No Apologies (3 page)

“Damn right it is,” he growled as he thrust one long, thick finger into her. Followed it with a second. “You belong to me.”

She moaned low in her throat, arched her hips and pulled him deeper inside of her. “I belong to myself. Now fuck me before I explode.”

His answering laugh was low, aroused, and more than a little bit threatening as her words speared through him and brought his excitement back up to fever pitch. “I don’t think so. You’re done calling the shots.” He thrust another finger into her, roughly, and she saw stars. The walls of her vagina clenched tightly around him and a series of small explosions started deep inside her. He ground the heel of his hand against her clit while his fingers moved in her.

She moaned, her head falling back even as her legs opened to give him better access. She knew he was watching her, assessing every expression flitting across her face. But as his other hand squeezed her nipple just to the point of pain, she didn’t care.

One more quick press of his hand against her clit and she was coming, biting desperately on her bottom lip to keep from screaming as wave after wave of mind-numbing, bone-jarring pleasure swept through her.

He groaned as she clenched around him and he used those talented fingers of his to take her higher and higher. The pleasure went on and on—a liquid pull from her tits to her cunt that electrified everything in its path.

When the contractions finally began to subside, he pulled out of her with a groan. She whimpered, her hips moving desperately against him until he slipped his hands under her ass and lifted her against the wall. His cock pressed urgently against her, wetness already leaking from its head.

“Wait,” she cried breathlessly, reaching into the very top of her stocking and pulling out a condom. “You need this.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Always prepared,” he murmured.

“Always,” she answered, her hips moving urgently against him.

“But was it for me?” He pulled back, moving his cock away from her though his strong hands kept her suspended against the wall. “Did you put that condom there for me, Annalise?” He traced a finger over her overstimulated nipples. “Or would any guy do? As long as he had a dick?”

She met his eyes, suddenly as furious as she was aroused. “Get over yourself, Gabe.”

He lifted an imperious eyebrow. “I am over myself. The question is, are you?” He bent down and roughly took her nipple in his mouth. His teeth closed around her and she screamed, arching wildly off the wall, desperate for him.

“Don’t do this,” she whimpered as he held himself away from her, their only points of contact the hand holding her against the wall and his teeth nipping sharply at her breast.

“You started it, baby. I’m only finishing it.” His tongue soothed the little hurts his teeth had inflicted.

“Then finish it!” she shrieked, grabbing his tightly shorn curls with both hands and trying desperately to pull his mouth to hers. He avoided her, refusing to give her what she wanted.

“Tell me,” he demanded as he shoved two long fingers into her.

“No.” She moved against his hand. She was so close—

He pulled out abruptly. “No!” she wailed, too far gone to care that she was practically begging.

“Tell me.” His voice was hoarse with restraint, but she could see the resolve in his dark chocolate eyes. She would get nothing from him without the truth.

“It was for you.” She pushed her hips out from the wall, blindly, desperately seeking him. “I put it there for you. I came to Emilio’s looking for you.” She glared at him, more furious and aroused than she’d ever been in her life. “Are you satisfied?”

“Not yet,” he grunted, yanking the condom from her non-resistant fingers and making short work of rolling it on. Then, with one hard thrust, he buried himself to the hilt. She went off like a firecracker, would have screamed the place down if he hadn’t found her lips with his own.

“Fuck, Annalise. You’re wicked.” Again and again he pounded into her willing body.

“I know.” She pushed against him. “Harder, Gabe. Please. Harder.”

He glanced in the mirror and she turned her head to do the same, loving the picture they made. Her long, pale legs were locked around his waist. Her head was thrown back, her nipple in his mouth. His dark head and mocha-colored skin made a beautiful contrast to the fair skin of her breasts. One of her hands was wrapped around his shoulders while the other slipped between them to stroke her clit as she pleaded with him for more. He gave her what she wanted, thrusting harder and deeper than he ever had before and her eyes closed, the visual stimulation suddenly too much along with everything else.

As Gabe filled her completely, as he pounded into her as hard and as fast as possible, it came to her. She could love this man—if she wasn’t careful, if she didn’t take a few steps back, if she didn’t watch herself, she could fall for him. Hard. She, Annalise Gallagher, queen of the love ‘em and leave ‘em crowd, was on the verge of falling head over heels.

The shock of the realization, the utter horror of it, nearly cooled the fire raging inside of her. But Gabe sensed her sudden withdrawal and, with a stroke of his finger and a shift of his hips, brought her right back to crisis point.

Deliberately she clenched her muscles around him, massaging him even as he pounded into her. “Annalise,” he gasped, his teeth sinking into her shoulder, holding her in place like an animal claiming its mate. “I can’t last much—”

The pleasure-pain of the bite was all it took to send her over the edge. With a low keening cry she shattered, her muscles milking him until he too let go of his control and came apart in her arms.

