Page 39 of The Villain Edit

“And I’m trying to help you.” I cross my arms, irritated.

He pushes a button, posting it.

I grab my phone and leave my suggestion as a comment.

Gabe rolls his eyes.

“Come on,” I say, turning toward the bedrooms. No one will look at him as a gritty superhero if he keeps posting mushy shit.

He follows me without question, all the way into the bathroom.

“Stand here.” I position him in front of the vanity and step behind him. “Shirt off.”

He pulls it off, sucking in a breath when I place my left hand flat against his stomach.

“I’m not grabbing your dick this time,” I say as I slip my hand down his stomach. His muscles tense as I dip my fingers below the waistband of his jeans and underwear. The trail of hair is coarse under my fingers and I wish I was grabbing his dick. Watching him in the mirror as I jerk him off would be priceless.

I maneuver my phone in my free hand around him so I can get a picture of the mirror. In his reflection, his face holds an intense smolder. This could break the internet.

“What should I do with my hands?” he asks.

“Whatever you want.” This was a bad idea. My face is pressed against his back and he smells damn good. His skin is so smooth and warm.

His hands go to his fly, undoing the button, tugging the zipper down half an inch before stopping. While he’s looking down, I snap another picture and remove my hand from his pants. “That’s how you do the man who’s playing Warwick,” I say, showing him the photo. “Not sweet cuddles on a couch. Hand jobs in front of the bathroom mirror.”

I squeak when he grabs me and sets me on the vanity. One tug and he pulls the tie from my hair, sending platinum blonde locks falling around my face.

“You think you can do better?” I ask. His answer is a smirk.

He holds me with one hand on my shoulder, his thumb in the hollow at the base of my throat, and bends to kiss the shit out of me. I barely notice when he lets go, his finger slipping down my sternum. He doesn’t have to push me hard. I fall against the mirror and he takes the picture.

I’m dazed, not sure what I’m doing as he holds his phone out to show me. In the photo, my cheeks are rosy, my eyes hazy, and my lips pink and swollen. My pale hair is a tousled mess. I look like I’ve been fucked senseless.

He grins. “I think I’m doing fine as the man who’s going to be playing Warwick.”

Holy fuck. Gabriel Sinclair is better at this than I am.

“Don’t post that,” I say, but my voice is a breathy whisper.

“I won’t,” he says as his eyes take me in. “But I’m keeping that one. For me.”

My heart kicks up as my stomach swoops at his words, and suddenly it’s a struggle to breathe. If I ask him to delete it, he will, because he’s still Gabriel Sinclair, even if he keeps surprising me. But I don’t want him to delete it.

“I’m not perfect, Ash,” he says, taking a step back. “Far from it.” It sounds like a warning and feels like a promise, and more than anything, I want to make him show me that side of him. Whatever it costs us.

Chapter twelve

Gabe

I’mlosingmygrip,my control spooling out the open car window as we speed down a highway under an impossibly big, blue sky.

I’m in trouble.

Ash stepped up for me in that café when she didn’t have to, knowing it could set her back on her image rehab. It meant a lot to me.

She tries so damn hard to be this impenetrable bitch, but I’ve seen a glimpse of the woman inside, struggling to keep her head above water. The woman who told me something real and asked me to tell her something filthy. She kissed me in the dark with an open vulnerability that I doubt she’s shown anyone, ever.

I’ve seen the hunger in her eyes when she glances my way. She wants me.

---