Page 24

Chapter 24

APRIL

A s it turns out, there really wasn’t much I could do to help Gabe. Athletes who opted for a massage were zonked after miles of endurance, so I would fetch them water bottles. Other than that, I waited by the sitting area and watched Gabe work his magic.

He’d battle the tension by rotating and pulling limbs. Then, he’d use quick circles followed by a hold. It amazed me how he’d use his own body to preserve his strength—folding an athlete's arm over his to help get a deeper stretch, changing his stance to have better weight distribution, or using his forearm to slide across muscles, saving his hands.

I did notice, after a couple of hours of nonstop massaging, he started to look a little stiff himself. Then, when we got back to the hotel, he dropped the room key. He looked at it for a long, loathing moment before I picked it up for him, despite his protests.

“Thanks.”

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he answered, his voice tight. “It’s just been a long day.” His lips pressed into a flat line. “You’ll understand when you hit thirty. ”

I rolled my eyes as we entered the room. “I’m twenty-nine. I understand enough.”

We both wanted to get clean, and he tried to let me shower first, but I would hear none of it. “You have other people’s sweat on you,” I said, thinking about how athletes had gone straight from the finish line to the massage table. “Go shower.”

He conceded, and when it was my turn, I could have skipped to the bathroom. I might have only had my own sweat on me, but it was enough. I felt grimy in every crevice.

Showered and hair combed, I donned Gabe’s shirt and inhaled deeply at the collar. It smelled like him—fresh cotton with the slightest bit of spice.

I looked in the mirror and felt like I had the night before—a little self-conscious to be wearing only Gabe’s shirt and a fresh pair of panties. Sure, the shirt easily covered my ass, but my nipples tonight were obviously hard under the fabric. I folded my arms across my chest, ready to make a mad dash for my bed.

That is, until I found Gabe leaning against the desk, rubbing his back. He struggled to reach a spot, which was saying something, given the guy’s wingspan. My feet stalled on the carpet. He’d spent most of the afternoon taking care of people, but who was taking care of him?

I went back into the bathroom to fetch my lotion and stood right behind him. “Who gives you a massage when you’re hurting?”

He let his arm drop. “If it’s still bothering me when we get back into town, I’ve got a friend at the clinic.”

“That doesn’t help you right now, though.”

“I’m fine, April.” He tried to walk past me to his own bed, but I put a palm on his chest. He stared at the point of contact for a long moment.

“You’re a great coach,” I said. “Coach me on giving a massage.”

His eyes met mine, and I had to fight to hold my ground because his dark eyes could swallow me whole with their intensity. He wrapped his fingers around my wrist and removed my hand from his chest. My cheeks heated. I waited for Gabe to chastise me for getting too close.

Instead, he surprised me by removing his shirt. The shirt coming off tousled his thick black hair, and his scent filled our space, leaving me feeling like I was floating on a cloud of cotton. And then, of course, there was a chest molded by a strict training schedule, and below were real abs. Not at all similar to the ghost abs I had. With my stomach, you had to treat it like a page from one of those optical illusion books: hold it up to the light and tilt your head this way.

Not Gabe’s abs. Gabe’s abs left no room for doubt. They were unrelenting trenches that looked to have been built by Spartan battle. It was a struggle to bring my eyes back up to his—to not stare at the stomach that could have been a stunt double for Gerard Butler’s in 300 .

Luckily, I didn’t have to keep the faith for long. Gabe stepped back and, with stiff movements, pulled the chair from the desk and turned it around before sitting.

Now that I had him there, shirtless, waiting for me to touch him, I couldn’t help but keep staring. Cords of muscle rested under bronze skin, a reminder of his strength, his power. I felt a surge of anticipation. My fingers were about to benefit greatly from all the work he’d put into his training. Then, I chided myself. I’m not here to be creepy. I’m here to help.

“Where—” I had to clear my throat because the words were too thick. “Where does it hurt?”

He grabbed the hotel notepad and pen and made a rough sketch of a back. Then he pointed as he spoke. “It’s my rhomboids—so basically near my shoulder blade. I’m feeling tight, right about there.” He pointed to a spot on the chart.

“What’s the technique?”

“You don’t have to follow a certain technique. It will feel good to have some pressure on it—getting out those knots.”

