Going Down Easy (Boys of the Big Easy #1)(38)

He’d touched every inch of her, seen everything, and yet, right now, it was so much more about her trust and the fact that she was here, in this support group, and reading about alligators in spite of wanting to stay away, that made him harder and hotter and more desperate than he’d ever been before.

Gabe thrust harder and deeper, gritting his teeth against the sensations that threated to pull him into a hot and fast orgasm. Slow and sensual was for king-size beds and tangled sheets and a lazy ceiling fan turning above them while jazz floated up from the street below. Spontaneous sex on the treat table at the community center was for hard and fast. But he had to take her with him. He knew she’d get there with him eventually, but he also knew how to speed things up.

“God, Ad, your pussy is my favorite place to be in the whole world,” he told her gruffly. It was the truth, and bonus—she loved when he talked to her during sex.

He felt the resultant tightening around his cock.

“It loves you, too,” she told him with a smile, then a groan as he pumped deep.

“Good thing,” he told her, that possessiveness streaking through him again. “Because it’s mine,” he said, for the first time in his life in regard to a woman—or a part of a woman. Though, damn, he wanted all of her. Every carry-wet-wipes-but-don’t-mind-getting-dirty, don’t-cuddle-but-will-hold-your-hand, completely-independent-but-fell-in-love-with-the-support-group-in-three-meetings piece of her. “You’re mine,” he told her as he pumped harder and faster. “Swamp boats or not, no one else is going to be worshipping this body but me.”

Something about that—the tone, the actual words, the perfect angle of his next thrust—made her moan and her inner muscles tighten.

“Gabe.” Her chest was rising and falling with her deep, fast breaths, and she was trying to grip the table.

But she didn’t have to worry. He had a hold on her and wasn’t letting go.

“Right, Ad?” he asked, his jaw tight. “I’m the only one who gets to see, touch, and taste this pussy.”

“Gabe,” she panted, her eyes on where he was sliding in and out of her body, ratcheting up the sensations for them both. Her chest was flushed, and he could tell she was getting close.

“Maybe I won’t let you come, since you kept me away from it for three weeks,” he said. “Maybe I’ll just take what I want, since you didn’t think you needed this. Maybe if you want to come, I should make you promise to give me this pussy anytime I want it.” He pumped deep as her muscles clenched around him hard. “And I want it, Ad. I want it over and over. I want to feel this sweet, wet heat in my hand, on my tongue, and around my cock.”

She moaned, and her head fell back again.

“I want to fill you up and wring you out, Addison.”

She gasped, then gave him a quiet but heartfelt “Gabe.”

“Every.” He thrust hard. “Fucking.” He thrust again. “Night.”

That thrust put her over the edge. Her thighs tightened, her inner muscles gripped him, and she let out a soft cry—the one that always made him feel like a damned king.

Gabe let himself go then, pounding into her, filling her up as promised but feeling very much like it was him who was being wrung out. His climax thundered up from the center of his gut, and he felt the eruption to the soles of his feet. And just maybe his soul.



Gabe braced his hands on either side of her hips on the table as he struggled to catch his breath. Addison thought maybe that should make her feel caged in, but instead, it felt like he was shielding her, protecting her while she recovered her senses.

But that might take a while.

That orgasm had been . . . different. Sex was always good with Gabe. Beyond good. The best she’d ever had. But this time had felt . . . yeah, different was the best she could come up with. Apparently postclimax endorphins made her brain a little mushy.

Or maybe it was that analyzing—and admitting—how it was different would have made another part of her mushy. Like her heart.

It was, she knew, in part, all that possessive talk about being Gabe’s. Yeah, it had been dirty, and he’d used the word pussy a lot—a word that she had really thought she didn’t like prior to meeting Gabe Trahan, but he had a way of saying it that made it sound almost reverent . . . and very hot—but it had all seemed about a lot more than him not wanting her sleeping with anyone else.

Hell, she didn’t want him sleeping with anyone else, either. Ever. For the rest of his life. She didn’t want him talking to anyone else like this. She didn’t want him staking his claim on anyone else. In fact, that thought made her feel possessive of him. The only other thing in the world she’d ever felt that way about was Stella.

And there was the problem.

She either had to let him go completely. Or she had to keep him.

And both scared her equally.

Gabe finally pushed back and away. Addison felt instantly cold and lonely. She wanted to know that they could go home now and curl up in bed together. That she could reach for him in the night and he’d be there. That when she woke up, he’d be there, maybe in her shower or in her kitchen. And that even if she didn’t see him all day, he’d come home to her.

She’d had just a taste—Gabe on the pillow next to her, Gabe in the kitchen in the morning, Gabe taking her home at the end of a night out on the town—when she’d visited New Orleans in the past. But then she’d gone back to New York, and none of that was an option full-time. But now that she was here, she couldn’t stop thinking about how he was just a few miles away and that maybe she could have all of that.