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"Nope, I don't. I like parties, I won't lie to you, but my friends are more outgoing than I am."
"The blond?" I question.
"Veronica?" He echoes.
I nod. "Yeah. I guess that's her name. I don't recall."
Gabriel laughs and shakes his head. "You don't recall? You guys talked when you came to my apartment the first time."
I roll my eyes. "We didn't have a conversation. I asked her where the apartment's owner was after she assumed I was there for the party. Just like you did."
He places his hand on his chest and, looking solemn, says, "I sincerely apologize for that. I am also sorry that I didn't listen to you. I was an asshole."
"Are you sure you didn't hit your head?" I question in disbelief.
He grins.
"Nope. But if there is one thing I know how to do, it is apologize to a pretty woman. Can we start again and on the right foot this time?"
I shrug, not willing to let him off that easily. He's already sitting comfortably on my skin, so it's a matter of making him stew for a while.
I do not expect the pout, though. "What do I have to do?" he pleads.
"I'll let you know," I say.
"I see. But you don't hate me anymore?"
Looking mischievous, I think of how best to tease him. I've been at his mercy this entire time, from the small jabs about my social life to the party and the bit about my shirt. And every comment has both infuriated and excited me at the same time.
Like the shirt incident.
I was supposed to be livid, but all I could think about when I closed the door was Gabriel taking off my shirt and kissing my breasts. How I dug my fingernails into his skin as he thoroughly made love to my body, touching places that lovers before him had no skill to explore.
He was right when he said that I ached thinking about how good the sex was. The morning I left, my legs were made of jelly, and the place between my legs throbbed wonderfully.
I had no idea you could retain the feeling of having someone fuck you until we had sex. And I thought about it until I went to sleep that day. It returned in full force after he returned to his apartment, and I sunk to the ground, feeling my body humming in all the right places.
"You have that look in your eyes."
Shaking my head, I refocus on the conversation.
"What look?"
Gabriel's hand reaches out. "First off, you have a bit of something," his thumb brushes the corner of my mouth, and I inhale sharply, "right here. Got it."
But he doesn't withdraw his hand. Instead, his thumb traces the outline of my lips, and a shiver of pleasure courses through my body, my lips parting in a silent invitation for more.
His voice drops to a suggestive whisper. "If we weren't around company, I would have kissed you senseless, Miss Quinn. And probably bent you over this table and fucked you proper.”
“I'd touch you while I fuck you, though," the same thumb touches my chin, "tracing circles on your clit. Or other shapes, if that works for you. Hell," he groans softly, and I watch him swallow, "thinking about it is making me hard. You do things to me, Miss Quinn."
It is the way he says my name that pulls me under—the respect before the polite disrespect of thrusting so deep that I barely remember my name. My eyelids fall shut as I whimper quietly.
Then he pulls away abruptly, and my eyes fly open.
"Why did you stop?" I grumble.
A proud, satisfied smirk appears on his face. "You said the sex was a mistake. If we were alone, that would have been a prelude to a mind-blowing, love-making session. Do you want that? Do you want to sleep with me, Harper?"
