Page 30 of Where She Belongs (A Different Kind of Love #3)

“Always,” I confess, trailing my fingers down her neck. “Even when I shouldn’t have noticed. Even when I told myself I didn’t.”

Her breath hitches as I find a sensitive spot below her ear. “Gabe...”

“Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to kiss you here?” I demonstrate, feeling her pulse jump under my lips. “Or how often I’ve thought about touching you?” My hand skims her side, and she arches into the contact. “How many nights I’ve dreamed about?—”

She cuts me off with a kiss that steals my breath, her hands threading through my hair to pull me closer.

“Show me,” she whispers against my mouth. “Show me everything you’ve thought about.”

The words send heat rushing through me, but I force myself to go slow. To savor every inch of skin she reveals, to learn what makes her gasp and sigh, to worship her body the way I’ve wanted to for longer than I care to admit.

As I trail kisses down her neck and chest, I repeat the mantra in my head: this is just once. We’re getting this out of our system.

Then we’ll go back to being friends.

But when I look at her, seeing the way she watches me with hooded eyes and swollen lips, I know it’s already too late. This isn’t just about crossing a line—it’s about recognizing that line never should have existed.

Because Andrea isn’t just my friend or mentor or confidante. She’s the woman who makes me feel alive in a way no one else ever has, and if I can convince her to stay with me past tonight… maybe that’s enough. Maybe we can rewrite our story to include desire and need and want.

Because this isn’t just sex. This isn’t just getting it out of our systems.

This is my best friend trusting me with her vulnerability, her pleasure, her heart. And even if we’re pretending this is just physical attraction, just one time to satisfy our curiosity, I know the truth.

I’m already in too deep.

I’m already falling for her.

“Gabe,” she whispers, and in that single word, I hear all the uncertainty, the hope, the longing she’s been holding back. It disarms me, makes me vulnerable in a way I’ve never been.

Our lips meet again, slower this time, exploring. Her fingers weave through my hair, pulling me closer, and I can feel the hesitance giving way to need. This isn’t just a release for her or a conquest for me; it’s something far more dangerous. More real.

I trail kisses down her neck, her collarbone, taking my time, savoring the taste of her skin. Each soft sigh she gives is a revelation, a note in a symphony I never knew I needed to hear. My hands trace the curves of her body with a reverence, as if I’m memorizing every inch of her.

I pause, looking up to meet her eyes. They’re half-closed, her breathing shallow, but there’s a spark of clarity in them. A question. An invitation. A fear.

“Are you sure?” I ask, my voice rough with restraint.

She doesn’t answer immediately, and in that pause, a thousand thoughts race through my mind. What will this mean for us? Can we ever go back to how things were? Do I even want to?

As we finally make it into the bedroom and tumble on her bed, the word she utters is like the breaking of a dam.

“Yes.”

I slide her dress down her legs, hearing it slide to the floor as I unbutton my shirt and shrug it off my shoulders. Suddenly I have too much clothing and all I want is the feel of my skin against hers, her lips, her hands, on mine.

I kiss a path up her legs, her thighs, the fabric feeling so soft against my fingers, her skin warm and soft beneath it. She’s trembling now, whether from anticipation or doubt, I can’t tell. Maybe both. I take my time, not rushing, letting her feel every moment, every touch.

Her hands clutch at the sheets, at my shoulders, as I reach the apex of her. I look up one last time, seeking her face in the soft morning light. She’s biting her lip, eyes closed, a mix of tension and surrender in her expression.

I breathe her in, the scent of her arousal making my head swim. Gently, I kiss her through the fabric of her panties, feeling the heat of her, the wetness.

She gasps and her hips lift slightly, meeting me. My hands slide up her sides, then down, taking my time as I hook my fingers around the waistband and slowly pull them down.

Every movement is deliberate, unhurried. I want her to feel the weight of what we’re doing, the significance of each touch. I want to remember her like this—every detail, every reaction—because I know this could change everything.

I kiss her inner thighs, left then right, so close but not quite there. Her breathing is ragged, her body taut like a bowstring. I can feel her impatience, her desire, but I hold back, letting the tension build.

When I finally touch her with my tongue, it’s soft, almost hesitant. She lets out a broken moan, her hands flying to my hair, her fingers digging in. I explore her slowly, learning what makes her sigh, what makes her whimper. Her taste is intoxicating, the sounds she makes like music.

With my mouth and my tongue, I take her to the edge and pull back, then take her there again, teasing, stretching out the moment. Her hips move against me, her body pleading for release. I’m lost in her, in the way she responds to me, in the sheer intimacy of it all.

“Gabe, please,” she begs, and I can hear the desperation, the need to let go.

I give her what she asks for, what she needs. My tongue works in circles, in strokes, finding a rhythm that matches her breathing, her pulse. Her body arches, her thighs trembling around my head. She cries out, once, then again, her hands clutching the sheets as she unravels.

I stay with her through it, holding her gently, kissing her tenderly, until the last waves of her orgasm subside. She lies still, her chest rising and falling, her skin glowing with a sheen of sweat.