“No, I want to do it right. What would you do if I were sitting in the chair?”

Gabe was quiet, seeming to think that over before he asked, “Can I see your hand?”

I stretched my hand towards him, and one of his swallowed mine. My heart felt like a rabbit in a too-small cage.

“You are going to use your middle and ring finger primarily.” He curled my fingers with his free hand. “Make a pad with your fingers. Then, use a circular motion. You can curl them tighter to add more pressure.” He looked at my eyes but didn’t drop my hand. “The more you use your whole body, the more you’ll save your own joints. So, try not to move your wrist. Instead, keep your arm as straight as you can and put your body weight into it.” He nodded toward the bottle of lotion in my other hand. “If you use that, you can do dragging motions at the shoulder blade.” He dropped my hand to point to the picture again, showing me the direction to move.

“Okay,” I said when he was done. “I can do that.”

He nodded, but it took him a while to fold his arms on the desk and rest his head, and I wondered if he was as nervous as I was. Thankfully, with his head down, he couldn’t see my shaking hand as I put some lotion on my fingers. It wasn’t that I was afraid to do something wrong. I knew he’d direct me if I did. But the anticipation of touching him—I felt like someone had removed all my cells and replaced them with Lite-Brite pegs. Every part of me was awake and glowing .

At my first touch, Gabe shivered, and I watched the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

The lotion is just cold, I tried to tell myself, but deep down, I knew it was more. He was physically reacting to my touch. The thought made my mouth dry.

“Is this the right spot?” I asked.

“That’s it,” he said, a little breathless.

I made circles, trying to keep my arm straight just as instructed.

“Can you add a little more pressure?” he mumbled into his arms.

I did, and sure enough, I could feel the knots. I curled my fingers to get in deeper. Gabe groaned, and I immediately stopped, thinking I had hurt him. “You okay?”

“For the love of God, don’t stop,” he said without picking up his head.

I smiled and continued massaging. “How long should I work on this area?”

“You should—” His breath hitched as I hit a big knot. “Feel the knots loosen within a few minutes.”

I let him relax as I worked, and just as he’d said, the knots started to smooth beneath my fingertips. “How is it feeling?” I asked.

It took a few beats for him to answer, and then he had to almost hum into his response. “Mmmm . . . Like if you ever get bored of bikes and switch to massage, I’ll have some real competition.”

I laughed, then moved my hand to his other shoulder blade. He only said that one side was bothering him, but I had to even it out, right? Gabe made a sound close to a moan, and I beamed at being able to make Gabe melt the way he made me do so regularly.

When I finished there, I ran my hands up either side of his spinal column until I reached his shoulders, following intuition more than instruction. “This still okay?” I asked .

“Yes, all—” I lost him for a second as I dug into his shoulder. “All of it.”

I got to his neck. He was positively pliant as my fingers pressed in. Then, I kept going, scraping my nails along his scalp, and the goosebumps were back. If he had been a cat, I swear he would have started purring. He mumbled something that sounded like Spanish, but it was so quick and quiet I couldn’t be sure. I wondered if he was bilingual. I would have asked if I wasn’t busy trying to keep a giggle locked in.

I played with his hair, pulling the thick black strands—still damp from the shower— through my fingers, tugging ever so lightly. I didn’t want to stop, and I got the impression he didn’t want me to either, but if I didn’t show some restraint soon, I thought my hands would grow a mind of their own. I imagined rubbing around his back until I reached the plains of his chest. Then I’d follow that ab pathway all the way down . . .

I pulled my hands away with a deep inhale through my nostrils.

“Did I do okay, Coach?”

Gabe lifted his head and turned toward me. He looked barely awake. “I owe you another massage, because that was life-changing.”

I laughed. “And have to suffer through one of your pressure fests? I’ll pass.”

His gaze bore into mine. “Pressure can be pleasurable.”

My universe whittled down to Gabe and his deep voice and those four words. Usually, my mind jumped from Gabe’s innocent connotation to very dirty images, but right then, it seemed like he knew exactly what double meaning he sketched.

