Page 37 of Heal Me

“Are you joking?”

“Not at all. I’m a low-key guy, and I don’t do Banshee drama.”

“You’re serious. A Banshee?” I whisper.

“Is that so difficult to believe considering you’re dining with a Nephilim?” he quietly points out. “How about you? Why no boyfriend?”

“I dated a nice guy for nearly three years, but we went our separate ways a few months ago. I was too wrapped up in my studies, and William was too wrapped up in his fraternity. I’m not a party girl and never will be. A perfect evening for me is staying in and cooking dinner, and then a movie with Doogie on the couch.”

Our server returns and names off the desserts, but we’re both too full to eat another bite. Gabe pays the check, and we walk out and the valet soon brings around my car.

Returning to my apartment, Gabe walks me to the front door. “Thank you so much for dinner. I had a wonderful time,” I tell him, suddenly nervous about what’s going to happen next.

“So did I.” He grabs my hand, giving it a kiss. “Good night,” he says, turning to leave.

Chapter 16

Charlotte

“Wait!” I say, grabbing Gabe’s hand before he disappears. “Where are you going?” I’m sure I sound completely desperate. And I very much am. For him.

“Home?” he answers, confused.

Taking his hand, I silently lead us inside the apartment and upstairs, closing and locking my door. Gabe watches me intently as I light a candle on the nightstand, flipping off the overhead light. Nervous yet resolved, I take a seat on the foot of the bed and unfasten my sandals. We lock eyes as I stand, pulling my dress over my head and tossing it across the room. In case he needs a hint where this is going.

“Charlotte, are you sure? I told you I can wait, and I mean it.” His tone is lower, huskier, yet I know he would stand by those words because he’s that much of a gentleman.

“But I don’t want to wait. Dinner was unnecessary, by the way—you had me at the flowers and cuddling with my cat.”

“Good to know. And you’re ready?” he asks, looking at me with such focus I think he’s trying to pluck the answer from my mind.

“I’m ready to be with you. And only you. No other memories are going to steal the pleasure that you’re going to give me,” I whisper the same words he told me the other night.

Lying down on the bed, I prop myself up with an elbow.

Gabe disappears and I’m not sure what just happened, but then he’s suddenly beside me and I laugh. Cradling my face gently with his hands, he kisses me reverently, and nothing has ever felt more right. He takes his time exploring my mouth, gently at first, but I don’t want gentle. I open for him, and the kiss becomes more frenzied, exactly how I’m feeling.

Fumbling to loosen his tie, I can’t seem to stop myself from grinding against his rock-hard erection. “Let me,” he says against my lips. He uses his power, and now he’s wearing only his black boxer briefs.

“Are you serious?” I groan. He looks like an underwear model with his golden skin and chiseled body.

“Most of the time, yes,” he says, kissing my neck as he unhooks my black lace bra in one easy motion. He slides it off my body, his eyes hooded with desire. “Of this I am serious—tell me if you need me to stop for any reason,” he says, dipping his head and capturing my nipple in his mouth.

“Please, God, don’t stop,” I moan, holding onto his head.

He gently uses his teeth to release me, and a little whimper escapes my lips. “Demigod,” he corrects me, and who am I to argue? “How I’ve fantasized about worshipping your body,” he says in a husky voice, cupping my breasts with both hands. Even with his massive hands, my breasts spill out of his grasp. He gives me a very appreciative smile, massaging them and then teasing my nipples with his fingers. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, splitting my legs apart with his knee, giving me something to work myself against. Too turned on to be embarrassed, I grind against his leg, desperately needing the friction.

“Gabe,” I moan as he moves up to my neck, kissing and teasing.

He snakes his hand down and cups me over my panties. “So wet for me,” he says as he begins to rub his palm up and down. “Your panties are drenched,” he groans.

“Gabe,” I try again, this time more forcefully.

“You need me to stop?” He moves his hand away from my aching center, and I make a pitiful little whimpering sound.

“No, I don’t want you to stop. But…” Suddenly, I feel foolish for what I’m about to ask.

“Charlotte, tell me.”

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