Page 79 of Ours to Lose
Which was also a reminder of those who weren’t.
Most years, it made me not want to celebrate at all. This year, it felt like maybe I should. If for no other reason than both Nana and Mrs. Hardt would want me to. That, and a birthday spent sulking alone would do nothing to help my inspirational rut.
On the stairs out front, I waited for Gabe to unlock the door. He rooted through his gym bag while focused on his phone.
“Want me to find your keys?” I offered. He’d been texting on and off all morning, much more than usual. Whatever he was messaging about must have been important.
He tucked his phone away. “Sorry, I got it.”
He led me into the gym and back to the office. It wasn’t as chilly inside now that the weather was warming up, but it wasn’t exactly toasty either. He’d still need the space heater at night.
I bit my tongue to keep from offering my bed. Getting used to having him in my apartment in that way—to have a bedtime routine and share a morning shower, to kiss each other as we headed out the door—was too dangerous. Too much like a relationship instead of the friends with benefits this was.
I waited inside the door to the office and remembered one of those benefits in vivid detail. The time last week he’d set the desk chair in front of the full-length mirror in the corner and sat me on his cock facing away so I could see him spread my thighs with his knees while I held my suction vibe to my clit. I’d been fully naked while he’d still had his gym clothes on, his shorts scrunched down to free his length.
I’d come three times, throbbing around his fullness as he played with my breasts and shifted just enough to grind against the G-spot I used to be convinced I didn’t have. When I couldn’t keep the vibrator in place any longer, he held it to me as my body flew to a level I’d never reached before, and my next orgasm soaked his lap.
It had been my first time squirting. My first time using a vibrator during sex. Just like last night had been my first time trying period sex.
Gabe was giving me every new experience I could imagine, and more I never would have known to wish for. Whenever our arrangement ended, I’d have to find a way to repay him. Maybe cook him lunches for eternity or maintain flower boxes outside the gym.
Maybe both.
It still wouldn’t be enough.
He reached into one of the desk drawers and withdrew a yellow gift bag adorned with multicolored butterflies. My heart swelled so much it hurt.
I grinned and held out my hands. “Give.”
Gabe rounded the desk and passed me the gift. “Don’t get too excited. You might not like it.”
That wasn’t possible, but I didn’t waste time arguing. I just tore into the glittery tissue paper and pulled out the present.
“They’re more for me,” he said as I examined the bright pink boxing gloves.
“Girls who box turn you on or something?” I teased.
He smirked. “You would. But these are so I can train you a little, teach you some self-defense. I’ll feel better about you spending nights alone at the prep kitchen if I know you’re ready with a few strong punches. That, and I figured pretending the bag is Christian’s face might help you relieve some stress.”
I hugged the gloves to my chest, incapable of finding the words to match the warmth brimming inside of me. He eyed me, waiting to see if I liked them, even as I strode forward and leaped into his arms.
The strength of his hold felt like coming home as I buried my face in his neck. He ran one hand up my spine to cradle my head like I was precious. Someone he wanted to protect even though we were no longer kids. Someone he wanted to teach to be strong by sharing a part of his world. The part that meant the most to him.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Happy birthday,” he said back.
I knew he’d hold me until I asked to be put down. Whatever I wanted, he’d give me.
I didn’t let go just yet.
It turnedout pretending to punch Christian’s face inwasa great stress relief.
After wrapping my hands and helping me put on my new gloves, Gabe showed me how to punch the heavy bag. When my stance was set and I’d landed a few half-decent blows, he let me at it for real.
I barely moved it, but each pop of my glove against the bag brought satisfaction anyway, the power of my blows reverberating through my arms, making me feel alive. Powerful. Like I could take on anyone or anything that tried to mess with me and knock it on its ass.
Christian? Get the fuck out of here.
