Page 17 of Desired By you (Always & Forever #3)

Chapter Fourteen

Brad

Once again, I’m the one left carrying a drunk Gabriella to bed.

I walk the long corridor towards Gabriella’s room she was meant to be sharing with Ali but since she’s off bumping uglies with Harry, and I’m the only one who knows after catching Ali leaving Harry’s office earlier this week after they had a lunchtime hook up, I’m left looking after Gabriella, which normally I wouldn’t mind, but after our unexpected sleepover last week my mind’s fucked.

She’s all I think about, well, her and the girl from the club.

They intertwine in my head and plague my thoughts.

I rag Jack and Harry for simping over their women, and yet here I am, about to board the simp train and join them.

It concerns me how freely Gabriella wanders in and out of my mind, and I seem powerless to stop it.

We reach the bedroom door, and Gabriella stirs in my arms.

“Ugh, where am I?” she mumbles, her head slumped against my chest.

“I’m taking you to bed,” I say, swiping the keycard in the door and pushing the door open with my foot. I hurry in before the door has a chance to swing back and hit us, and hit the light panel with my elbow, lighting the large room with a yellow glow.

I walk over to the edge of the large oak bed and carefully lay Gabriella down. As soon as her back hits the sheets, her drunk eyes try to focus on me, and I can’t help but smirk.

“Ughh, Brad… the room… it’s spinning… make it stop.” She groans, covering her face with her hands.

“I’m a man of many talents, but even I can’t do that,” I say as I take a few steps back, sliding off my jacket and placing it over the back of the chair that sits next to a small round table and then sitting down, taking my phone and wallet out my pocket and dumping them on the table.

I roll the sleeves up on my shirt and undo another button. Gabriella sits up and swings her legs off the bed, sitting up and crossing her legs, drawing my attention to her shoes.

I’m not big on fashion, but there is something about the heels Gabriella wears when she’s out—sexy and feminine—and I wonder what she would look like in just those white satin heels that have bows on the ankle.

She stands and starts unhooking the thin straps of her dress, unzipping the side, and letting the fabric fall from her body to the ground.

My eyes widen in surprise. Fuck, she is wasted. She wouldn’t get undressed in front of me if she wasn’t.

“I’m hot,” she declares, kicking her dress to the side.

My greedy eyes rake up her body. Years of being a dancer and working as a Pilates instructor have crafted her legs into the sexiest legs I have ever seen.

It’s when I reach her waist and take note of her tiny white lace panties that tie at the sides and the matching strapless bra that a surprised groan escapes my lips and my dick twitches.

Fuck. Me

She pulls pins from her hair, placing them on the nightstand as if I’m not in the room, as if she isn’t just standing there looking like every man’s desire wrapped up in a white lace bow.

I clear my throat. “Do you need a hand?” My tone is heated and low.

What the fuck am I saying?

She pulls the last pin from her hair and slumps down on the bed. “No, I’m good,” she says, bringing her foot up as she attempts to unbuckle her strap. Her foot falls twice, and I’m up and out of my seat and on my knees in front of her before she can make a third attempt.

I clutch her ankle in my firm grip and say, “Let me help.” Her heavy eyes look at me and she nods slowly.

I begin unbuckling the dainty strap, slide her foot out, and place it on the ground. I reach the other foot, but she lifts it, pressing the heel into my chest as she lets out a giggle.

“You’re like Prince Charming with the glass slipper.”

I smirk as my hand strokes up the back of her calf, making her inhale sharply. “There’s nothing prince-like or charming about me, baby girl.”

“No?” she questions, an eyebrow raising in curiosity. “What are you then?”

“I’m more like the villain.” I watch in fascination as a grin sweeps across her red lips. “I quite like the villains. I think they are often misunderstood.”

“Is that so?” I say, sliding her foot out of her shoe.

“Uh huh.”

I watch her abs flex as her breathing becomes heavier. Her bronzed skin makes the white of her underwear pop, and I try not to think about how easy it would be to tug at those ribbons on her panties and bury my face between her legs while I devour her.

“I like your hands,” she says, her tone a little flirtatious, and I like it more than I should.

“Do you?” I say, my tone matching hers.

She nods slowly. “Yeah. I don’t know anyone with tattoos except you. It’s hot.”

I don’t say anything. Instead, for some unknown reason, I begin massaging her foot. She moans, and it spurs me on. She lets out a squeal when I reach a sensitive spot on the arch of her foot, but it's quickly replaced with another moan that has my dick throbbing painfully.

