Page 8 of Stepson

Bentley

The cold shower didn’t help one bit. I’ve been pacing in my room for a good thirty minutes now, chewing my bottom lip raw as I debate on what to do. Being near Gabe has proven I can’t handle myself around him, and I’m stuck with him alone for the next week. I can lock myself away in my bedroom the whole time, but that might only make it more obvious, wouldn’t it?

My phone rings, making me nearly jump out of my skin. I scramble over to the dresser and pick it up with shaky hands. Gabe is seriously messing with me, and I need to get a handle on myself. My husband’s face flashes across the screen as my heart sinks into my gut. I almost forgot I was married again. Jesus.

“Marcus, hi,” I greet in a rush.

“Hello, darling, I just wanted you to know I landed safely.” He clears his throat. “Is my son behaving himself?”

The blood drains from my face as I nervously twirl a strand of hair around my finger. “Yes. I haven’t seen him much,” I lie.

“Good. I feel awful for leaving you there alone with him. I’m just…” he trails off with a sigh before clearing his throat again. “I’ll be home in a week. Call me if you need anything.”

“Okay, Marcus, but I was wondering—”

He hung up already.

If I knew marriage was going to be like this, I would never have agreed to marry him. He made me fall head over heels for him when I was in the most vulnerable state I’ve ever been in. Looking back at it now, did Marcus ever love me? Or was I just a pawn in his game? I can’t help but wonder if he’s simply using me to have someone at home in his bed, but that doesn’t make sense either. My husband would have to actually share a bed with me in the first place.

A knock echoes on the door as my heart sinks once again. It better not be Gabe because I won’t be able to control my shit around him right now.

“Mrs. Price? Lunch is served in the dining room if you’re hungry.”

My stomach growls at her mention of lunch. I really am hungry, but I’m afraid to leave the safe confines of my bedroom walls.

“Is Gabe joining me?”

“I don’t believe so, ma’am. He told us he was going for a walk.”

I let out a breath before I whip open the door. If Gabe isn’t here at the moment, I can run down and eat, and then quickly return to my room. Yeah, that sounds like a good plan.

There’s a small feast set up on the table when I step into the dining room, noticing they’ve set out a second plate. Gabe isnowhere to be seen as I take my seat and start to dish up, but I’m not lucky for long.

The back door opens and Gabe comes in looking sexier than ever. His shirt is still MIA and his trunks still hug his hips perfectly, but now a thin sheen of sweat coats his chest and abs. He’s a little out of breath, and when his eyes connect with mine, a small smirk tugs at his lips. Fuck me.

I squirm in my spot as I try to pull my gaze away, distracting myself from looking at him. I knew if I did, I’d be a total goner. Any strength I have in me to keep him at bay would fly right out the window.

“Looks great,” Gabe states.

Fuck.

My eyes whip in his direction to find him watching me. His tongue slides across his bottom lip before he drags his teeth across it. A chill runs down my body and then right between my legs as I squeeze them tightly. I inhale a deep breath before I let it out shakely. There’s no reason why I can’t get through a simple meal with this man.

“The cooks we have are very talented,” I reply softly. I need to pull my thoughts away from his mouth and the memories my body has of it. The cooks aren’t the only talented ones in the house right now.

His smirk widens as he pops a cherry into his mouth, slowly chewing.

“Mmm,” he moans, and I nearly scream.

He’s doing this on purpose, isn’t he? The son of a bitch!

“I haven’t popped a real cherry in years. Hell, I haven’t even been with a woman since before I was incarcerated.” He’s speaking as if this is a completely normal dinner conversation. But all it’s doing is making the throbbing between my legs to pulse harder.

I swallow before I ask, “What about yesterday and—” I stop before I say it.

He grins. “What? The blowjob?” he rasps out, leaning his elbows on the table. “That doesn’t count.”

I cock an eyebrow at him. “No?”

---