Page 14 of One Room Vacancy
His mouth drags down my neck, sucking just hard enough to make me gasp, just hard enough to leave a mark.
My legs part instinctively as he settles between them, and I reach for his belt, fumbling it open without ceremony.
“Need a little help there?” he murmurs, lips brushing my collarbone.
“I swear to God,” I mutter, “if you stall for dirty talk, I’ll kill you.”
He chuckles, low and warm, and kicks off his pants and boxers in one motion, like he’s been ready this whole time.
He has.
I can feel it when he presses against me, thick and hot, dragging the head of his cock through the wet mess between my thighs.
We haven’t used condoms since that first night.
Afterward, I told him about the IUD. He told me he’d gotten tested a couple months before, and we both agreed to get checked again—just to be sure.
It should’ve felt clinical. Awkward, maybe.
But, instead, it felt like something else entirely. Like trust, like honesty.
He mentioned once that he never went without protection with Kara. That even after all those years, something in him still didn’t trust her enough to.
But with me? He didn’t even flinch.
“You still good?” he asks, voice quieter now. Still rough.
“Gabe,” I snap, tugging him closer. “If you ask me that again, I’m gonna walk out of your life and straight into Jackson and Gen’s hotel suite.”
His laugh stutters, half breath, half groan, as he presses in closer, lining himself up with one hand at my hip.
“Jackson’s with your brother tonight,” he mutters against my throat. “Y’know, seeing as he and Gen are getting married tomorrow.”
I smirk. “Even better. The other side of her bed’s empty.”
He groans, full-body, the sound punched from somewhere deep.
“Fucking hell, Sage.”
And then he thrusts in, slow and thick and shallow—like the joke never happened.
My breath catches, body stretching to take him.
He’s still for a beat, forehead pressed to mine, and I can feel the way his fingers flex against my skin, like he’s trying to hold it together.
Like if he moves before I tell him to, he’ll lose every ounce of self-control he’s got left.
And, honestly? I want him to.
The moment stretches, thick with heat and history.
And then?—
He thrusts in slow, deep, and all the way.
I suck in a sharp breath, nails digging into his shoulders as he bottoms out.
He holds himself there, buried to the hilt, like he’s giving me a second to adjust—or giving himself a second not to lose it.
