Page 31 of Where She Belongs
Or maybe I’m just allowing myself to get caught up in our own lie, reading into casual touches and friendly gestures because it’s convenient for our cover story. Because it’s easier than admitting how lonely I’ve been since the divorce.
Because it’s nice to remember, even briefly, what it feels like to be wanted.
“One more round!” Tristy announces, already signaling the waiter. “And then we should probably head back before they have to carry the boys to their rooms.”
Two hours later, I close the suite door behind me with a sigh of relief. Girls’ night had stretched on longer than expected, with impromptu dancing at the resort’s beachside bar after Tristy spotted a group of her social media followers who recognized her. I’d begged off around midnight, pleading exhaustion, though the truth was I couldn’t stop thinking about Gabe.
Was he still at the poker game? Had he met someone at the bar? Was he even coming back to the suite tonight?
The thought makes me pause as I slip off my sandals. Would I mind if he didn’t come back? If he found company elsewhere, our charade would still hold up—no one would know he hadn’t spent the night in our suite.
The room is dark and quiet, but as my eyes adjust, I make out the shape of the sofa bed pulled out and rumpled, though empty. So he had been here, at least. The sight of his t-shirt draped over the arm of the couch brings an unexpected comfort.
I pause, straining my ears against the quiet, and hear the faint but undeniable sound of the shower running. I should feel relief that he’s back and leave it at that, head straight to my room and let him have his privacy. But curiosity mingles with a more primal urge, stronger than my good sense, and I find myself taking a few cautious steps toward the bathroom.
The door is slightly ajar, steam curling out in opaque tendrils into the cooler air of the suite like a tease or an invitation. My heart skips as I glimpse Gabe through the gap, his back turned to me, water cascading in alluring rivulets over his broad shoulders.
In the dimness, I’m struck by a visceral awareness of him. I’ve always found Gabe sexy, even if I’d never admitted it out loud. He was too young for me, though, and I was married back then, but there was something about the way he took care of himselfthat I secretly admired. I have no business standing here, watching like this, but my feet feel glued to the carpet.
That’s when I realize what he’s doing—his hand moving rhythmically, the muscles of his back tensing with each stroke. My breath catches, and logic dictates that I step away, give him his privacy, but I’m riveted, drawn like a moth to a flame, unable to tear my eyes away. The raw masculinity of him in that intimate moment is intoxicating, and I’m rendered powerless by the primal magnetism of it.
I should sneak back to my room, pretend none of this happened, but I’m spellbound, each stroke like a hypnotic pull that defies the boundaries I’ve drawn so carefully. For an instant, I let myself believe he’s not playing a part. I let myself wonder what it would feel like to be the one he’s lost in.
His breathing becomes ragged, punctuated by grunts that drive me wild. “Andie, I need you. So bad,” he murmurs and then lets out a deep groan as his entire body goes rigid, followed by several short strokes before he shudders, releasing himself with a deep sigh.
His breathing becomes ragged, punctuated by grunts that drive me wild. “Andie, I need you. So bad,” he murmurs and then lets out a deep groan as his entire body goes rigid, followed by several short strokes before he shudders, releasing himself with a deep sigh.
Before he turns around, I duck out of the bathroom and practically run into my bedroom, pressing my back against thedoor, heart pounding. He said my name. He said my name while he got off!
Okay, it could mean nothing. He might still be fantasizing about a woman he met today, someone who isn’t me. But I heard what I heard. And no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise, Gabe wants me. Not as his friend, but as something more.
But clearly we’re both getting carried away. That’s the only explanation. I’ve also had two margaritas and maybe he’s had a few beers. Just enough to get our inhibitions down. That’s all this is.
But now I’m the one with a conundrum. I heard what I heard and now my body is craving satisfaction. In my bathroom, I undress and gaze at my reflection in the mirror. At my forty-three-year-old body with its curves and softness. I don’t have washboard abs or perky breasts like the women he usually dates, but there’s a beauty to my maturity and I certainly didn’t miss the way he’s been watching me since we arrived in Hawaii, both of us pretending to be a couple yet maybe there was something deeper buried beneath the surface. Maybe our friendship was always meant to be something more.
I turn on the shower and step under the warm water, letting it cascade over me. Closing my eyes, I can’t get the sight of Gabe in the shower, through the glass, his muscled back rippling with his movements. It’s not the first time I’ve seen him without a shirt—he works out regularly and loves to show off his physique—buttonight it felt different. It was different. He said my name as he stroked himself, thinking of me. Me!
Taking my loofah, I soap it up and run it over my chest, my nipples hardening in anticipation. Between my legs, I feel a familiar ache that has grown steadily since our whole charade began, the way he absently strokes my arm as he sits next to me, the warmth of his hand across my back, the way his fingers brush mine as we walk together on the beach. Now that desire is pulsing through me, demanding release.
As I cup my breast with my other hand, my thumb circles my nipple and sends sparks of pleasure down to my core. Then I let my hand slip down between my thighs, running my fingers through my folds, which are already slick with desire.
How long has it been since I’ve had sex? Not since the divorce and certainly not even before then. I’d blamed it on stress at the clinic, on working on the next grant, the next talk while all the while Simon had been fucking his mistress, constantly begging off when I was the one who’d initiate intimacy. The betrayal stings anew, but instead of sadness, it’s fuel for my fire.
In my mind, I replace the memories of Simon with images of Gabe. His smile, his eyes, those hands. God, his hands! My own fingers aren’t anywhere close to his size or thickness, but they’ll do for now as I circle my clit, my body beginning to tremble with mounting pressure. I lean against the tile wall and bite down on my lip to keep from crying out as I press harder, faster. It’s been too long since I’ve let myself go, so long that my orgasm rushes up fast and furious, sending me careening over the edge.
“Gabe!” I gasp, my head falling back as I ride out wave after wave of bliss, leaving me breathless and panting, my knees shaking.
When I finally step out of the shower, I wrap myself in a towel and pad silently back to my bed. There’s a light on in the living room, and for a moment, I consider going out to see what he’s doing. But exhaustion overtakes me, and I climb into bed, drifting off to sleep, my dreams filled with visions of Gabe and me, our bodies entwined, skin sliding against skin, lips locked in passion.
I can allow myself that fantasy, can’t I?
TEN
I guessAndrea got back from the girls’ night out while I was in the shower. If I knew she’d return so soon I should have made sure the damn bathroom door was locked, but as it is, I didn’t and I can only hope she didn’t hear me.
Shit. That would be mortifying if she did, even if I know I wasn’t loud at all. What’s a guy to do when he’s in the shower anyway, but jerk off after thinking of nothing but his best friend all night?
It’s also not how I want her to find out about my true feelings either, even as they’ve taken even me by surprise. Maybe it took Simon to point it out and not far behind, Dax and Harlow saying pretty much the same thing.
