“Gabe,” I murmur, his lips still against mine.
“Mmm,” he says, the sound strained and distant, as if he’s reciting baseball statistics or math equations or whatever men do when they’re too turned on to function.
“Now,” I urge him. “Now please.”
His forehead is damp against mine as he nods, his hand flailing outward, searching. It returns with a condom and lube. His head rears back as he applies them, touching himself, and for a moment, I’m able to admire the gorgeous stretch of his neck, the hard swallow he makes as I reach out to feel him.
“Don’t,” he chokes out, stilling my hand. “I…you…can’t…”
I shift beneath him, making space for his body, my hips cradling his, feeling the length of him against me.
“Fuck,” he groans. “Can I…can we…please…？”
I grip his shoulders.
“Yes,” I say. “Yes, please yes.”
With a hiss of pleasure, he notches himself against me and pushes.
His voice is gravel, swearing and praising as he advances, thick and deep and slow inside of me. I might have responded, but my breath, my voice, is gone, my entire being focused on the place where our bodies are coming together.
His arms are braced on either side of my shoulders. I don’t know where he gets the strength because I’m having trouble remembering how to breathe. I wait for him to start moving. Need him to start moving.
But he stays still, releasing one long, gusting exhale.
“Gabe…” I finally manage to choke out. “Don’t…stop…Please…don’t…”
Before I can say it again, he’s responding, easing slowly back and then pushing forward, deeper.
“Yes…” My head goes back. “I need…yes…”
The words hiss out between my teeth as he tilts his hips and thrusts again. Hard. Perfect.
My words are gone then, lost in the cacophony of groans and panting coming from a place deep inside of me. Sounds that Gabe matches, his own head shaking back and forth as our bodies meet over and over again, almost as if he can’t believe this is actually happening.
I rake my nails down his back and he growls, tucking his head against the crook of my neck, biting and kissing, his hips moving faster. We’re both chasing the same thing, racing toward it together.
“Yes.” He takes my earlobe between his teeth. “Yes.”
It’s a request. A command.
Somehow, he’s able to balance himself on one arm, his other hand snaking between our bodies. His fingers are slick. He leans back slightly, just enough to change the angle of everything, just enough for him to go even deeper, just enough for him to drag his thumb hard and firm against me.
Just enough.
“Chani.” His breath is burned into the side of my neck. “Chani.”
My name on his lips is perfect.
“Fuck, I’m…”
Words seem to escape him. His palm slides against mine, pressing my hand against the bed, our fingers entwined. Gabe holds on to me like we’re finding our way out of a storm. I’m aware of nothing but where our bodies connect. Hands. Hips. Lips. There’s a shudder and at first I can’t tell if it’s me or him, but then I’m lost. I explode like a star.
It takes a long time for him to stop shaking. For the room to stop spinning. And when he does and when it does, he leans back and pushes the hair out of my face, his thumb tender against the side of my cheek.
I close my eyes as he kisses me.
My entire heart feels like it’s sitting at the base of my throat. Heavy. Tight.
“It’s you,” he says.
THE RUMOR MILL
RENEWING OLD BONDS
Gabe Parker is planning his comeback. The former Bond star is already getting some Oscar-worthy buzz for his upcoming role as C. K. Dexter Haven in Oliver Matthias’s remake of The Philadelphia Story.
The infamous actor was spotted out and about in L.A. this week, and was captured having lunch with writer Chani Horowitz, who—as most fans will remember—rose to infamy of her own for her deeply personal profile of Parker almost a decade ago.
Horowitz wrote about spending the weekend with Parker attending premieres and after-parties. Most memorably she recounted passing out at Parker’s house after a private party he held. Despite being photographed together at the premiere of Shared Hearts both have denied anything unprofessional ever happened.
Their representatives have confirmed that Horowitz is indeed writing a follow-up to her first article, but the cozy pictures of them at lunch insinuate what people have suspected for years—that despite Horowitz’s juicy profile, there was plenty that she left out.