Page 65 of Deliver Me

He pushed into her thighs, whispering words that she caught only the edges of. Things like “so pretty”and “amazing”and then “oh fuck”as he pulled her hard against him and coated the insides of her thighs with hot come.

She leaned into the counter with him resting against her back and his spend cooling on her thighs as she tried to catch her breath. “Well, that was …”

“Perfect?” he asked, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck, just beneath hair that curled, damp with sweat, against her skin.

“Yeah,” she said with a giggle, head pressed to the cold smooth surface of the countertop. “Perfect.”

“I really fucking love you.”

“I really fucking love you, too,” she said with a sigh. “But you broke my bowl.”

“Shit.”

He stood up and let go of her, so she was able to turn around and flick on the overhead kitchen light and survey the damage. “I’ll pick this up while you wash off,” he said to her, kissing her quickly on the nose before crouching down to grab the first few shards of broken porcelain.

The come was already drying and sticky on her skin when she stepped into the shower, and it was bothersome enough that she was grateful for even the cold stingy spray. Still, she didn’t linger, and it was only a few minutes before she was rushing into the bedroom to tug on a clean pair of shorts and a soft t-shirt.

He was digging in the pantry when she came back, and she realized he was probably used to eating breakfast this early, too.

“If we keep this up, we’re going to spend a lot of time showering,” she said with a laugh, her thighs still shaking as she leaned into his side and pushed the hair back and away from his eyes. Whatever sadness had been there earlier had vanished, leaving nothing but warmth as he leaned into her palm. “Go ahead and hop in and I’ll whip up something to eat for breakfast. Pancakes or omelets?”

“Umm,” he stammered, suddenly unsure, and she remembered his frozen silence in the fast-food drive through staring at the menu full of options.

“I’m usually fonder of pancakes,” she added helpfully. “Especially for special occasions.”

“What’s the special occasion?” he asked, pausing on his way to the bathroom to look at her curiously.

“You are,” she said, unable to resist the urge to stretch up on her tiptoes and press another kiss to the warm plush curve of his mouth. Soon enough he’d taste like sugar and syrup but for now he only tasted like Gabriel and the tang of her own arousal. Her body clenched on a newly learned greed, but she knew he needed time and they had to go shopping today. He was already going to have to wear the same outfit as yesterday, albeit newly washed.

“But am I pancake worthy?” he asked, lifting one brow at her skeptically.

She bit her lip, pretending to think it over, before looking back at the kitchen countertop, still wet and shiny where he’d cleaned it while she showered.

“Definitely.”

The tips of his ears were pink when he left the kitchen.

She set out her ingredients and then turned on the TV on to give her something to listen to as she worked. She grimaced as the morning news came on and then froze as trial footage from thirteen years ago filled the screen showing a young Gabriel, stoic and empty eyed as he faced down the jury. The news anchor was talking fast, and she wasn’t able to hear him over the dull buzzing in her ears. The headline beneath the images, however, was inescapable.

Teenage Murderer Freed After Only Thirteen Years in Stunning Court Decision

She didn’t want Gabriel to see any of it and she was in the kitchen pouring batter into a pan when he came back, one towel slung low across his hips and using another to dry his dark curls.

“Smells good,” he said, pulling her back into his chest and nuzzling his face into her neck.

“No funny business until after breakfast and shopping,” she declared, flipping the pancake and turning to kiss cheek. “We should head out pretty soon, before the stores get crowded.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Shopping with Mia was both easier and much harder than Gabriel had imagined that it would be. Following her around the aisles of the nearest Target as she tossed clothes in a red shopping cart held none of the stuffiness that he remembered from his days of being dragged from one fancy boutique to another by his mother, and none of the rush that had come with dashing out the doors with whatever stolen item had caught his attention as he had done during his days with Seth.

He was grateful for the normalcy of it—for the bright florescent lighting and the shopping cart’s squeaky wheel and the underwear that she held up for his inspection before shrugging and adding it to the top of the pile—but somewhere between socks and t-shirts he began to notice the looks.

First the odd glance over someone’s shoulder and then mothers tugging their toddlers away from him as they entered the aisles or simply turning around and leaving altogether the next item on their lists forgotten entirely in their rush to get away.

“Does it all have to be black?” Mia asked, peeking at him from over the top of a black button down.

“Yes,” he said, barely glancing her way before frowning at the old man that scowled at him over a rack of men’s jackets. He glanced down at the white shirt he was wearing, checking for the third time to make sure that the prison hadn’t stamped the word “felon” on the front without him noticing.

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