In fact, he was staring at my lips. As he zeroed in on my mouth, I watched his own slacken, his eyes darkening. He didn’t look like he wanted to kiss me. He looked like he wanted to devour me, and I wanted him to. I wanted him to kiss me until my lips were swollen, bruised. I wanted him to taste me as he did at my house when he treated my mouth—my tongue—like it was a dessert to be savored: ice cream on a hot day or whipped cream off the pumpkin pie.

With him sitting, we were somewhat eye-level. I stood too close for friendly conversation, but my feet stayed planted. “Prove it.”

His jaw worked. Then, his Adam’s apple bobbed. “That’s probably not a good idea.”

Gabriel was the very picture of a man fighting for the light. I should have put distance between us—backed off so he could think clearly—but I was lost in my own haze, and I wanted him to stay in the dark with me. Fiery need licked across my skin as my mind shuffled through all the possibilities of what Gabe and I could experience together.

“I don’t care,” I said. Life had stolen so much. So what if we broke the rules? I was claiming this moment with Gabe as mine—as long as he permitted it. “But—” I breathed, trying to calm my pulse, to find a break in the heavy fog, “I don’t want to make you do anything you’ll regret.” I had to fight the urge to tell him how badly I wanted him and how long I’d fantasized about this. I sank my teeth into my bottom lip to keep the words from spewing out.

Gabe’s eyes tracked the movement, and I watched his resolve snap in half. In a flash, my world shifted as he pulled me to him. Our mouths met in a frenzy, fumbling before we found a ravenous rhythm. His lips on mine only sent a scorch of desire down my stomach.

We were sealed together. We breathed the same air. It was everything, and yet not enough. Not nearly enough.

Gabriel didn’t kiss me as though it might be a mistake. He kissed me like each break between our lips was.

I ran my tongue along his bottom lip. He groaned, and his hands were on the back of my thighs, lifting me into his lap. My ass got caught on the back of the chair, so he scooched just enough to make room for me. I sank into his lap, and his length pressed against my core. The air was stolen from my lungs. Only a few layers of clothes separated him from me.

I had one arm hooked around Gabe, pressing myself to his bare chest. The other hand was tangled in his hair.

Gabe’s mouth left mine to kiss along the sensitive underside of my jaw, and I clamped my thighs tight around him. My desire was a blooming flower, and with each press of his lips, another petal unfolded.

He rubbed his nose along my ear, his breath tickling my neck. “Tell me to stop, April.” He could have been asking for morphine for the way his voice strained. He wanted me to be the voice of reason, to put him out of his misery.

But I was just as desperate. I ground myself against him. “Sorry, Coach. I can’t do that.”

When he realized I wasn’t going to give him an easy out, he planted his mouth back on mine, then sucked my bottom lip. My head swam as I felt his fingers at my hips, just under the shirt he was letting me borrow, right above my panty line. He traced the area, and I shivered, but he moved upward.

His hand stopped at my ribs, wrapping all the way around. “I can’t give you anything more than casual,” he reminded me between pants.

I grabbed his jaw to make sure he looked into my eyes and understood I had no problem with that. “Then give me casual, Gabriel.”

His pupils were so blown that they almost looked predatory—he was a shark who smelled blood.

A thumb swiped upward, tracing under my breast. “Seeing these in my shirt—” he said, eyes on the hardened nipples beneath the fabric. He caressed my breast, lifting and massaging. “Has been driving me crazy.” His thumbs swiped over the buds there, and I drew in a sharp breath.

“I offered to get my own shirt,” I said, breathless.

Gabe’s soft laugh rumbled between us. “I didn’t think I was a masochist, but here we are.” He pulled his shirt off me, letting it drop to the floor before he helped to smooth my hair back into place. I found the gesture tender for casual sex, but what did I know?

His eyes roamed over my bare breasts. He cupped them momentarily again before his hands slid down my stomach, fingers devastatingly light. I shivered, and he kept going until he reached my thighs. “Should have been obvious after I offered that massage, really.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, struggling to pull together even a basic question when Gabe’s fingers raked from thigh to knee.

Gabe watched his fingers work. “Look at you. Do you know how difficult it was to touch you but know I couldn’t have you?”

My stomach fluttered. Then I remembered how much I struggled on his table, having his hands all over me. However, he’d seemed unaffected. “You were so professional.”

“Do I still seem professional?” he asked in a rough voice. His hand gravitated toward my upper thighs, then to my center.

