Getting crazy with him had definitely been a good decision.
So, it suddenly felt, was going to work on that belt buckle of his again. Because Gabriella was renewed by their closeness, enlivened by their synchronicity, awed by their sameness.
You’re competing to see who can make who come first
.
Guilty
, Gabriella knew as she finally whipped a hank of expensive leather through Shane’s belt buckle. But she hadn’t expected Shane to call her on it—or to be the one who won.
Yes, she was competitive. But only
he
seemed to appreciate that fundamental fact about her. She almost loved him for it.
Except that was preposterous, wasn’t it? All they were having was a onetime fling. All she needed was
him
. Now.
“Go ahead,” Shane dared her, his eyes glimmering in the subdued light. With his hair thrown back and his face exposed, he seemed newly vulnerable. “Make things get even better.”
His reference to her earlier boast only goaded her onward. Gabriella thrust her hand in his loosened fly, reacquainting herself with the length and breadth and heft of him beneath.
“Go ahead,” Shane repeated. He swallowed hard, then momentarily closed his eyes as she stroked him. He trembled. Hard. “See if you can stick to your guns while I’m doing this.”
With obvious effort and eagerness, he cupped her breasts. His thumbs stroked over her nipples, reminding her of the way his mouth had felt earlier—and stoking even more desire in her.
“You’re silly.” Affectionately, Gabriella kissed him. “Doing that only makes me want to feel you inside me even more.”
Hoarsely, Shane groaned. “Ah. I want that, too.”
“You’re going to get it,” she promised, feeling full of audacity and fondness and irresistible curiosity. “Just wait.”
“There’s
more
waiting? I can’t stand it.”
Shane’s strangled groan made her laugh—but the feel of him, surging nakedly into her palm as she finally freed him, made everything else fall away. He felt hard and thick and beyond ready for her, and Gabriella couldn’t remember what she’d been saying—only that it involved her, and him, and had felt perfect.
“Waiting? Only if you don’t have a condom,” she told him.
After a hasty search, Shane came up with the goods. Looking endearingly almost shy, he brandished a supersize condom.
“Hmm.” Gabriella observed it. “I can’t believe I’ve met a man who can whip out one of those and
not
be bluffing.”
“Oh,” Shane assured her confidently, “I’m not bluffing.”
There was a crinkle, a metallic tear, and then . . .
“I’ll do that.” Eagerly, Gabriella got him ready. She eyed her handiwork with satisfaction. “You’re right. A perfect fit.”
“We can’t know that yet, can we?”
His words echoed her statement earlier, about them being a perfect match. But despite Gabriella’s skepticism, then and now, something about Shane’s expression made her a believer. He looked certain and awestruck and immeasurably passionate, all at the same time. Mixed up in his brashness and his ability to get things done, Gabriella detected an openness that surprised her. It unbolted every door she would otherwise have kept locked shut against just the kind of feelings she felt for him then.
Because she kind of, improbably,
really
truly liked him.
“We can if we try,” Gabriella said, keeping up her end of their conversation. Laughingly, she kissed him. “Let’s try.”
Shane’s groan as she straddled him again confirmed their pact. The soft denim of his jeans touched her thighs; the hard grasp of his hands on her hips helped her get situated. Meeting his gaze directly, Gabriella lowered herself onto him, feeling herself expand with indescribable bliss as he filled her.
Gasping, she closed her eyes. There had never been
anything
as good as this. There had never been anything more pleasurable, more mind-blowing, more sensual than this . . . until Shane tightened his hold on her hips and gave a final slow, grinding thrust.
“
Oh!
” Helplessly, Gabriella flung open her eyes. Beneath her, Shane met her gaze with an equal measure of awe. “
Wow
.”
He nodded, then began moving. Faster and faster, they moved together, and Gabriella felt determined to do her part. She couldn’t not meet Shane thrust for thrust. Digging her knees into the cushy rug for purchase, she flung her arms in the air and just kept going. If their first kiss had been electric, then
this
was . . . indescribable. Gliding, merging, pushing, striving, they both came together in a search for something that felt just out of reach. Gabriella couldn’t wait for a better time, a better place, a better rhythm. All she could do was
feel
.