“I knew you’d be good with your hands,” she says suggestively.

I don’t know where this newfound confidence of hers has come from, but it's edging me toward a very dangerous line that I might cross if I don’t regain a little control here.

I release her foot and stand over her, needing to stop this from going too far.

She isn’t a random hook up, it’s Gabriella. A drunk Gabriella.

“Do you have something to wear to bed?” I ask looking round here room for an overnight bag.

“Uh, yeah. In the closet. Sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?” she asks, attempting to stand. She wobbles slightly as she folds her arms over her bare waist.

Needing to reassure her I say, “No, you’re just making it really fucking hard to remain your friend and gentleman when you are looking like that.”

Mentally slapping myself for saying that, I walk over to the closet, find her case and begin searching through it.

The first thing I’m met with is an ugly-looking baby pink jacket that I’ve never seen her wear. I lift it and hold it up. “What the fuck is this?”

She rolls her eyes and huffs. “Ugh, my outfit for my mother’s lunch tomorrow.”

“It’s… tweed,” I say, furrowing my brows.

“Oh, I know, and there’s a matching skirt. My mother loves it. She owns an insane amount of tweed. Tweed jackets, hats, pants, skirts…news flash, Catherine,” she says, animatedly holding up her hands. “Other materials are available for purchase.”

I purse my lips together and hunt for something to cover her before I explode in my pants like a horny teenage boy.

“If you don’t like it, why don’t you wear something else?” I ask as I pull out various bags until I finally find a pair of silk pink pajama shorts and a matching top. It’s still sexy as hell, but it will be more bearable than what she’s currently wearing.

I pass them to her and she slips them on as she says, “Oh, dear God, no, my mother would clutch her pearls if I turned up looking less than perfect.” She’s clutching her neck with her hand, and suddenly the vision of my own hand wrapped around her neck as I thrust into her comes into view.

Fuck, I need to stop this.

“If you don’t want to go, why don’t you just say no?” She holds on to the bedframe for support and laughs like I’ve suggested the most ridiculous thing.

“Yeah, good one. You don’t know my mom, or my dad… or me,” she says the last part so quietly I almost miss it. I want to ask her what she means, but she continues. “Maybe I could just fake my own death, so I don’t have to go.”

“Seems dramatic,” I say dryly, refolding her clothes in her suitcase, letting my OCD urges take over.

“Look, if you met my mother, you’d understand.” She reaches round her back and, in a Houdini move, pulls free her strapless bra from beneath her top and then throws it in front of me in her open suitcase.

“Do you know what I’d love to do? Just once?”

I shake my head.

“Just once, I’d love to tell them to just… fuck off.”

I laugh. “Do it.”

“Whoops,” she says, clamping her hand over her mouth and then releasing it. “And now I said a cuss word. My mom would spank my butt if she heard me say that… well, actually, she’d get the nanny to do it. She’d be scared of chipping a nail.”

What the fuck.

I’m confused, concerned, and turned on all at the same time.

I don’t know much about Gabriella’s past or her parents, but from the little parts I’ve heard, or she’s shared in the past, they are very strict, overbearing and put an insane amount of pressure on Gabriella, and for some messed up reason, she acts like she owes them something.

“I just want to say, no, Mom, I don’t want to come to your pretentious lunch with your pretentious food with your pretentious friends,” she says in a mocking tone.

“Do it. You’re an adult. You can do what the fuck you want,” I say and she looks at me, brows furrowed as if I have just suggested the most ridiculous thing.

“Catherine Monroe would never accept no. It’s just easier if I go, trust me.”

I don’t say anything. Her phone pings with a message, and she roots around in her purse for it as I pack everything back into her suitcase.

I watch on as she attempts to type a message on her phone and walk, but she stumbles and drops the phone. She drops it for a second time, and that has me walking over and ushering her towards the bed.

“I think you need some sleep. It’s been a long day.”

“You take me to bed a lot,” she says on yawn, lowering herself down on the bed.

“I do,” I say in agreement. Unbuttoning my dress shirt.

“Why?” she asks, head twisted slightly, and her eyes track my movements as I shrug off my shirt and lay it over my jacket.

“Because you’re my friend and I want to make sure you’re safe. Besides, everyone else is occupied, so it was left to me.”

Her face falls and I feel like an ass. I didn’t mean for it to sound like that. Before I can reassure her, she interrupts my thinking.

“Is Ali hooking up with somebody?” she says, eyeing me curiously.