Page 13

Chapter 13

You Want to Use Me?

Wade

Gabe has no right feeling this good.

The cake mixture we exchanged is tasteless compared to her. She’s a sweet, sweet torture in my arms and against my mouth.

She drinks everything I pour into her, and somehow, I’m the one drowning, drowning, drowning. And right when it’s my last breath, she pulls me back to the surface.

I thought I’d get used to it. That the novelty would run out. I was wrong. So horribly, terribly wrong. And hard. Painfully, woefully hard.

Her moan travels straight down my dick. Twitchy bastard is gonna embarrass me. So, I keep her close, using her body to cover the boner. Gabe sends a silent, unspeakable rage my way.

God, I’m a douche.

I need everyone to leave right now so I can apologize. She can hate me later.

“Everyone good with taking their cake to-go?”

Skylar confirms, and the catering staff shove gift bags of cupcakes into their hands as they exit.

Which means Gabe Finch and I are finally alone.

In a fumbling blur, before the sorry can form, her hand traps my throat with the same exciting pleasure as the first time that one New Year’s Eve.

I was overconfident—no, downright cocky—in thinking that my usual charms could wipe Gabe Finch’s frown away. Landon and Indi warned me to stay away. But what did they know? I’d been trying to give her my condolences all season, but she wouldn’t even look at me unless there was a mic in my face.

Ready to bury the ax once and for all, I approached her at the packed club with a drink.

“How’s it going?”

She stared into the bottom of her nearly empty glass. “Fan-tastic.”

“Listen, I didn’t mean ? —”

“Respectfully,” Gabe said flatly, cocking her head. “Fuck off.”

“Wait, what’d I do?”

Her head shook. “Just go away.”

The vodka tonic I’d downed set itself in motion. “Ohhhhhhh, I get it. You’re still mad because I caught your shitty ex cheating.”

Those hazel eyes ignited with pure hatred. “Get. Fucked.”

At least her angst had disappeared. Mission accomplished. I couldn’t help myself.

“Is that what you want from me? I’m all too willing ? —”

The next words are strangled. She’d gotten to her feet and grabbed me by the neck. In two strong strides, the back of my head hit the nearest wall.

“You couldn’t pay me enough to sleep with you.”

“We—wouldn’t be—sleeping very much. At least—not ‘til after…”

Her grip tightened, crushing my windpipe. I clucked with a choke, and the loss of air doubled my dick.

She’d unlocked something feral, something that made me follow her to the rooftop that night like a madman. It seemed I’d done the same for her because when I got up there, she fucking kissed me. She. Kissed. Me.

How am I supposed to free myself of her now? She can do whatever she wants to me. If she says, “Jump,” I’ll ask, “How high?” If she says, “Down,” I’ll kiss her feet, then lie back to let her ride my face into the floorboards. I can follow directions. Maybe she’ll call me a good boy again.

“You’re infuriating ,” she says through her teeth. “It’s making me feel really out of control. New rule, Pretty Boy.” Intense demand bores from her eyes. “We’re gonna fuck.”

Oh.

Beyond broken, my brain short-circuits and crackles with confusion. Probably from the lack of oxygen. I wrap a hand around her wrist and push, garnering some relief. “I knew you liked me.”

The hold goes lax, her jaw skewing to the right. “We don’t have to like each other to fuck.”

“Who said I don’t like you?”

Rings of hazel diminish from her widened pupils as my grip glides up her arm. “You don’t.”

I softly karate chop the pit of her elbow to unlock the limb and step in her direction, regaining control. Or the facade of it.

“Don’t I?” The next stride takes us closer to the perimeter of floor-to-ceiling windows encasing Ottawa’s skyline. “You think I’d throw a party for a girlfriend I don’t like?”

“You had to—” A short gasp sounds from her pretty mouth when her ass meets the glass. “And it’s fake girlfriend.”

My hands drop to reach for the arches of her hips. Our relationship is fake, but I need to know she’s real. That this isn’t a moment in another wet dream I’ll be disappointed to wake from.

She allows the touch.

I stupidly move her hand from my neck to my chest, over the roiling beat of my equally stupid heart, tempted to ask if it feels fake to her. But I don’t.

“I won’t fuck you when you’re sad.”

“Get a grip, Boehner. You won’t fuck me when I’m drunk, you won’t fuck me when I’m sad. I’m starting to think maybe you don’t want to fuck after all.”

Tell that to my dick.

“And I’m not sad.”

Fear flashes between us, and she moves her hand further south, relinquishing one tension but fueling another. The lightest contact on my groin has my cock leaking. I raise an eyebrow and hiss.

Gabe scoffs. “It’s just sex. I thought you, king of all fuckboys, would understand.”

“You know me so well, huh?” A facetious question, considering she’s seen more of me than most. She continues to smirk.

“I know your hand must be tired from overuse.”

A ha coughs from my throat. “No need to worry about my dexterity, Freckles. These bad boys are the money makers.”

“Prove—”

I cut her off with a rough kiss, restraint slipping through my fingers like her lush curls and the deep cut of her dress. It leaves nothing to the imagination, her nipples already hard against the thin, soft material. I trace the neckline, teasing over one peak, then the other. Relishing how they tighten further under my touch.

“I’m dying to lick these tits.” The admission is breathy and swallowed by another tongue-filled, angry kiss.

