Dubious (The Loan Shark Duet 1)
Sex with Gabriel is always explosive, even when it’s gentle. Lately, there’s a lot of gentle. That’s why I can’t understand my growing sadness. The kinder he acts toward me, the sadder I feel. I can’t bring the man in my bed together with the man who holds Charlie’s future over my head. I want to hate both, but I know better. It’s been a long time since I felt only desire for Gabriel. I care about him, and I hate that I do.
As always, Gabriel picks up on my mood. That night, he arranges my naked body on the mattress so he can look at me. He cups my breast gently, stroking his thumb over my nipple.
“Ouch.” The sensation is almost too much to bear.
Testing the weight of my breast, he gives me a thoughtful look. “You’re close to having your period.”
He almost looks disappointed. It’s not like he hasn’t made love to me during my period. I don’t understand his silent dejection.
“Yes.” I turn on my side, facing the wall, relieved to understand the reason for my depressive feelings. It’s just a heavy bout of PMS.
He rubs a palm over my stomach and presses his cock between my legs. “I’ll be gentle.” Without waiting for my consent, he rolls me onto my stomach and settles between my thighs. “Open for me, beautiful.”
I open my legs, giving him the view he wants. He strokes and teases me for a long time, until his fingers are soaked with my wetness. Only then does he push inside, slow and easy. It’s then that it hits me. Since I’ve been back from the hospital, he’s only taken me from behind. How could I have missed this before? He’s fucked me against the wall, on his desk, in his armchair, in the pool, and in a variety of other, creative places, but my butt was always pressed against his groin, my face looking away from him. Is it me? Does he find me unattractive? I twist under him, starting to squirm.
“Valentina.”
“Let me up.”
I don’t expect him to, but he obliges. He watches me warily as I switch positions, turning him on his back.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking at you.”
“Why?” he says with a pained expression.
“Because I like to.”
I lower myself over his cock, taking him into the depth of my body. I let the pleasure show on my face, letting him see what he does to me as I start rocking, my nerve endings coming alive for him.
“You don’t have to,” he says.
“Do you like to look at me?”
“You know I do.”
“Then stop talking and fuck me.”
It’s as if a dam inside of him breaks. He growls and grips my hips, keeping me in place while he pounds into me, taking me to the edge I want to go.
As my body tightens, he cries out his climax. It’s the quickest we’ve come together since the week he started fucking me. I drape my body over his chest, holding him inside of me. I wish I could stay like this, but I’m not naïve enough to let myself belief this will last. It matters nothing to him. He has no emotional obligation to me. He can fuck anyone he wants without explanation.
“Gabriel?”
He strokes my back. “Yes, beautiful?”
“Do you fuck other women?”
His hand stills. “Why?”
I shrug. “Don’t I need tests for STD?”
The caressing resumes. “There’s only you, Valentina. I told you before.”
“It was a long time ago. It could’ve changed.”
“I’ll tell you if it does.”
My heart feels like it has just gone through a blender. It can change. I was right. I swallow my tears, angry at my irrational feelings. I have no right to expect more from him. It’s my own damn, stupid fault I fell for my tormentor.
* * *
Three weeks later, I resume my secret training with Rhett. My amputated thumb has healed enough to undertake more strenuous exercise. I’m out of shape, even if I tried to stay fit by using the Walker in the gym. He floors me every time, throwing my ass on the mat. It’s during our session on Thursday evening when Gabriel is out on business that I burst into frustrated tears.
Rhett looks at me, aghast. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.” I wipe at my cheeks. “I’m just emotional.”
My damn period hasn’t started yet. The sooner it does, the sooner I’ll get over this depressed state.
He offers a hand to pull me up. I’m scarcely on my feet when the evening’s dinner pushes back up my throat. I rush to the bathroom, making it to the toilet just before I empty my stomach. Rhett runs in after me, coming to a halt next to the toilet.
Dry heaves wrack my body, making my eyes tear up.
“Jesus, Valentina.” He takes a stash of paper towels and hands them to me. “Are you all right?”