Chapter Three

When the last shudders passed, Annalise rested her forehead against Gabe’s. Mission accomplished. She’d set out to remind him of what he was missing without admitting how much she’d missed him, and she’d done one hell of a job if she did say so herself. Not that it had been exactly difficult. He was the most passionate, responsive man she’d ever known. What she hadn’t expected was the strong emotional response he pulled from her more and more often lately. But she could handle her feelings—would handle them—like she always had. By ignoring them until they went away.

He slid her slowly down his body until her Jimmy Choos hit the tile floor. With a cocky grin he stepped back and disposed of the condom before fixing his pants. Ignoring him, she pulled her dress down and turned toward the mirror to study her reflection. She felt branded, exposed, her emotions completely bare for his scrutiny. What was it about this man that tore her open? How did he touch a heart she’d spent years forgetting she even had?

Her own vulnerability hit her and suddenly she wanted to be anywhere but where she was.

Gabe straightened the back of her dress. “This shouldn’t take much longer.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll meet you at your place in about an hour.”

She shrugged carelessly, refusing to let him see how confused she felt. “If something better doesn’t come along.” There was no one better than Gabe, but she’d burn in hell before she let him know it. It never paid to let a guy get too cocky—pun totally intended—and right now, Gabe looked about as cocky as a man could get.

His eyes darkened at her words, anger still sizzling right below the surface. But she ignored the warning sign—something reckless had grabbed ahold of her, making her push at him harder than usual, making her flex her claws. Demanding that she prove she was still a badass, despite the emotions tying her stomach in knots.

Maybe it was that damn movie and the chink it had put in her normally impenetrable armor or maybe it was this strange tenderness for Gabe that wouldn’t go away. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t let her back down—even as Gabe’s hands tightened threateningly on her upper arms.

“I’ll be at your place in ninety minutes—tops. Be there.”

“Oooh. I just love a man who beats his chest,” she murmured, brushing a careless hand over his nipple. “Or anything else for that matter.”

“You don’t want to push me on this, Annalise.”

Their eyes met and locked, the power struggle that had been in evidence from their very first meeting rearing its ugly head again. Part of her wanted to back down, to give just a little. But she had no give in her—Michael, the lying, cheating, scum-sucking bastard—had ripped it out of her eight long years before.

“And you don’t want to push me.”

His grin was mocking. “Try me.”

He turned and left before she could think of a come back. Goddamnit.

Furious, frustrated, and completely unsure of what to do next, Annalise headed back to her table. Once there, she asked Angelo to box up the meal that had arrived in her absence. Tossing a couple of twenties on the table, she gathered up her wrap and doggie bag and headed for the car, making sure not to glance in Gabe’s direction even once. But she felt his eyes on her anyway.

Outside, she took a few deep breaths and leaned a steadying hand against the old brick building that housed Emilio’s. What had she gotten herself into? Falling for another highly sexual, dominant guy? One who drew women’s eyes wherever he went? How could she have done this when she’d sworn after Michael that she’d never give another man that kind of power over her? How could she have not learned from her mistakes?

“Hey, Annalise, you okay?”

She glanced over to see a couple of the valet-parking attendants looking at her with concern. She must be in worse shape than she thought. Fishing in her bag for her valet ticket, she answered, “Just fine, boys.” She handed her ticket to the tall, blonde one. “You guys look swamped.” She nodded toward the full parking lot.

“Never too busy for you,” he answered with a grin as he took the ticket, letting his hand linger on her own just a little longer than necessary. She returned his smile and added a wink. Mickey was a cutie and she remembered fondly a couple of hours she’d spent on top of him late last spring. He’d been a young, but enthusiastic lover.

Though she was still sticky from Gabe, for a split second she thought of taking Mickey up on his unspoken offer. Just to prove to Gabe that he didn’t have any power over what or who she did. Just to prove the same thing to herself.

But she wasn’t in the habit of fucking men to make a point—even to herself. She fucked them for a good time. Sometimes just for a few moments of blessed oblivion. But she’d never been the kind to cut her nose off to spite her face.

So it was with a sigh of regret that she climbed into her two-seater, electric-blue BMW. She waved to the boys and slowly pulled Fancy Pants into traffic.

The girls laughed at her for naming her car, something they thought she should have outgrown by the ripe old age of thirty-four. But for years, her only salvation had been whatever car she was driving. When things got too tough, she could grab the keys and simply fly away for awhile.

Fancy Pants was a far cry from the rusty old Chevy she used to drive, but no less a friend for all her dressed-up parts. She had come a long way from the one-bedroom walk-up she used to share with Michael. She shied away from the memories—eight years wasn’t long enough to forget how it had felt to walk in on him and her perennially youthful, pathetically dependent mother getting it on. Annalise snarled despite herself. Could her life have been any more Jerry Springer?

She’d pulled out of the restaurant parking lot with every intention of going to the Gaslamp Quarter and partying until two, so it was a surprise when she found herself turning right onto Harbor Drive and heading toward Coronado. But, she supposed, it shouldn’t have been. She loved driving along the bay, watching all the tourists with their kids and cameras. She wanted nothing to do with that life, but it was interesting to observe on occasion. Besides, nothing beat the smell of the ocean.