She bites my lip upon release and swats my hand away, placing it on her bare thigh. “Maybe later.” A harsh yank against my nape forces our eye contact. “Get to work. I’m dry as a desert.”

Our joined hands climb up the slit of her dress, soft, delicate skin against my fingertips, getting softer and softer the higher I go. They land on the edge of equally delicate fabric, then move lower. I gasp at what I find. She’s warm. And so, so wet.

“You’re such a little liar.” Our noses slot together. “You’ve soaked through the lace. Have you been sitting on this all night or was it my kisses?”

“Mostly it was counting Donovan’s abs through his shirt.”

I stroke over the panties, spreading the wetness through the split of her pussy, eliciting a shaky exhale from her. “Lying through your fucking teeth.” One finger pushes the fabric into the glazed slit, swirling around and homing in on her swollen clit. It pulses in response. The same finger swipes her panties aside and enters her pussy. She gasps again.

“Shit.” Gabe sighs when my middle finger joins, the slow spearing making her squirm and angle her hips.

My hand stills. “Should I keep going?”

“Goddamn it,” she laments into my shoulder. “Do I have to spell it out for you? Make me come already.”

I tsk. “You gonna beg me for it?” A frustrated grumble mutes between our lips. I want to smear her lipstick, ruin it by having it all over me. It doesn’t budge.

Still knuckles-deep inside her warm cunt, I spin her so she faces the glass and pull aside her dress. My hand disappears at the split of her legs. “Look at yourself—how perfect that pussy looks stuffed with my fingers.” Another soft, desperate moan escapes. “Is that what you wanted? Getting finger-fucked at the window for everyone to see? You want everyone to know how you wish it was my cock?”

My dick shifts at being named. The fucking audacity. As if it isn’t hard enough.

“Go ahead and finish all over them. So the whole city knows who makes this pussy come. Knows how mine you are.”

“I’m not yours.” She braces against the window, rebellious hazel eyes peering back. “And aren’t these tinted?”

“Yeah, but the thought of everyone watching is getting you off, right?”

A disapproving groan and eye roll join her reply. “Not yet.”

Her sass ends when the pads of my fingers push circles into the heated wall of her cunt.

“ Wade .”

“You’re such a terrible fucking liar. Literally soaking my hand while moaning my name and can’t admit you like me.”

“I don’t.”

“Then show me how much you hate me, Freckles.” Circles of fog form where her open mouth sidles the glass. I scissor and stretch my fingers before quickening the speed of their thrusts. “Treat ‘em like my cock and squeeze.”

She obeys with a tighten.

“Go on. Come on my fingers.”

Wetness coats my hand, every impatient movement drawing simpers. Her clammy palms and clawing fingers squeak against the smooth glass as a shudder wracks her body, vibrating against where my lips graze the curve of her ear.

“Stop.”

I do.

Gabe sighs when I remove my hand. I’m tempted to lick my fingers clean like a hungry dog, but I don’t. Not without her permission.

“What do you want?”

She doesn’t respond, but her eyes reflect a mania. “ You’re infuriating. It’s making me feel really out of control.”

“You want control?”

Hesitation preempts her slow nod.

There’s no going back. Not for me.

“Tell me what to do.” My hold loosens, and I backpedal. “You want to use me?”

Nothing new for Wade Boehner. I swear I was fated to have a big dick, enough talent to secure an eight-figure salary, and long bouts of loneliness: a perfect trifecta to be used for sex.

Her surprised glance follows the unsure gulp traveling down my throat.

“It’s just sex,” she repeats in a whisper. “Okay?”

Is it okay? Fuck no. But ‘just sex’ with her is better than nothing.

What’s another lie?

“Okay.”

With a pivot, her tentative steps click against the flooring until she’s behind me. “And you’d do whatever I want?”

“Yes.”

Her gaze flashes up from her feet when I also turn and halve the already short distance. Attention now fully on me, the uncertainty of her expression changes to determination.

“You can’t do this with anyone else,” she adds. “Only me.”

As if I’d want anyone else.

“Only you,” I promise.

Face brimming with victory and mischief, she scans left and right. “If you turn the lights all the way up, can people see in?”

“Yes.”

For fuck’s sake, say another word.

“Do it.”

I don’t question the command and simply pull my phone from my pocket to bring the space to its full brightness.

“Kneel.”

Fuck, yes.

My fingertips reach upward, preparing to wrench the slit of her dress apart and gorge on her. “Fuck, Gabe. I’ve been dreaming about?—”

She leans over to push her first finger against my parted lips. “Shut up.”

Her clenched jaw relaxes while backing into the nearest sofa cushion, never breaking our eye contact. One slow tilt forward has her elbows resting on her spread knees, exposing her insanely long legs.

I’m a little surprised, a little scared, and really, really fucking turned on.

“Anything?”

“Anything,” I answer. The next moment goes on forever before she breaks the silence.

“Crawl to me.”

Crawl? I’m about to bark.

My fingers stick to the floor with remnants of her arousal every time my hands meet the hardwood, knees clopping with every tread.

She doesn’t stop me until I’m nose deep in her damp, lace-covered pussy, then fists my hair, yanking and tilting my head back and replacing my nose with my mouth.

I groan out of pain and need.

“Now eat.”