Page 66 of Where She Belongs
“Ah, yes. Responsibility.” He sighs dramatically, though he doesn’t move away. “The eternal spoilsport.”
The observation, light as it is, strikes a chord. How often has my sense of responsibility—to patients, to Tristy, to the clinic—taken precedence over personal desires? Over joy? Over connection?
“It doesn’t have to be,” I say impulsively. “A spoilsport, I mean.”
His eyebrow raises in question. “Meaning?”
“Meaning,” I say, gathering courage, “that you could stay tonight. If you wanted to.”
The invitation hangs between us, charged with significance. Not just an offer of physical intimacy, though that’s certainly part of it, but an acknowledgment that I’m choosing to prioritize us—this new, fragile thing we’re building—over my usual cautious approach to transitions.
Gabe studies me for a long moment, his expression turning serious. “Are you sure? I don’t want to rush you, Andie. We have time.”
His consideration, his willingness to move at my pace despite his obvious desire, confirms what I already know—that this man, with his gentle heart and steady presence, is worth taking chances for.
“I’m sure,” I say simply. “Stay.”
His smile—slow, intimate, full of promise—warms me from within. “In that case,” he says, leaning in to kiss me again, “I’m not going anywhere.”
The kiss deepens, igniting a spark that quickly blazes into something more intense. Gabe's hands slide down to my waist, pulling me closer as I thread my fingers through his hair. The familiar scents of his cologne and the lingering aroma of our dinner create an intoxicating blend, grounding this moment firmly in reality rather than fantasy.
When we finally break apart, both breathless, I stand and offer my hand. "Bedroom's this way," I say softly, marveling at my own boldness.
Gabe takes my hand, his touch sending shivers up my arm as he rises. We move through the house, the anticipation building with each step. In the bedroom, moonlight filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the rumpled quilt I hastily smoothed earlier.
Gabe pulls me close, his hands warm on my hips. "You're sure about this?" he asks again, his voice low and tender.
In response, I reach up to unbutton his shirt, my fingers only slightly unsteady. "I'm sure," I murmur, pressing a kiss to the hollow of his throat.
He inhales sharply, his hands sliding beneath my blouse, tracing patterns on my skin that leave trails of fire in their wake. I arch into his touch, desire blooming hot and urgent within me.
We undress each other slowly, savoring each new revelation. Gabe's eyes darken as he takes in the sight of me, his gaze a tangible caress. "You're beautiful," he breathes, reverent.
I pull him close, skin against skin, reveling in the solid warmth of him. Our kisses grow more heated, hands exploring with increasing urgency. When Gabe lowers me onto the bed, his weight settling over me feels both thrilling and comforting. I arch up to meet him, desire pulsing through me as our bodies align. His hands and mouth map my skin with exquisite attention, drawing sighs and soft moans from my lips.
"Gabe," I breathe, my voice husky with need.
He pauses, lifting his head to meet my gaze. The tenderness in his eyes nearly undoes me. "What do you need?" he asks softly.
"You," I reply simply. "Just you."
He retrieves a condom from the nightstand and slips it on, his movements deliberate and unhurried. When he enters me, it's with exquisite care, his eyes locked on mine. Then Gabe begins to move, setting a rhythm that has me clutching at his shoulders, arching to meet each thrust.
Our bodies move together in a dance both familiar and new, the years of friendship lending an intimacy to our lovemaking that transcends physical connection. Gabe's touch is reverent, his kisses passionate yet tender. I lose myself in the sensations, in the feel of his skin against mine, in the way he whispers my name like a prayer.
As our pace quickens, tension coiling tighter within me, I'm struck by how right this feels. How natural. As if all our years of friendship, of mutual respect and shared purpose, have been leading to this moment of profound connection.
When release finally washes over me, it's with an intensity that takes my breath away. I cry out, clinging to Gabe as waves of pleasure ripple through my body. He follows moments later, burying his face in my neck as he shudders against me.
Later, much later, as we lie tangled together in my bed, the moonlight painting silver stripes across the sheets, I find myself studying his profile with wonder. How strange that this face, so familiar from years of friendship, can seem new to me now—the curve of his mouth, the fan of his eyelashes, the strong line of his jaw all transformed by context, by the intimacy we’ve shared.
“What are you thinking?” he asks softly, turning to face me, his hand coming up to brush hair from my cheek.
“Just wondering how this will work out,” I reply, yawning. “I have my practice and you have yours. And then there’s this.”
He kisses my forehead. “We’ll figure it out together. The logistics, the distance, all of it. One step at a time.”
His certainty steadies me, offers counterbalance to my tendency toward over-planning, over-thinking. “One step at a time,” I agree, settling against him as sleep begins to claim me. “Starting with tonight.”