“Professionalism is overrated,” I rasped.

His hand kept traveling upward, and every inch higher left me more and more at his mercy. When he got to the top of my thighs, he moved his hands inward and then spread his legs. Since mine were on top of his, he left me wide open for the taking. The only thing left to stop him was my panties.

I shivered as his finger ran along the seam. Then he stopped. “You’re sure about this?” he asked.

“Yes,” I whispered, my voice lost .

My stomach flipped as he hooked a finger and pulled the fabric aside.

“Oh, April,” he said, teasing my entrance with his finger. “You are so wet.”

I didn’t even have a response. And any prayer at conjuring one flew out the window when he pressed a finger inside. My breath shuddered.

“You feel so good,” he said, removing his finger to add a second one. I whimpered at the fullness of just his fingers. Then, he curled them. I bit my lip, but a moan still escaped.

“I told you pressure could be pleasurable,” he rasped. Then he pressed even harder, sliding back in. My nails dug into his back as my body tried to figure out how to react to the all-consuming pleasure.

“Gabriel!” His name left my lips like a prayer—a beg. I leaned my head against his shoulder, watching his wrists pump up and down as he massaged my inner wall.

“Ever since you were on my table,” he said hoarsely. “I’ve been dying to show you these fingers aren’t just for pain.”

“I’m a believer, now.”

He picked up the rhythm, working until I could feel a build. My muscles started tightening, but Gabe slowed down before I could get too close to the edge. “I want to be inside you when you come.” And though, technically, he was already, I didn’t argue because I knew what he meant, and I wanted that, too.

“I’m clean and on birth control,” I offered.

He removed his fingers and hoisted me off his lap. “I’m clean too. Was checked last month.” My feet touched the ground just long enough to remove his shorts and boxers. I saw just a flash of his nude body before I was pulled back onto his lap.

But once settled there, I beheld all of Gabe. My mouth fell open. I know it’s not always true that height correlates to length. But it certainly did in his case. He watched me drinking him in, his breath heaving until I wrapped my hands around him and stroked. He blew out a long breath, watching the movement like his life depended on the details.

Then I lifted up on his lap to put him at my entrance. He choked back a groan as his head slipped inside. I gasped, feeling myself stretch around him. It was a tight squeeze, but the discomfort didn’t really start until I slid further down.

Gabe’s head rolled back, the pleasure etched in his tightening features. It encouraged me to keep going, but at about the halfway point, I slowed. There was just too much of him.

I remembered what Billie had said about it being like the first time again. I’d thought it was ridiculous. Now, I wondered if she’d called it.

It had taken so much to convince Gabe. I feared my apprehension would scare him off, so I tried to soldier on, lowering myself another inch. My breath hitched. I didn’t know how I was going to take him any deeper.

Gabe grabbed my elbows to stop the movement. “It hurts,” he guessed.

“Well.” I worked to keep my tone light as I remembered his warning before agreeing to be my coach. “You did say you wouldn’t go easy on me.”

His mouth fell ajar, but he quickly recovered. “That is not what I meant—”

“I know,” I said, stopping his explanation.

“I would never intentionally hurt you.”

“I know.”

A crease formed between his brows. “Do you want to stop?”

“God, no! ”

His chest rose and fell, and I could see his mind reeling when he finally asked, “Do you trust me? Enough to let me take control?”

Let him take control? My skin tingled at the prospect—an entanglement of fear and excitement coursed through my veins.

It was probably a terrible idea, but I did trust him.

I nodded.

In an instant, I was lifted. Gabe brought us to the bed, but instead of laying me on my back, he flipped me over.

As my hands and knees sank into the mattress, I wondered if he used this position to keep the intimacy out of things. Maybe it was harder to catch feelings if we didn’t make eye contact.

When he placed himself at my entrance, I braced for pain. He was a big guy, and I could offer very little resistance in this position. Then, his warmth encompassed me. His stomach pressed against my back as he leaned forward to take my jaw in his hand. Gently, he turned my face to the side, kissing me with feather-light touches on the corner of my lips. “This position helps loosen tension—meaning less discomfort.” His deep voice reverberated from his chest to my spine. “Try to relax. I’m not going to hurt you, April.”

I let out a long breath and willed some of the tension from my muscles.

