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I glance up to find we’re alone now and when I seek out Gavin again, he’s climbing out of the car. “Wait,” I murmur, pushing up onto an elbow—and collapsing onto my back again without delay. “What about y-you?”
Sleep is making my eyelids heavy and I think I lose consciousness for a few seconds, because the next thing I hear is Gavin’s car starting. Then, “I won’t make love to you again until you’ve given me the trust back, Alana. That’s a promise.”
Trust…promise…
Exhaustion overwhelms me and I pass out, no idea where we’re going, but secure in the fact that Gavin will make everything okay.
That turns out to be the understatement of the year. Maybe the century.
7
Gavin
I walk slowly up the stairs leading to my townhouse, wanting to soak in every second of carrying Alana’s sleeping form in my arms. This is part of the fantasy I never anticipated, because I hadn’t met her yet. My hunger was always only supposed to be about fucking, having that forbidden itch scratched that has been plaguing me since I can remember. But this, the caring of Alana, transcends any satisfaction I could have imagined.
Her lips are slightly parted against my shoulder, her legs dangling over my forearm. The tits that bounce maddeningly every time I take a step are close to spilling out of her neckline, her bare bottom exposed to the night, the dress fluttering in the breeze beneath her.
She’s my fucking miracle.
I’ve always been so even-keeled. So unflappable. A planner.
I wasn’t living at all until she breathed life into me with her smile, her humor, the semi-twisted sensuality we share that she’s managed to make beautiful. If she gets enjoyment, pleasure, happiness from it, how can I ever be ashamed again?
I stop on the top step and shift her weight while I unlock the door, shouldering it open and carefully bringing her over the threshold. My home takes on new meaning with her inside. There are no lights on, but it already pulses with her life, her spirit.
Wincing at the floorboards that creak beneath my feet, I carry her up the stairs, take a right and stride to the master bedroom. I’m so anxious to lay her out in my bed and remove her shoes, to tuck her in, my pulse is hammering in my ears. I’ve found my girl, bandaged her injury, seen to her orgasm, now I’ll provide her with rest. Caring for her needs has my dick so stiff, I have to concentrate on not spilling in my briefs.
As soon as she’s safe under the covers, though, I’m going to jerk myself raw in the bathroom thinking about all the ways I got to take care of her tonight. Thinking of how I’ll feed her in the morning, shower her, brush her hair. Thinking of how she called me Daddy in front of that fucking pipsqueak, then creamed all over my mouth like a good girl.
Teeth gritted, I lay her down in the center of my bed and pull back one side of the covers. Picking her up once again, I lay her in the sheets, carefully remove her sandals and drape her in my comforter. In my scent. She sighs sweetly and turns on her side, snuggling into my pillow, and I lunge for the en suite bathroom, closing myself inside without a sound. I brace my forearm on the wall and bite my wrist, fumbling my zipper down with the other. Gripping my engorged cock in a bruising grip, I fuck my hand roughly, biting my wrist until I break the skin. My hips thrust furiously into my fist, pre-come aiding my way, and I picture Alana in my bed, instinctively knowing she’s safe, her small fist curled on my pillow.
Ropes of come land on the tile wall, sliding down as I try not to bellow from pleasure. My abdomen is in a permanent flex, contracting, drawing from the well deep inside me that only Alana will ever be able to tap. I’m a broken man, but I’m whole at the same time, drilling my fist with one final pump, before slumping against the wall.
When my breathing is back to normal, I leave the bathroom and move toward the bed, standing above her and listening for her even breathing. With every fiber in my being, I want to get into bed beside her, but I won’t allow myself the honor until I’ve gotten her trust back. The trust I crushed in my office beneath the heel of my wingtip. I’m lucky she’s here at all. Lucky she deigned to give me a moment of her time after I abused her faith in me.
Never again, princess.
Instead of taking my place beside her in bed, I go back downstairs and out to the car to retrieve her camera and bag, bringing both with me inside. When I hang her bag on the coatrack, there is a beeping noise coming from the inside pocket. After a brief hesitation, I pluck out her cell phone, finding nineteen text messages from her friend Ripley, demanding to know where Alana is and if she’s all right.