What she felt was another orgasm rushing headlong toward her. It built with ridiculous intensity, coming nearer. Faster.
“Oh no you don’t!” she panted ludicrously, splaying her palms against Shane’s chest. “You’re making me come again.”
His nod confirmed it. But he was close, too. He swallowed hard, his fingers clenching against her derrière now, and as Shane closed his eyes, Gabriella felt herself begin to convulse.
She didn’t want to lose. As always, she wanted to win.
But so did Shane. His compulsion for victory, so like hers, clearly drove him onward. It had driven him to stroke her earlier, leisurely, as though his fancy twelve-person table had been built to be a pleasure dome. It had driven him to make love to her without even bothering to get undressed. It had driven him now to hold back, to wait, even as Gabriella cried out.
“
Ah
.” At last, his guttural groan matched hers. Wide-eyed, Shane clutched her again, driving hard. “
Yes
, Gabby.
Yes
.”
Vaguely, from very far away, she wondered why she’d told him her name was Gabby. No one else had ever called her that. She’d never had a pet name. She’d always been too strong and too insistent on having her own way to put up with nicknames.
But with Shane . . . with him, Gabriella wanted to be trusting. At least for one night, she wanted to be unguarded. Completely.
She glanced down at Shane. Both of them were panting. Both of them were slicked with sweat, pulsing with the aftermath of everything they’d just shared. He’d climaxed once; she’d gone twice. Technically, they were done. Heart pounding, Gabriella considered protecting herself with a casual dismissal.
Thanks
, she could say, blithely jumping up to get dressed as if this had been routine for her instead of earth-shattering.
That was loads of fun, here on your rug. See you never! Later!
Imagining herself carelessly leaving Shane behind, Gabriella expected to feel strong. Reassured. In control.
Instead, at the thought, all she felt was regretful.
Somberly, she gazed at him. “That was better than anything I’ve ever experienced.”
On a rug
. No, that wasn’t true. “Ever.”
Her honesty didn’t seem to faze him. “Me, too.”
Shane said it as if the connection they’d shared were commonplace—as if people found themselves in perfect harmony every day. Gabriella knew that wasn’t true. Not for her.
She didn’t want to go back to being in control, in charge, and on the spot. Not yet. Not when the whole rest of the night stretched before them, full of possibilities and promises.
But first . . . “I’m
starving
! Have you got any food in this place?” Gabriella looked around, noticing for the first time exactly how luxurious Shane’s apartment was. Through the nearly floor-to-ceiling windows surrounding them, Portland’s city lights gleamed. “I need to keep up my strength, you know.”
Gently, Shane stroked her back. The long, slow glide of his palms across her naked skin made her have second thoughts about the necessity of food. Or water. Or sunlight. Or tomorrows.
“I don’t have much here,” he admitted. “But I have an idea.” His gaze swept lingeringly over her unclothed body. He gave her an unabashed smile—one that pleased her too much. “I also have a memory like an elephant. It’s a good thing, too. Because I want to remember you for a long, long time to come.”
“Just
try
to forget.” Feeling jubilant, Gabriella eased herself upward. With Shane’s help, she collapsed in a jelly-legged, breathless heap on the rug beside him. “I’m memorable.”
“From the moment I met you.” He lolled his head to the side, meeting her forehead to forehead in a gesture that felt impossibly intimate. He caressed her cheek, his fingers moving in a way that made Gabriella feel treasured. “Also . . . 34B.”
It took her a minute to realize he’d guessed her bra size.
Laughing, Gabriella swatted him. Then, saucily, she cast her gaze downward. “Eight,” she estimated, “and a quarter.”
“Inches?” Shane guffawed. “You’re too generous.”
“But I’m not wrong,” she felt compelled to point out.
“Probably not.” With no modesty at all, he stood. He extended his hand to her. He was . . . remarkable. “Come on. Let’s beat this night into the ground and get the most out of it.”
This time, Gabriella didn’t even hesitate. “You’re on.”