“That’s it.” He pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “ Hermosa ,” I thought I heard him whisper. Then he followed it with a, “You’re so beautiful.”

Just when I thought I could keep a guard around my heart, Gabe had to crack and shake the shell until the whole thing glowed.

Then, his big, warm hand slid down to my core, fingers circling my clit in a way that stole all my attention. That’s when he pushed in, just a bit.

Even with him going slow and shallow, it was mind-numbingly good. I relished the movement against my inner wall, the steady rhythm of his fingers.

Tentatively, Gabe picked up the pace, but he didn’t push further in. Soon, I found myself not only ready to take all of him but needing to. Feverish for more, I rocked my ass backward, forcing a few more inches in.

Gabe gripped my ribs and made a wounded sound.

His hands slipped to my hips, holding me in place as he went deeper and deeper until—I gasped as my ass finally pressed into his front. We both stilled, taking in the sensation of complete connection.

“Fuuuuuck.” The pleasure in Gabe’s voice was so thick, it could have been mistaken for pain. Then, after some labored breathing, he asked, “Are you okay?”

I nodded, adjusted, then slid forward so I could push against him again. Gabe didn’t need any other encouragement. He rested one hand on the bed next to mine and kept the other at my hip as he thrusted.

Sounds of whimpering and moaning weaved in with our heavy breathing. And as the friction picked up, so did the heat until Gabe’s sweat dripped on me. Not even an hour before, I’d let Gabe use the shower first because he had other people’s sweat on him. Now, I couldn’t think of anything more crude or delicious than feeling his sweat roll down my spine while he drove into me.

I was encompassed in rising ecstasy, but I worried Gabe was holding back for my sake. Only because I knew his athletic ability. I’d seen his power in action. He could go faster, harder. The white-knuckled grip on the duvet suggested more than just pleasure. It was restraint.

My concern snipped free when he ground out a, “You take me so well.”

And that, of course, would push me over—praise from my coach. Sparklers lit behind my eyes, and my body seized with an orgasm so intense, I had to blink tears free.

Gabe pumped faster, working to reach his own pleasure. By then, I was so pliant; it wouldn’t have mattered how rough he went. I was too far gone.

His free arm hooked under me, and he clamped down, holding me in place as an orgasm ripped through his body. I knew that moment—being secured by Gabe’s bicep while he pulsed inside me—would be a savored memory for the foreseeable future.

His forehead rolled against my shoulder as he tried to get a hold of his breathing. I could have spent the night like that, Gabe’s breath at my ear, his body leaning against mine. But the moment ended when Gabe lifted his head. “I’ll get us a towel,” he said between pants. I rolled over, an arm over my eyes as I fought through the post-sex haze to find my bearings back in the real world.

I just had toe-curling, mind-blowing sex.

With.

My.

Coach.

I dropped my arm at Gabe’s returning footsteps. His lips pressed into a flat line. Yep, reality had slapped him in the face, too.

He handed me the towel and then sat on the edge of the bed. “We’re going to be okay, right?”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice a little too high. “We just needed to get that out of our systems.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

He looked at the floor, a line between his brows .

“What’s wrong?” I asked. Suddenly, I felt very small. I’d thoroughly enjoyed sex with him, but what if the feeling wasn’t mutual? “You didn’t like it?”

His head snapped my way. “You know that’s not it.” The severity of his voice alleviated the self-consciousness building in my chest. “I just—” He straightened my butterfly necklace, resting the charm over my heart. “I like what we have, and now I’m worried I fucked up everything.”

“Hey.” I grabbed his hand and waited for his eyes to meet mine. “You didn’t ruin anything. We’re fine.” And because I couldn’t stand that broken look on his face, I said, “It wasn’t a mistake, but it was a one-time thing.”

He released a long exhale and nodded before getting under the covers with me. We settled in, his bare chest pressed against my back, his arm strapped across my stomach, fingers absently making figure-eights at my navel.

My own words grew heavier by the minute.

It was a one-time thing.

A one-time thing?

That was the best sex of my life, and I’d never get another taste? I found myself wanting to backtrack—to barter—but I clamped my mouth shut because I knew if I pushed the issue, I’d risk losing him completely.

And no sex, no matter how incredible, was worth that.