The Plan (Off-Limits Romance, #4)(39)

“I’ll sign papers. Anything you want, so you don’t ever have to worry. I don’t want my child to be without a father, Gabe—like I was.”

For a second, his eyes shut. When he opens them, they’re molten.

“Come here,” he says softly.

I step to him, feeling small and soft and fragile, and his hands cup my shoulders. He looks into my eyes and, with a small squeeze of my shoulders, he says, “One thing, Marley.”

“What?” I whisper as my body tingles.

“No more stealing pork chops. No more shit like that—from me.”

I smile. “You were just being a dick because you wanted me.”

“Not gonna deny that.” His eyelids are heavy as he runs his hands down my arms.

“You wanted me?”

He cups my breasts through my shirt. “Oh yes, Marley. That was never our problem.”

And then he’s kissing me. Soft then hard, tender and then deep, gentle and distant and then rougher, with his arm around my head and our chests pressed together…our hips pressed together.

“Oh God.” When I can breathe, I’m gasping.

Gabe’s mouth is annihilating mine. It’s like…an attack. I’m stunned to find I’m sagging in his arms, my shaking hands are fumbling at his pants. When I can’t get into them, I rub him through the smooth fabric… I rub myself against him and then try to go up his shorts leg. I catch him by his long, hard cock, and Gabe groans roughly into my mouth.

Bedroom.

It’s as if he hears me. He picks me up, throws me over his shoulder, and spirits me to my room, where he sets me on the bed, peels off my sweater, and pushes my bra back, freeing my heavy breasts.

“I’ve missed these,” he rumbles, tracing my hard nipple with the tip of his tongue.

I shut my eyes and let my head list back as he sucks, and I moan. He rubs me through my leggings. I open my legs.

“I want your pants off,” I whisper.

“Not so fast.” He rubs my nipple while kissing down my tummy, lying me on my back as his mouth crawls, hot and tender, toward the top of my pants.

He works them off my hips, pushes them down, groaning at the sight.

“Fucking hell, you’re beautiful…”

He leans over me and, with his hands and fingers, starts to play me like a tune. I come so hard and fast, it’s like an out-of-body experience. When I open my eyes, I find him kneeling between my legs with a smirk and a rock-hard boner jutting up in his pants.

“Gimme…” I tuck my legs beneath me and take his pants down. As I look at Gabe McKellan in a pair of boxer-briefs, I think he might be the sexiest man alive. And is it weird that he doesn’t feel like my ex-husband? Just some fuck hot guy I know, a good lay… Someone to have fun with. God, it’s weird, but still, I feel dizzy with desire as I peer at his massive hose of a cock curving as it fights to spring free from the boxer-briefs’ elastic waist.

“Here we go,” I murmur as I free it. I’m rewarded with a nearly audible boing and a moan as Gabe’s head tilts back. “This is kind of crazy, you know that? It’s almost at your belly button…”

I pet the head: little, light strokes with my fingertips, making Gabe man purr. The sexy rumble comes from deep down in his throat, and turns into a growl as I trace my fingers gently up and down his shaft.

When I give his balls a tug, his mouth falls slightly open. “God…”

“You like that, don’t you? Balls are hot. I don’t care what anybody says.” I remember what he likes, the teasing tugs and cupping and the rolls as I stroke his prototypic dick and then, when he’s gripping my shoulders, already panting and on his way to wasted, the way I suck his head into my mouth and squeeze him in between my cheeks. I don’t know for sure, of course, but what I hope is that it feels like hot, soft velvet all around him.

I’m good at deep-throating because of Gabe. One night after we first moved into his apartment in Las Vegas, I begged him to teach me how to give a good blow job, and what he taught, I learned. I feel a bite of pain as I remember younger Marley on her knees like this, wanting so badly to be a good wife. I shove those thoughts away and swallow him back carefully, taking him so deep I feel his clenching fingers grip my hair. I can suck his cock right now and be an awesome baby mama. We’re not in a box, a little box for exes. This shit can be fluid.

Fluid like the tears prickling my eyes as I take him in and out, shallow and then deeper, playing with his balls and gripping the base of his shaft. I know how to work him, how slow and how fast, how much to tease and when to give.

I feel like a fucking goddess as he “ahhhh”s in that delicious voice of his and starts to moan out f-bombs. I’m doing so well, I want to grin around him. I can taste him, I can feel him getting thicker, harder, his hands more frantic as they tug my hair. It hurts, but I love it. I love the forceful, messy, painful sex. For it to be good, I feel like it needs to really strain you. God, my mouth and throat are so full right now…and yet—I’m wet myself. I’m getting wet and craving something in my pussy just from sucking on him.

I can feel his abs tighten…the way his legs start flexing…

“Marley, oh God, Jesus…”

He sounds so good begging my name and the good Lord’s. My very favorite sort of blasphemy, I think as I suck harder, deeper…stroking his taught balls with just the barest touch—and he explodes.