I move up beside her, propping myself on one elbow. She turns to face me, her eyes half-lidded and dreamy. For a moment, we just look at each other, saying nothing. The silence is heavy with meaning, with the unspoken questions of what comes next.

She reaches out and traces a finger along my jaw, then pulls me down for a kiss. It’s slow and deep, and I can still taste her on my lips. When we break apart, she rests her forehead against mine.

“I’ve never...” she starts, then pauses, searching for the right words. “This is different.”

I nod, understanding exactly what she means. Different can be terrifying, especially when we have so much to lose. But different can also be wonderful.

“Andie.” I say, my voice rough with emotion. “We can take this as slowly as you need. We don’t have to rush anything.”

She sighs, a sound of contentment mixed with lingering doubt. “I know. But I don’t want to stop.”

Her words send a jolt through me, a mix of relief and anticipation. I brush a strand of hair from her face, kiss her lightly on the nose.

“Neither do I,” I admit.

We lie there for a while, letting the moment stretch, letting the reality of what we’ve done sink in. I can feel her heart gradually slow, her muscles relax. This is the calm after the storm, and it feels fragile, precious.

“Promise me one thing,” she says.

“Anything.”

“That we’ll always be honest with each other. No matter how hard it is.”

“I promise,” I say, meaning it with every fiber of my being.

“Come here,” she says, pulling me down into her arms. We hold each other, the warmth of our bodies mingling, and for the first time, it feels like more than just comfort. It feels like a beginning.

I kiss her neck, her shoulder, savoring the way she responds to each touch. My hand slides down her side, tracing the curve of her hip. The desire that’s been simmering between us for so long flares up again, hot and urgent.

“I want you,” she whispers, her breath warm against my ear. “I need you.”

Every rational thought vanishes. I reach for the nightstand and fumble with the drawer where I’d stuffed a couple of condoms the night we had to move everything into the bedroom. I always bring protection simply because it’s what I do.

The condom in my grasp, I take a deep breath, trying to calm the rush of emotions. Everything about this feels monumental.

Andrea watches me with an intensity that makes my heart pound.

When I sit back and start to open the package, she takes it from me, her touch both gentle and sure.

I expect her to hesitate, but she doesn’t.

Instead, she applies it with a care that makes me ache, her fingers grazing me in a way that’s almost too much to bear.

“Ready?” she asks, her voice a mix of anticipation and something deeper, something like vulnerability.

I nod, unable to speak. I position myself over her, and she opens to me with a trust that takes my breath away. When I enter her, it’s like everything in the world shifts into place. The sensation is exquisite, but it’s the emotional weight that nearly undoes me.

Inch by inch, I sink into her, feeling her body welcome me. She gasps softly, her fingers digging into my back as I bury myself fully inside her.

For a moment I don’t move. We stay there, joined together, connected in a way that goes beyond anything I’ve ever known before.

It feels like coming home.

“Fuck, Andie, you feel so good,” I murmur before kissing her, tasting the salt of her skin, the sweetness of her lips.

This is more than just sex. It’s a claiming, a giving. Every touch, every movement says what we haven’t been able to: I trust you. I need you. I’m here.

We move together slowly, deliberately, as if trying to memorize every second. Her hands roam my back, my arms, pulling me closer with each stroke.

Time stretches and bends. I lose myself in her, in us. When the climax builds, it’s like a wave rising inexorably, ready to crash and sweep us away. I hold on, not wanting this to end, but it’s too powerful to resist.

“Andie.” I gasp, and she tightens around me, her own release triggering mine. We shatter together, a burst of stars in the dark.

I collapse beside her, utterly spent, and she curls into me. Our breathing is ragged, our bodies slick with sweat. I stroke her hair, kiss her forehead, her cheeks.

“That was...” I start, searching for the right words. Amazing? Life-changing? None of them seem to capture what just happened.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, her eyes closed, a small, contented smile playing on her lips. “It was.”

For a moment, I allow myself to imagine that this is us. That we’re partners in this forever. That we’ll wake up tomorrow and start again, without pretense or performance or regret.

But it’s not real. Not yet.

“Are you okay?” I ask, shifting to look down at her face. She’s lying with her eyes closed, her breathing slowing to normal.

“More than okay.” She opens her eyes to look up at me. “It’s just... a lot.”

Her expression is troubled, and I feel a flicker of unease. Is she having regrets? Or just overwhelmed by the magnitude of what we’ve done?

“What are you thinking?” I ask cautiously.

She sighs, reaching for my hand, lacing her fingers through mine. “I’m thinking that I can’t go back to just being friends.”

I exhale slowly, feeling the knot in my chest loosen. “Me neither.”

She pulls me closer, wrapping her arms around me. “I guess it’s best we figure this out in the morning.”

“That’s a good idea.”

As she presses her head against my chest, I try to ignore the fear lurking in the back of my mind. Fear that we can’t make this work outside the fantasy bubble of Hawaii. Fear that we’ll burn too bright, too quickly, and snuff each other out.

Fear that everything I thought I couldn’t have—the closeness, the intimacy, the absolute certainty that I belong with her—was never really meant to be mine.

But I push the thoughts aside, choosing instead to focus on the woman in my arms, even if it’s just for tonight.