slung around those heavy tools and building supplies back on that scaffolding, sweat slick on his neck, muscles bulging beneath his work shirt. “You bossing me around?”

Ha. “Nope.” My fingernails scratch their way down Gabe’s body as I kneel at his feet, trailing over flannel shirt, leather belt,worn jeans. Distantly, I register a thick rug beneath my knees. “I wantyouto do the bossing. Want to be your good girl.”

His smile is calm, but the pleased shudder that rolls through his muscles gives him away. “Yeah? Then start right here, baby.”

His big hands tug his belt open easily, the buckle clicking. Leather slithers apart and Gabe thumbs open the top button of his jeans, then stands patiently with his hands on his hips. He’s so tall and broad up there, looming over me with that hungry look in his eye.

My lips press together. The bulge pressing against the fly of Gabe’s jeans is… impressive. Intimidating.

“Just… don’t judge me by my first attempt, okay?” The zipper sticks halfway down, and I tug it harder, trying to breath past the sudden rush of nerves. I’m dizzy with them—dizzy with fear and excitement and the bone-deep relief thatyes, this is finally happening. We’re together, with no one about to walk in on us. No one to tear us apart again.

And how many times have I pictured this exact thing? Kneeling for Gabe and using my mouth and hands for his pleasure.Worshipinghim with all the fervor he deserves. So many times.

In my daydreams, though, I was good at it. Now, I’m kinda lost.

“First attempt,” Gabe says quietly. His hands stroke over my hair, petting, soothing. “At everything? All of it?”

“Yeah.” My lip hurts, I bite down on it so hard. “Is that okay?”

The breath heaves out of him on a laugh. “It’s more than okay, Lenore. Your first time? Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh. So… you’reallmine.”

And he doesn’t sound upset about my inexperience, or put off at all. No, Gabe seems extra eager as I draw his hard length outof his boxers, his hips already twitching toward my mouth. The first tiny lick I give the head draws a hiss between his teeth.

“Fuck,” he grits out, tendons bulging on his forearms. His arms are back at his sides, those strong hands balled into fists. The knuckles are bone-white. “Do that again.”

Another lick. Another hiss.

He tastes salty and warm. I like it.

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