Page 77 of Guarded Knight

My ribs ache from the tightness in my chest. Maybe it is my lungs, too. Being with Gabriel got my heart going faster than running a marathon, and I can’t catch my breath.

I cough to loosen the tight feeling, and he responds by stroking the backs of his fingers along my cheek.

“You okay?”

I cough once more. “Better than okay.”

He smiles softly.

Is this seriously happening? He’s naked. In my bed. My brother’s best friend. The man I’ve fantasized about in hospitals and hotel rooms and late-night silences I never admitted to anyone. He’s sprawled over me like I’m his, his hands gentle but possessive, like he hasn’t quite decided whether he’s letting go.

I trail a hand through his hair. He smells like sex and salt and whatever soap he uses, along with the gorgeous scent of his cologne.

“So you’re really staying?” I ask again, not because I doubt him, but because I need to hear it again.

His tone is rough against my collarbone, and he kisses it. “Why are you asking again? You want to take it back?”

Should I have asked him?

Probably not.

I know I don’t have some magic pussy. It’s not like Gabriel’s PTSD is cured or my issues have resolved because of this. We’ll still have the same problems in the morning, and spending an entire night wrapped up in his arms, feeling his heartbeat on my skin, is only going to make me fall harder.

Oh, not to mention tomorrow I should be focused on my stalker rather than on getting laid. Not that this is simply getting laid. This is so much more than two bodies colliding.

And did I just do it all unprotected, too? I can’t have children naturally, or at least it’s a long shot. I know I’m clean, and Gabriel, I should have asked, but I just know he wouldn’t do anything to give me an additional illness.

He asked if I was sure, and the thought of experiencing the ultimate closeness with him, something I’ve never done before… I never wanted anymore more.

Holy shit.

This is still crazy.

But crazy has always been welcome in my life.

“Freya will know,” I add, just to test his resolve and remind myself of it.

“Lara,” he shifts to kiss the underside of my jaw, “I have a lot of secrets, but you deserve better than to be one of them.”

My heart stops. As a person who knows their life is short from the get-go, I’ve often thought about perfect moments to die. This might be one of them. The perfect man. In my bed. Telling me I’m worthy of more than I’ve ever asked.

He pulls me closer into his chest and kisses my hair. “Plus, if I leave now, I might never stop running.”

I slap his chest playfully but appreciate the joke. And as I run circles with my index finger on his tanned, god-like pecs, I think about how Gabriel only seems to joke with me. Like he knows it makes me more comfortable, and suddenly I’m falling even harder, my chest tightens, and I cough again.

And damn it, it’s one of my not-so-cute, laced-with-mucus coughs. Not sexy.

G splays his hand across my back as if concentrating on the message coming through his palm.

He lifts his head, eyes searching mine. “Should I get you something?”

“I’ll be fine,” I confess, despite feeling so unsexy. It’s just the adrenaline. “My chest’s tight. But not bad.”

“Turn over.”

I flip over, and he straddles me. His dick is soft but still thick on my ass, and his warm thighs wrap around my hips. He cups his hands, something between rubbing me firmly and percussing… like only he would understand how to help a person with CF. Like the percussion vest I used to wear a lot when we were younger, he uses his hands to soothe me, loosening the tightness in a way I don’t need that much right now, but it’s an intimacy I would never share with any other man but him.

I worked hard to hide my condition from my trysts. Nebulizers aren’t attractive accessories.