Sitting at a picnic table in the brisk postmidnight air, unwrapping food from one of Portland’s signature food carts, Shane couldn’t escape from a new and unfamiliar feeling.
It seemed like . . . contentment. He couldn’t be sure.
What he
could
be sure of was Gabby, and how much he liked being with her. She was witty, demanding, and unafraid. She was beautiful, vivacious, and authoritarian. She was unlike anyone he’d ever met—much less anyone he’d ever experienced stupefying sex with—and he couldn’t get enough of her. He’d been uncharacteristically reluctant to let her unstraddle him, to get them both up off the rug, to segue into a steamy shower for two. He’d been reluctant to let the magic between them slip away.
But Shane had risked it. In accordance with his mission for the night, he’d been spontaneous and open and unstinting in his feelings for her. Astonishingly, his risks had paid off.
At least they had until now. Because as Shane looked down at the varied foodstuffs Gabby had insisted on ordering, only at
this
particular food cart in
this
particular cart pod, he experienced his first real doubts of the night. Yes, it had been his idea to come here. He’d thought that doing so might excise his persistent urge for whatever savory treats he’d been smelling during his smile-filled, homeless-person-befriending walks through Bridgetown. But
this
was beyond his experience.
He peered at the food. “What is this again?”
“Poutine.” Happily seated across from him, wearing her rumpled black cocktail dress and heels, wrapped in one of his suit jackets that was a million sizes too big for her—and thus looked outrageously sexy on her—Gabby started in on her food.
“Right. That doesn’t help me know what I’m eating.”
“Do you really have to know?” Looking carefree, she dug up a forkful. It sort of . . .
stretched
from the container to the fork.
“I’d think
you’d
have to know what you’re eating,” Shane said, “given your penchant for orderliness and . . . stuff.”
“Stuff?” She made a teasing face. “That’s precise.”
“I can’t describe it more accurately. I don’t ‘do’ rules or orderliness. I never have. School detention was my playground.” He stopped abruptly, then decided to throw caution to the wind. Why not? “It was more peaceful there than at home. At least it was when my parents were around—which wasn’t often.”
Gabby’s commiserating look and empathetic touch made him realize, too late, how much he’d revealed about himself.
“That sounds tough.” Caringly, she squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry they weren’t there for you. That must have been lonely.”
It had been. Shane didn’t know why he’d told her any of it.
“Hey,
you’re
the tough one,” he said as a means of distraction, however glaringly obvious. “You’re the one who wanted to obey the
NO PARKING
signs posted around here.”
“They’re there for a reason,” she told him primly, generously taking the bait. “There
is
no parking there.”
“It’s two in the morning! Those signs are suggestions.”
Gabby laughed, then took another bite. “Do you enjoy breaking
all
rules or just the ones you deem unworthy?”
“Unworthy describes
all
rules. Rules never helped anyone.”
“Flouting them definitely
hurt
me,” Gabby informed him cryptically. She nudged his cardboard box of food. “Eat up. I want to know you’re up for anything when we get back. You’ll need fortification for what I have in mind.” She winked at him.
His body responded with predictable enthusiasm. There was just something about Gabby that got to him. She was so . . . cool.
In the interest of sexual stamina, Shane took a bite.
“Good, right?” Gabby nodded encouragingly, chewing again.
Shane was surprised to find it
was
good. He nodded.
“Poutine is a specialty around here. French fries covered with brown gravy and topped with cheese curds. They squeak!”
Biting down, Gabby demonstrated. Sure enough, a barely perceptible squeaking sound emerged. On her, that gross gesture actually seemed sort of adorable. Hell. Shane was so far gone....
“Tell me about your parents,” Gabby caught him off guard by saying. “You grew up with them, then went into foster care?”
He should have refused to elaborate. Shane knew that. He wasn’t a confiding kind of man. He never had been. But with her . . .
“They had substance-abuse problems. They did the best they could, but”—
their best wasn’t good enough
—“their best wasn’t good enough.”
Screw it. In for a penny, in for a pound
. “Eventually, I went into court-ordered foster care, bounced around a while, made some friends, made some enemies. I got by.”