Funny You Should Ask(68)

“The mood?”

Now he looked a little sheepish.

“I thought, you know…” He gestured between us.

“Oh,” I said. “Oh!”

Gabe gave a little shrug. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I just thought—”

I kissed him. Before he could even finish his sentence, I flung myself at him and planted my lips on his. Aggressively.

It was a terrible, terrible kiss. My lips hit his teeth, making my eyes water.

Gently, Gabe put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me back.

“Oh my god,” I said again. “I am really, really sorry.”

I closed my eyes, wishing I could just disappear.

“Hey,” he said.

I felt his hand on my chin. His thumb stroked the line of my jaw, sending chills through me. I opened my eyes.

His face was right there. His beautiful, perfect face.

“Hey,” he said again.

I could smell the whisky on his breath, but I didn’t mind. I was certain my own breath was probably still fragrant from jelly beans.

“Hey,” I whispered.

Time inched forward as his lips moved toward mine. I thought dimly that if I could live in this moment, in this beautiful anticipation, I would be pretty damn happy. Then Gabe’s mouth touched mine and I realized that this was far, far better than I had ever imagined it would be.

This time, his lips seemed to fit perfectly against mine. They were warm and firm and soft and his hand was still on my face and the combination of the two sensations was enough to turn my insides to Jell-O. I wobbled and sighed and leaned closer.

I was kissing Gabe Parker. Or rather, he was kissing me and I was kissing him back.

His hand slid back and upward, getting lost in my hair. That’s when his lips parted and I slipped my tongue into his mouth. His fingers tightened against my scalp and I thought I felt his breath catch. As if I had caught him off guard. As if I had surprised him. I liked how that kept happening.

If he was surprised, he recovered quickly.

I pressed my palms against his chest and felt the rumble of a groan deep inside. Hot little sparks spread through me as he gave my hair a tug, opening the kiss, taking my tongue with his, his other hand sliding down to my hip to pull me closer.

I didn’t need much encouragement to climb onto his lap, my legs on either side of his hips. My own hips moved forward, the seam of my jeans coming into direct contact with the zipper of his—and everything that was happening behind it.

I sighed. He smiled. My hands clutched his shoulders, his squeezed my ass.

I could taste the whisky on his tongue, but also something minty. Like very fancy toothpaste—the mint grown in the same forest as his exclusive cedar cologne.

It was all happening so fast. Heat rippled through my body, short-circuiting any rational thoughts I might have had. Because if my brain had a chance to catch up, it might have told me that what I was doing was a very bad thing. That Gabe was used to women throwing themselves at him. That if I did this, I would be just another starstruck fangirl who slept with her favorite movie star. That if I ever wanted to have a normal relationship with a normal person then I was setting myself up to be disappointed after this kind of experience.

Jeremy would probably never forgive me.

It was completely and utterly unprofessional.

But I wasn’t thinking any of those things.

I was thinking that Gabe’s hands and mouth and all the rest of him felt fucking amazing. I was thinking that I wanted desperately to tear off his clothes and lick him like a lollipop. I was thinking that it was very, very possible I could come apart just like this.

Gabe’s arms were wrapped around my back, and I could feel them shaking. It was unbelievably hot knowing that he was just as affected as me. That he wanted me as much as I wanted him. Or if he didn’t, he was an incredible actor.

He pressed his forehead against mine, both of us breathing heavily.

“This okay?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah,” I said. “Very okay.”

He leaned back far enough that I could see his grin. It was a little soft, a little droopy.

“Good,” he said. “Great.”

Then, before I could comment on his level of sobriety, and with great balance and dexterity, Gabe flipped us both so I was lying back on the couch, and he was on top of me.

“Still okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

His body settled on mine, his hips moving, his hand sliding up my shirt. He was going so fast but I didn’t want him to stop. Instead, I shoved my palms beneath his shirt, bunching it up under his arms.

He leaned back as I did, just far enough for me to pull it over his head.

And there was his chest. His movie star chest—all mine for the touching. He was strong. Lean. I could feel the slight stubble on his chest as if he’d waxed or shaved it recently and it was just starting to grow back. It was a reminder of the work required to look the way he did. Work that I was very grateful for in the moment.

His skin was damp, his hair sticking to his forehead, which he pressed against mine as I raked my nails down his back.

“Do that again,” he ordered, stretching in my arms like a bear rubbing up against a tree. “Oh yeah,” he said, his voice a low rumble, his mouth hot against my throat.

He reached down, grabbing my leg and wrapping it up against his hip. My body opened up to him and he pressed himself against me. Right there. And then he began to move.