Page 22 of Desired By you (Always & Forever #3)

Chapter Seventeen

Gabriella

The last part of my heels class went by in a blur. I drove back to my apartment on autopilot, not remembering any of the journey. As I turn the key in my front door, my phone vibrates in my gym bag. I pull it free and see a couple of new texts.

Brad

Gabriella, please call me. We need to talk.

I don’t reply—I’ve been ignoring him since he made his offer three nights ago—and open up Ali’s message.

Ali

Hey G, I don’t think I’ll be home until early hours. Don’t wait up. Love you.

I walk into the apartment and head to my room, tossing my gym bag on the floor and make my way to my bathroom. My body feels hot and sticky from class and I am desperate to wash the day off.

I step under the strong jets of hot water and instantly feel my body relax.

Closing my eyes, I wipe away the day's make up. Flashbacks of Brad brushing my cheek and pressing his lips to mine almost has me reaching between my legs. I’ve never been kissed the way he kissed me.

It was tender, and slow, and far more intimate than I think it was meant to be.

I’ve always fancied Brad, but quietly. I’d never act on it or ever imagine us being together because it just wouldn’t ever happen.

I was his friend. His younger, quiet, and slightly awkward friend.

I may be inexperienced and na?ve, but I am switched on enough to know that friends don’t kiss friends that way.

I reach for my favorite cherry-scented shampoo, lather up my hair, and massage my scalp.

Everything aches: my head, my shoulders, my back.

I don’t know if it’s from my shift at the club, the endless punishing workouts I’ve put my body through the past two days, or the weight of guilt for treating Brad the way I did.

I mull over my words to him as I exit the shower and begin drying my hair. I put on my underwear, pink silk PJs and matching silk robe, and decide a night rotting on the couch is needed.

I feel too churned up to eat, so I decide on a fruit smoothie and settle down to watch my favorite TV show. I’m about halfway through an episode when a knock sounds at the door.

I pause the TV. A muffled voice comes through the door and nerves twist in my stomach. “Gabriella, I know you’re in there. Please open the door.”

I hesitantly make my way over to the door and open it. There he stands, head to toe in black, leaning against the doorframe. “Can I come in?” he asks.

Unable to speak, I nod and gesture for him to come inside. Folding my arms across my front protectively, I suddenly feel so small and awkward. I can’t look him in the eye after the other night.

“Do you want a drink?” I ask as I turn to head towards the kitchen.

“Water, please.” he says, making his way over to the couch where he sits down. “Is Ali home?” he asks, looking round the room as if he were looking for evidence of her being here.

“No, she’s out for the night.” I take two bottles of water from the fridge and make my way over to him, sitting back in my spot on the couch, still avoiding looking at him as I pick at the label on my water bottle.

“Is this the famous Friends show you love?” His question surprises me.

My head springs up to look at him, and I’m met with a grin that would have any woman opening up their legs for this man.

My body heats and my cheeks flush at the idea, and I swallow hard, so hard I know he notices when his gaze drifts to my throat.

“It is,” I say so quietly I am unsure if he heard. An awkward silence falls between us, and I’m close to jumping out the window to get away from him.

We sit through an entire episode of Friends without saying a word.

“Okay, so tell me if I got this right. They don’t know that they know,” Brad murmurs, looking at my TV with a perplexed expression.

I chuckle under my breath, loving that he was actually paying attention.

“Yes, they didn’t know that they knew, but now they know, so they don’t know that they know, you know?” I say to him.

“No,” he says flatly, rubbing his forehead as if a headache were forming.

I cover my face with a cushion to hide my amusement. The credits roll and he shuffles around on the couch next to me. “We need to talk about the other night,” he says firmly, and I drop the cushion to look at him.

“Do we though? I’m good with pretending it never happened.” I laugh awkwardly and I want to slap myself.

“Yes, Gabriella, we do and to do this, I’m going to need you to look at me.” His tone is firm.

I try to look at him, but I can’t. My body won’t move. He rises from where he sits and kneels in front of me, taking the water bottle I’m fiddling with and places it on the coffee table.

He reaches for my face and tilts my chin with his forefinger and thumb.

“You have nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about. I am here to help you if you still want.” His words sink in, and his calm and collected demeanor helps all my fears and anxiety over this whole situation dissipate.

