Page 5 of Ctrl Me
He didn’t move his hands, but I did as told.
“Look at the eighteen. Remember how I had you positioned? Move there, and this time let go of the dart.”
With Gabe’s hands under my shirt and resting on my hips. Right.
“I know you can do this, Thomas.” Those words were like a caress.
I took a breath to settle my trembling, and stared at the eighteen wedge. Then I moved, trying to emulate his grace, trying to end up where he’d willed me to be before. My arm came up, and I threw.
The machine beeped. Because I’d fucking hit the wedge. Only one point, but damned if the dart wasn’tthere. “Holy shit.”
Gabe tightened his fingers. “Now, do it again.”
I did. Nearly the same place too. The third throw didn’t hit the eighteen, but it was so close, a peg off, really. Nothing to be ashamed of at all.
Gabe let go. “Fetch your darts.” The pride in his voice sang in my veins and warmed my blood. I yanked the darts out. Two points. Fucking amazing.
“Hey guys, here’re your sandwiches.” Julie placed our meal down on the table.
“Good timing.” Gabe assured Julie we didn’t need anything else, then took his seat.
I slid into mine, carefully laying my darts next to Gabe’s. “What about the game?”
Gabe smiled. “We have plenty of time to finish that.”
I had a suspicion he wasn’t talking about the darts.
* * *
After dinner,I closed eighteen. Sixteen too. Gabe took everything else and won. Other folks showed up and wanted to play, so we teamed up and beat their sorry asses. I’d never known darts could be so fun.
It was nearly ten by the time we left, and then it hit me that it wasn’t the weekend. I’d completely lost track of everything, and damn had that felt good. Dominik had shattered me. Sherri had shaken me. Now, I was happier and more relaxed than I’d been since, well, probably since before I’d come to Pittsburgh. I glanced over at Gabe as we crossed the parking lot. “Thanks.”
His grin was all teeth. “Feeling better?”
“Much.”
“Good.”
“But—”
He lifted his eyebrow, and the smile fell away.
I kept going. “You’re— I mean, we work together. What the hell happens now?”
We reached the car. He clicked it unlocked, opened the passenger door, and dropped the darts onto the seat. “What happens now is that I’d like to touch you—kiss you.”
“Yes,” I whispered.
He reached up and pulled off the elastic band holding my hair back, then his lips were on mine and his hands were in my hair, andfucking hellhe was a good kisser. At the first touch of his mouth, I opened, letting him explore my mouth, bite my lips, tangle with my tongue. He backed me up against the car, and ground his dick against mine. The gentle tug on my hair turned sharp, and I moaned into his mouth. Felt his answering chuckle.
He broke the kiss but didn’t let go of my hair, just moved his mouth to my ear. “Tomorrow,” he whispered, “you’re going to read the corporate handbook and discover it’s fine for employees to date, as long as one doesn’t report to the other.”
“Oh.”
“Oh, indeed.” He sucked my earlobe and yanked my hair. Hard. In public. In a parking lot.
I nearly came right there, humping against him. “Gabe.” That one syllable was more moan than anything else. Then it hit me. One syllable . . . not three. You couldn’t moan Gabriel. That’s why he preferred Gabe.
