Page 63 of Deliver Me

The clock beside the bed read 3:27 when he slipped quietly from the bed and left her alone.

Mia found him in the kitchen, standing in the dim green light of her microwave wearing nothing but the thin white underwear the prison had issued him.

“Gabriel?”

He jumped, startled to hear her voice coming out of the darkness of the hallway.

She crept closer, snaking a hand around his wrist when he didn’t answer. “It’s three in the morning, what are you doing out here?”

“Can’t sleep,” he muttered. “It’s lights on at 3:30 in prison. I’ve been waking up this early for thirteen years.”

“Oh,” she said, sleep clogging her mind as she pressed into his side, seeking the warmth he’d taken with him when he’d left his side of the bed empty. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

He sighed and rubbed his jaw against her hair. “I didn’t want to disturb you. You looked so peaceful.”

“What’s wrong?” She pulled back to look at him, frowning when he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Are you cold? You’re shaking.”

He shook his head, hands tightening on her hips to keep her from moving away when she tried to go and fetch a blanket from the bedroom.

“Just a bad dream,” he said. “It happens sometimes.”

“What were you dreaming about?” she asked, leaning back into him and offering him her body heat anyway as she wrapped her arms around his torso.

“It’s nothing …”

“It’s something,” she insisted. “I want to help you.”

“I know you do,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “But there’s nothing we can do about it.”

She wanted to argue, to tell him that it was normal for him to be feeling unsettled after having to relive everything for the trial and enduring all the changes he’d experienced in such a short time, but he tipped her chin up with the curve of his finger and silenced her with his lips on hers.

This kiss was nothing like the ones before. There was none of the softness and the sweetness that she’d gotten from him yesterday. His mouth was hot on hers, demanding as he parted her lips with his tongue. This was purely about him and whatever memories had haunted his nightmares. He clutched her to him as though her skin on his was the cure for a lifetime of pain, his hands tugging up the hem of the nightgown that barely skimmed her knees until he could reach beneath and cup the backs of her thighs.

She gasped when he lifted her, knocking aside the clutter from last night’s dinner where it rested on the kitchen counter. Something clattered into the sink and porcelain shattered as one of her bowls hit the floor and exploded on impact.

“Gabriel,” she protested, worried about the shards and his bare feet, but he stepped into the empty waiting space between her thighs and nipped her neck until she shuddered beneath the onslaught of his mouth.

“Buy you a new one,” he mumbled against her skin, unheeding to any damage he might be doing to himself. “I just need you. Need to taste you.”

He pressed a knuckle to the core of her, the pressure of his hand a new sensation against the fabric of the underwear. She spread her knees, eagerness and nerves tightening her muscles as she perched at the edge of the kitchen countertop and wondered wildly if this was really happening like this,caught up in some whirlwind frenzy of need with sleep still clinging stubbornly to her mind and inescapable memories still hanging heavily on his. This wasn’t like before. This passion was driven by whatever demons dogged his dreams.

He slid his fingers into the band of her underwear, and she shifted as he pulled, lifting her legs one at a time so that he could guide them roughly over her thighs and down her calves to toss them aside. There was no patience here, no gentle path traveled over the slim column of her neck or the soft peak of her breast. He looked at her like he wanted to drown in her, to wash away whatever ghosts still haunted him in the wet pool between her thighs.

Her hips jerked when he pressed a hand to the center of her, his fingers beginning an exploration of her body that made her writhe and drip onto the cheap laminate countertop. She clung to him, one hand tangled in his hair and her face pressed into the curve of his shoulder as she bit down on the soft skin of his neck to muffle her whimpers.

“Lean back,” he instructed softly, moving his hands to her legs and smearing her own slick wetness on her skin as he pressed his thumbs gently into her inner thighs, urging her to spread them wider.

Fresh wetness rushed between her thighs at the low rumble of his voice. She’d never been able to ignore that tone, not since the first time she’d heard him speak and he’d left her whimpering on the phone just from speaking her name.

She reached behind her and leaned back into her palms, reclining enough that he could jerk her hips forward and bringthe curve of her ass right up the edge of the counter, her body open and bared to his gaze when he nudged her legs even further apart so that he could look down at her with knowing and hungry eyes.

She shivered when he trailed one finger through the folds of her body, but this time he didn’t settle on her clit instead he reached further into the hidden and unexplored depths until he could press persistently against the entrance of her body.

The sudden realization that she felt acutely empty settled over her, and she pushed her hips forward, seeking more as he gently rocked the tip of finger inside her. She clenched down on the intrusion, chasing the unfamiliar sensation of being stroked from within.

“Do you like that?” he asked, his face serious in the odd green light.

“Yes,” she admitted, cheeks flaming at being asked to say it out loud but pleased when he grunted in satisfaction and worked his finger deeper inside of her in response.

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