Page 3 of Off Limits
The man who'd been conspicuously absent from his father's funeral.
Well, this was just fucking perfect. Of all the people to find trespassing on his property, it had to be the one person who could still make Asher feel like an awkward teenager with a crush. The universe really had a sick sense of humor.
Memory provided an immediate, visceral image: Gabriel at the kitchen table, nursing a mug of coffee, sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned forearms dusted with silver hair. The way those forearms flexed when he lifted the mug. Gabriel laughing at something Ray said, the sound rich and warm, rumbling from deep in his broad chest. Gabriel noticing Asher hovering in the doorway, those intense blue eyes softening as he said, "Look at you, getting taller every time I see you."
Heat had crawled up Asher's neck at those words, at being seen. At the way Gabriel's gaze had lingered just a second too long, with something unreadable in his expression.
Asher had mumbled something unintelligible before fleeing, his skin too hot, his jeans suddenly too tight. That was the summer he'd realized his admiration for his father's friend had transformed into something altogether different. Something sick and wrong that made his stomach flutter and his palms sweat and his cock stir with embarrassing eagerness whenever Gabriel was near.
His dad's best friend. The man who'd taught him to fish, who'd been at every major holiday, who probably still thought of him as Ray's kid.
And here Asher was, getting hard just from a memory of Gabriel's forearms.
Christ, what kind of fucked up person wanted their father's friend like that? The age gap alone should have killed any attraction—Gabriel had to be nearly old enough to be his father himself. But that had only made it worse somehow, made Asher's fantasies darker and more desperate.
All those nights jerking off to thoughts of Gabriel pinning him down, of that deep voice calling him a good boy, of those rough hands?—
Pathetic.
And now Gabriel was here, in the forbidden building, on the night of the full moon that his father had marked on the calendar.
Asher approached the door, flashlight beam bobbing with each step, conflicting emotions making his heart race. Part of him wanted to run—the same part that had always fled when Gabriel's presence became too much.
But another part, a darker part he'd cultivated during three years of survival in the city, wanted answers.
What was he even going to say?Hey, remember me, the kid who ran away at eighteen? Sorry about my dad, by the way. Mind explaining why you're trespassing on my property?
Before he could overthink it further, movement caught his eye—a shadow passing by the window. Curiosity overrode caution, and Asher veered toward it, careful to stay out of the direct light spilling from inside.
Pressing against the rough stone wall, he inched toward the window. The blackout curtains didn't quite meet at the edge, leaving a sliver of visibility.
Asher peered through—and his breath caught.
Gabriel Stone was pacing the length of the sparsely furnished single room. The years had been kind to him—if anything, he looked more compelling now than he had when he was younger. His hair was streaked with a little silver now, swept back from a face that had gained character rather than age. The sharp line of his jaw, the way his shoulders filled out his flannel shirt, the unconscious grace in every movement despite his obvious agitation.
But it was more than just his looks that made Asher's body react. It was the way Gabriel moved—controlled power in every step, like he was constantly holding something back. The way his hands flexed at his sides, tendons standing out. The way he filled the space, commanding it without trying. Even agitated, even pacing like a caged animal, he radiated a magnetism that made Asher's mouth go dry and his skin feel too tight.
Asher's body reacted immediately and without permission—pulse jumping, mouth going dry, a familiar heat pooling low in his belly that he'd thought three years of anonymous hookups had burned out of him.
But no, apparently Gabriel Stone still had the same effect, still made Asher feel like that desperate eighteen-year-old who'd jerked off to thoughts of his father's best friend with shame and want in equal measure.
But there was something wrong.
Something was in the tense set of his shoulders, the almost predatory quality of his movements. Gabriel kept rolling his neck as if working out a persistent kink, occasionally squeezinghis eyes shut and shaking his head before resuming his restless pacing.
He looked like a man fighting something inside himself.
Asher shifted his weight, leaves rustling underneath his shoes.
It was just a tiny sound—no-one inside should have even be able to hear it.
But inside, Gabriel went utterly still.
Then, with uncanny precision, his head turned directly toward the window—toward Asher—as if he'd pinpointed the exact source of the noise.
And there was something dark in his eyes.
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