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A zing of pleasure shoots straight to my love-drunk pussy. The hussy had way too much attention yesterday and should sleep for a week, but darn if my clit doesn’t throb at the memory of Alex, so eager to have me that he ruined a gorgeous dress shirt.
I pad through their apartment, the wood chilly against my bare feet, thankful for the small wall sconces lighting the way because the space is massive. Easily three or four times bigger than mine.
I round the corner to the main living space, where the floor-to-ceiling windows offer a ridiculous view of the skyline. In front of them is Gabe, shoulders hunched, hands in the pocket of his slacks. I pause as I take him in.
He seems... lonely. Lost in thought. Tired, even. The twinkling kaleidoscope of color from outside plays over his naked torso.
I tuck Alex’s shirt tighter around my waist. Watching Gabe like this feels like an intrusion, as if I’m somehow privy to his innermost thoughts.
I wish.
Should I go back and leave him alone?
If I continue to the kitchen for a glass of water, he’s bound to hear me.
Then, as if sensing my attention, his chin lifts, and his spine straightens. He glances over his shoulder, face half in shadow and half lit by the glow of nearby buildings.
The breath leaves my lungs, and my stomach clenches at his beauty. My feet move of their own accord, carrying me forward as if he’s pulling me.
“Hey,” I whisper.
He stares at my feet before his survey moves slowly up my body. My skin tingles with awareness. “I like you in our clothes.”
Relief bubbles through me, making me feel lighter. I sway toward him, drawn to something I can’t put my finger on.
He slides a hand around my lower back, tucking me against his side. I press my cheek against his bare chest and look out at the city below. The man really does have the world at his feet.
His heartbeat is steady, and his skin is warm. In the past, it was easy to see him from afar and wonder if he was actually a man or a robot. The rumor that he doesn’t sleep runs rampant through Manhattan. And here he is, awake in the middle of the night.
“Couldn’t sleep?” I ask.
There are several long beats of silence, so long I tip my head up and look at him.
“Couldn’t stop thinking about your lighthouse comment.”
Oh.
It was the heat of the moment. The memory is hazy, clouded by pleasure and hormones. Was that—did I mess up?
He squeezes me. “I’ve always thought of Alex as my lighthouse.”
My gasp is loud in the quiet apartment. Happiness and alarm spear through me, a wild combination.
“Really?”
That’s so... What are the chances?
“I met him at one of the lowest points in my life. And he was just there. Unwavering. Supportive. This quiet beacon.”
I’ve always felt that way when I saw Alex at various events. The way he moved through society, listening and watching. The night of the auction, I was stressed beyond belief, and the snowball of anxiety kept growing and speeding up. But Alex was there when I needed him most.
“He’s good at that.”
“My family never believed in me the way he did.” There’s a pause as he stares out at the skyline, and I can almost see him falling back through time. Remembering those early days. “He liked that I was smart and had my head in the clouds. He understood my ambition and never derided me for it.”
Taking his hand in mine, I tug him toward the living room. The thick rug is soft beneath my feet. Twin sofas are flanked by low-slung chairs. There’s not a throw pillow in sight, but that doesn’t surprise me because this is his bachelor pad. I settle into the corner of the nearest sofa and pull him down next to me.
It’s surreal being in Gabe’s apartment. After dark. On his couch. His cum still inside me. Like a dream.