Page 10 of A Kiss on a Dare
I follow him, my legs feeling like jelly. I can’t tell if it’s from the alcohol, the arousal, or some dangerous mix of both.
As we step into the lobby, Gabrielle asks for my address. I tell it to him, my voice quieter than I intended.
And now I can’t help but wonder:Are we doing what I think we’re doing?Or is he just taking me home like a very responsible senior hospital staff member, always looking out for everyone?
The car arrives in less than a minute, and soon, we’re sitting in the back seat, quiet. I’m painfully aware of our shoulders touching, hyper-focused on every inch of him next to me. A small shiver runs through me, partly from the cold, and Gabrielle notices.
“Are you cold?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. In the dim light of the car, I glance at him, and something about the way he’s looking at me makes my pulse stutter. His eyes seem darker, pupils blown wide. He must be drunk—or maybe I am—because this feels too intense, too surreal.
“Yeah,” I admit, squeezing my hands between my knees to warm them. I chuckle softly, trying to lighten the mood. “Leaving the coats at the hospital was a bad idea.”
Before I can process what’s happening, Gabrielle reaches out, takes both of my hands in his, and covers them with his own. His palms are warm—so warm—and the gentleness of the gesture leaves me completely stunned. I freeze, my breath catching, as my brain struggles to keep up.
The way he’s holding my hands like they’re something precious makes the world tilt on its axis. My thoughts grind to a halt, and I’m left with one conclusion: I must be drunk, passed out cold somewhere on the basement floor of the hospital, because there’s no way this is real.
It’s intimate, almost erotic—the way he’s holding my hands yet avoids looking at me. His gaze stays fixed downward as if he’s shy, and the quiet between us stretches, charged and heavy. For the entire ride to my apartment, we stay like this—my hands in his, neither of us daring to move or breathe too deeply. When the car finally stops in front of my building, Gabrielle lets go, the loss of his touch too sudden. Without meeting my eyes, he opens his door and steps out.
The wave of disappointment that crashes over me is so overwhelming I barely notice anything else—until the car drives off into the snowy night, and it hits me: Gabrielle didn’t stay in the cab. He left with me.
Wait, wait, wait.My mind spins wildly.Did Cat get it wrong? Is Dr. Gaybrows actually gay? Could she have misconstrued everything?The questions buzz in my head like an alarm as I walk toward the building, Gabrielle trailing two steps behind me, silent.
I don’t dare look at him, don’t dare say a word. The moment feels as fragile as spun glass, and I’m terrified of shattering it. My breath comes faster as I open the door to my building, and we step inside. The warm air of the lobby feels electric, buzzing with something I’m afraid to name.
And then the drunk and horny demon in me—the one I’ve been trying to hold back all night—takes over. Without letting myself think, I turn, spin around, and push Gabrielle against the wall. I see his eyes—wide, surprised, but there’s no hint of protest. My hands find his chest as I rise onto my toes, and before I can talk myself out of it, my lips crash onto his.
Chapter 4. The Morning After
For one heart-stopping moment, everything freezes. Gabrielle’s lips are warm and soft against mine, and his body is solid beneath my hands. I feel his sharp intake of breath, the way his chest rises under my palms, and then—oh God—his hands are on my waist, pulling me closer.
He kisses me back.
The world tilts, spins, and then rights itself as Gabrielle’s mouth moves against mine, hungry and demanding. His grip tightens, his fingers digging into my hips as he draws me in, pressing me flush against him. I’m drowning in his warmth, his scent, the sheer intensity of him.
My hands slide up to his shoulders, gripping tightly as he deepens the kiss. His tongue traces my bottom lip, and I open for him without hesitation, a needy sound escaping my throat. The noise seems to ignite something in him because suddenly he’s turning us, pinning me against the wall, and—God—his thigh is between my legs.
“Ray,” he breathes against my mouth, and the sound of my name in that wanting voice nearly undoes me. His lips trail down my jaw, hot and insistent, and I can’t stop the way my hips buck against his thigh. The instant I feel the friction, my arousal pressing into him, I lose all control.
My cock is so hard it’s painful, and I find myself grinding against him, desperate for more. Gabrielle’s gaze drops, his eyes glued to the way I move against his leg. For a moment, it’s like he’s caught in a trance, his mouth slightly open, his breathing uneven. The way he looks at me—at my bulging cock sliding against his leg—is so carnal, so primal, I can feel it in my bones.
“Let’s go upstairs,” I whisper in his ear, my voice shaking with need. “Please, James.”
But the words snap something in him. Gabrielle stills, his hands going slack on my hips. His eyes, so dark they’re nearly black, close for a moment as he takes a deep breath. When he opens them again, something in his expression has shifted, cooled.
“I think it might be better…if you go to sleep,” he says softly, his tone unreadable.
The words hit like a punch to the gut. I freeze, the rush of desire draining out of me in an instant. Mortification rises, hot and choking, as I replay everything in my head. Oh God. Did I just ruin everything? What if I read it all wrong—the kiss, the way he touched me, the way he looked at me? Maybe this was nothing more than a drunken experiment for him, something fleeting, meaningless. And here I am, grinding against him like a horny idiot who can’t keep it together.
“I’m sorry,” I stammer, stepping back quickly, my face burning. “God, I’m so sorry—”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Gabrielle cuts me off, his voice still quiet but firm. His gaze lingers on me, conflicted, and there’s something in his expression I can’t decipher. For a moment, I think he might say something else, but instead, he lets go of me completely and steps away.
Without another word, he turns and walks out into the snowy night.
I just stand there in the lobby, staring through the window as he disappears into the darkness. My chest feels hollow, the weight of my embarrassment crushing. What the hell was I thinking? I’m left with nothing but the ache of rejection and the bitter sting of my own stupidity.
***
The next morning, I dread waking up even while I’m still sleeping—my brain is awake, dragging me toward consciousness against my will. Somewhere deep down, I already know something bad happened. The feeling lurks, heavy and unshakable, even before I’m fully aware.
