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I reach between us for his pants, but he beats me to it, shoving them down just far enough. His cock is glorious, hard and thick. I wrap my hand around it and the skin is soft and hot and I can’t wait to feel the delicious push of him inside me.
The expression on his face goes from desperate to despair as he looks through his wallet while I continue to stroke him.
“Tell me you have a condom,” he chokes out, thrusting into my hand with a frustrated groan.
I didn’t bring my handbag into the gas station, so no, I don’t. I’m about to tell him to fuck me raw—I’m on birth control and don’t have any STIs and I’m willing to gamble he doesn’t have any either—when his eyes land on the wall. A condom dispenser. He’s on it in a split second, feeding it a coin with one hand—how does he have a coin but not a condom?—and squeezing his dick with the other. A string of curses that makes even me blush comes out his mouth when it refuses to give up a rubber.
Gabe rips it off the wall, and it clatters to the floor like an adult piñata, condoms and tampons spilling across the tile.
My jaw drops—did he Hulk-out to get a condom? Gabriel Sinclair committed an act of vandalism to fuck me? This is the hottest thing that has ever happened to me.
He grabs a condom and rips into it, and seconds later he’s sheathed and striding back to me. The hunger on his face is all I see.
He grabs the back of my neck with one hand and I whimper against his lips. I need him, but he’s fucking with me, sliding the head of his dick through my folds, slapping it against my clit.
“I swear to god—” I don’t know where to grab him first but my hands cup his face, his late-day stubble rough under my palms. He doesn’t let me finish my threat, one thrust taking my absolute breath away. It’s impossible to breathe anyway as he works himself progressively deeper, his hand on my neck squeezing harder when he bottoms out and goes still.
“You’re tight,” he grunts, thrusting again.
“Stop complaining.” I kiss him and hold him against my mouth because I need him to shut up. It’s too much. I’m fuller than I’ve ever been and I want every inch, every plunge, every muscle in his body straining with the effort of fucking me on this counter. Every sensation, every detail—I want to experience Gabriel Sinclair at his basest.
He lifts me and I wrap my legs around him. My back slams into the wall and he pins me. I roll my hips, taking him deeper, grinding against him.
It feels so good—Gabe feels so good—that my eyes flutter closed.
“You’d better not be thinking about him,” he growls against my lips.
My eyes fly open and my mind blanks. “What?”
He shifts us, ever so slightly. My left ass cheek stings before I realize he spanked me. My entire body goes warm and suddenly I’m so damn close.
“It’s my cock you’re going to come on,” he continues. “Not his.”
Ah. Gabe hasn’t left me any room to fantasize about another man, not even Nic. He’s taking up all the space I have and more. I think he’s pushing me out, taking that place too. “You have to make me come though.”
“Oh, I will. And it’ll be my name on your lips again.”
“Maybe.” The way I gasp out that word calls my bluff.
I’m on the counter a heartbeat later. He doesn’t pause or stop, but his eyes meet mine, checking in. Like the spanking or his demands might have turned me off. Whatever. I’ve never been more turned on in my life and I’m so wet he has to feel it through the rubber. I’m already pulling his lips to mine, trying to take him as deep as I can in any way that I can.
It’s hard and fast, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room. He’s gripping the back of my neck again and something about it grounds me. We’re breathing too fast and too hard to kiss, but our lips still brush anyway. He’s staring at me, daring me to close my eyes and pretend he’s Nic, but I couldn’t if I wanted to. Not with his free hand playing with my tits, squeezing and pinching my nipples. He’s driving me wild and I can’t get enough and I’m begging—more, more, more, please Gabe…
When his hand drops down and his thumb presses against my clit, I come so hard and so loud he has to slap his hand over my mouth.
He doesn’t break his rhythm, wringing every last ounce of sensation out of me. There’s satisfaction in his eyes, then his head pitches forward, landing on my shoulder as his hips jerk. Deep inside me, he pulses as he comes, his erratic thrusts slowing to a stop as he takes every last second of pleasure in me.
For a long moment, we stay as we are, Gabe draped over me, breathing heavily. In the sudden stillness, the quiet feels obscene. I inhale the clean scent of his hair and hold him to me. I don’t want to let go yet.
The moment we walk out, we’re going to pretend this never happened. We’ll post our pictures and drive for hours and sleep in separate beds, but this time I’ll do it knowing how he feels inside me. What he’s like when he lets go. I’ll know him in a way the rest of the world doesn’t. It feels like a secret.
Gabe takes a deep breath, and that’s it. He straightens and slides out of me, turning away to take care of the condom.
This is over. Not like it was in the car, but for real this time.
It’s cold without his body heat. I shiver and hop off the counter, tucking my tits back into my bra. My dress is ripped a few inches down the front, and I stare at my reflection for a moment, blinking. I hadn’t noticed him rip it. Whatever. It’s a souvenir of the time Gabriel Sinclair lost control and fucked a woman in a gas station restroom. It belongs in a museum.
In the mirror, I watch him crouch down to pick up the condoms and tampons that spilled out of the dispenser. He piles them on top and sets everything against the wall, frowning.