I know Brad. If he doesn’t want to do something, he simply won’t do it.

His being here solidifies that he meant what he said.

“Okay,” I whisper. A mixture of anxiety and excitement swirls inside me. I’m really going to do this with him?

He releases my chin and sinks back into the couch next to me. “So, let’s talk about it. What do you need from me?” He says it so calmly as if he were asking me for my takeout order.

My eyes widen to saucers. Well, that’s a loaded question.

“I don’t really know. I’ve never done anything like this. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Just say what’s on your mind.”

“I’ll need a drink for that,” I joke. As soon as the words leave my lips, he’s up off the couch and heading towards the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” I ask, a slight tremor in my voice. He opens the fridge and pulls out a bottle of rosé wine. He opens a couple of drawers until he finds a bottle opener.

“Loosening you up,” he states as he pulls the cork out.

“Where are your glasses?” he asks, and I point to the cupboard behind him.

He fills a glass halfway and brings it back over to me.

“Are you not having one?” I ask, confusion in my tone.

He shakes his head.

I bring the glass to my lips and swallow down the sweet crisp wine. I’m not a big wine drinker, but right now I could drain the bottle.

“Woah, easy, you’re just taking the edge off here, not drinking yourself into oblivion. I need you coherent for what I have planned for you.” His words have me choking. He rubs circles on my back as I catch my breath.

“What you have planned for me?” I splutter.

“We’ll call it lesson one,” he says with a slight smirk.

“And what’s that?” I ask, not sure I really want to know, but wanting to know all at the same time.

“If this is going to work, I need to know what your limits are, what you are willing and not willing to do. What you want to do. What you like and what you don’t like.”

He reels off his words and I have a wave of bravery because I freely say, “Well, I’m up for anything because I have very little experience. You might as well call me Veronica the virgin, haha.” Oh God, Gabby, shut up.

The smirk never leaves his face as he says. “But you’ve had sex, right?”

“Yeah, well, if you can count lying there while your boyfriend lies on top of you like a stiff board and keeps his socks on and only gets himself off, then yeah, sure, I’ve had loads of sex.”

“You can’t be serious?” he asks, shock in his tone.

“Deadly,” I say, taking another sip of my wine.

He scratches at his temple, and I continue to sip on my wine. God, I’m gonna need another glass in a second.

“Okay, so what got you off? What did you like?”

“I wouldn’t know. I never did,” I admit quietly, my cheeks warming with embarrassment.

“Never what?”

“Finished, reached the finish line, got the grand finale.”

“Are you telling me you’ve never had an orgasm?” he says, eyes wide, as if I am saying the most unhinged thing.

‘No, well yes, I think so. I have alone, I think, but…” I stumble over my words.

This feels so weird to talk to him about in such a casual way.

I don’t want him thinking of me as some inexperienced juvenile, but that’s how I feel.

His hands land on my thigh, and the contact has me flinching.

Not with fear, but with an unexpected surge of desire for this man.

I want to do this with him, but I’m scared he doesn’t want me in the same way, and he’s only doing this out of obligation to help a friend out.

I place my wine glass on the coffee table in front of me and I begin snapping the elastic on my wrist as the awkward silence falls between us.

He reaches for my wrist, and I stop. My band snapping is replaced with the pad of his thumb, rubbing soothing circles over the red flesh, and with every stroke, I feel myself relax a little.

“Gabriella, you would know if you had one or not. It’s a yes or no answer,” he says softly.

“Yes, yes, I have,” I say quickly, trying to appear more confident than I really feel.

He stands up, and I’m convinced this is it, he’s regretting what he offered and he’s leaving. But he begins removing his jacket, unhooking the cuffs on his dress shirt, and rolling up his sleeves, revealing the intricate artwork on his forearms.

“W-what are you doing?” I lift the wine glass and go to take another sip of my wine, but he plucks it from my hand, draining the glass and placing it back down on the coffee table. He kneels down in front of me and my breath catches in my throat.

“Giving you an orgasm, one that won’t have you questioning if it is one or not.” He says it so casually, as if he’s offering me coffee and a bagel.

“R-right now?” I stutter.

“Right now,” he repeats. “If that’s what you want?” I sit there, too stunned to speak.

“Gabriella, if this is going to work, I need you to use your words. I’m not pressuring you. If you don’t want this, just say, and we’ll stop.”