Page 94 of Five
Besotted is what I am, and the feeling grows each day. When I hear Bez talking softly to Wednesday, when I fall asleep on the sofa with my cheek resting on Gabe’s strong thigh and his long fingers carding through my hair, stroking my neck, tracing my lips, when I wake up to the sight of them emerging from the bathroom all wet and fresh, hard abdominal muscles on display with that delicious light trail that disappears inside the small towel around their hips, hiding the best part of them from my gaze until it falls on the ground and they walk to the closet with their soft but still impressive dick hanging between their legs, balls swinging.
They surprised me grandly when I received Sully’s frantic call yesterday; he was having a panic attack. Rague and Ollie were busy with a donor while Brad had gone out to get somethingto eat and wasn’t picking up his phone. I jumped out of bed, ready to drive my supermini barracuda when Bez started getting dressed too.
“Wherever you go, I go,” he simply stated, and down the besotted hole I went. I slid even further when I witnessed the tranquility Gabe transmitted to Sully. The patience and understanding he showed to the frightened boy. When that didn’t work, Bez came out, calling Pink a rotten cat.
“Is she a survivor of the nuclear bomb?” he snorted.
A glowering Sully found his fighting spirit again as he told him off. I noticed the twitch on Gabe’s lips at his answer. They did it on purpose to make the boy react. To make him forget about his fears.They left me in awe of them.
The besotted hole seems to have no bottom whatsoever.
Then Gabe has started wearing casual clothes—I say Gabe because Bez I’ve learned would go around butt naked if he could.
I discovered that low, gray sweatpants are the fuck-me-right-here-right-now garment of choice. They are also a concussion risk since I seem to trip over my feet every time he wears nothing but those sweats. They perfectly outline the thick shape of his delicious dick, riding low on the V pointing right in its direction with blond hair peeking out of the waistband, leaving his long, defined chest on display. Without exception, my mouth pops open every time he walks in like that.
Even in a white cotton, knit-ribbed muscle shirt showing his bulging biceps, low-rise jeans wrapped around his muscular butt—he can fill them like a dream—brown dress leather ankle boots, and a sexy, navy beanie covering his blond hair, he’s just…too much. I might need to invest in a smelly salt company.
I do like Gabe wearing his tailored, three-piece suits as well, though. They make me purr with lust. At the firm, he tries to be all professional, but I can see how much he forces himself at times, his eyes gleaming as he glances at me while in a meeting, talking to clients or colleagues. His hand seems to always find its way to my thigh under the table, sending a jolt up my body, but he does it slowly, as if he is reluctant to touch me but can’t help himself.
Does he feel the same inexorable pull that draws me to him? The same tingle that rapidly travels down my torso and halts in the pit of my stomach?
Gabe’s hard gaze says no funny business, but when he calls me to his office, his voice over the phone is raspy and sounds like sex. I look forward to our private…fights, to his hand set across my throat without hampering my breath, his thumb on my chin tilting it up, forcing me to open my lips as he pushes closer until all I perceive is him—and my body hyperventilating.
Today, though, our fight didn’t end up the usual way—with me pinned on a flat surface, filled with his dick. He had just come back home when he received a call from Rami. I know it was him because I heard his voice through the phone. Gabe told me to start eating the dinner I bought from his favorite Greek restaurant.
When I asked him where he was going, he just replied, “Stay,” as he grabbed his keys.
“Not your dog, Gabriel,” I full-named him.
“No, but you scream when I fuck you doggie style.” Bez smirked at me smugly. He’s such an egotistical, overgrown, conceited prick at times.
“How about I bite your balls off, dog style?”
“Kinky, Little Wasp. But we do love your teeth on us.” He’s crouched to pet Wednesday. It’s baffling how Bez loves my hen while Gabe barely acknowledges her.
“I know that!” I retort. “Still want to tear you a new one if you keep me out of this. The ‘where you go, I go’ is only one-sided then.”
His eyes darken as Gabe takes over again. They switch quite often when we are at home or fucking. I can recognize the small signs now. “Stay here. I won’t leave you out of the fun.”
Arrogant, bumptious, bigheaded, ridiculously handsome dick!
“Okay.” I shove the bitter word out between gritted, cracking teeth.
His eyes bore a hole in my head, while his lips give an amused twitch—still no smile from Gabe. He seems to see through my fake submission and malicious compliance. But he still leaves.
I took the piss out of Ollie and Rague and their co-dependency numerous times. And now more than anything I want both Bez and Gabe to feel reluctance similar to mine when they let me go.
I stomp to the walk-in closet in the bedroom, dialing Sari’s number. If my boyfriends don’t want to share with me, I won’t share with them.
Did I just refer to Gabe and Bez as my…boyfriends?
“Hey, Lori.” Sari decides to pick up as my brain is trying to recover from the bloody massacre of my neurons. “Hello?”
“Angel, do you have access to weaponized smallpox? Cholera?” My eyes fall on the small Lady Dior bag I rented from the thriftstore downtown three weeks ago. I have to return it soon. I’m kind of happy my time is up. It reminds me of Crimson, the pain, the embarrassment, and my arsehole boyfriends.
Boyfriends. Boyfriends, I mentally repeat it. It sounds right. The same boyfriends that gave me Prada and Chanel bags. Imagining strangling them while kissing them is a healthy mental exercise. Everybody knows that venting is good for the soul.
I slide my hand inside the bag to make sure I didn’t leave anything inside when a piece of paper slides to the floor.
