Rush: Part One & Two (The Pitstop Series Book 3)

I didn’t let anyone know I was coming home, not even Adrian. All I told Gabriel was to please go to my room and find a ring I’ve lost. He didn’t understand but agreed to go anyway, no questions asked. This man is wrapped around my finger, just like I am around his.

Adrian told me he’d only be back home in the evening, which gives Gabriel and me enough time to catch up on the three days we’ve been apart. Then, after, I plan on calling James, and the four of us will have dinner and play a few card games. My schedule for the day sounds too good to be true, but I’m going to do my best to make it happen.

The taxi driver gives me a strange look when I place the money on his middle console as soon as he parks and hurry out of the car. I run toward my front door, dropping my backpack in the foyer, and sprinting up the stairs.

Gabriel is already in my bedroom, his attention on his phone before he lifts it to his ear. Mine starts ringing then, and his eyes shift to me as I hit the answer button.

“I’m finally home,” I say into the speaker, and he throws his phone onto the bed, opening his arms for me. I jump into them, wrapping my limbs around his body.

“So am I,” he whispers against my neck.

I slide my fingers into his hair and grin. This is pure happiness. Being in his arms and feeling his body pressed against mine is my personal heaven.

Gabriel drops me onto my feet before capturing my lips with his, letting me know how much he missed me by the way he sighs against my mouth.

“What are you doing here?” he asks before his gaze shifts to my bruised wrist. “Who did this to you?” Anger and concern slip across his face, but worry wins, settling in his green-brown eyes.

“I took the curb wrong when we were karting, and—” Gabriel cuts me off before I can finish the lie.

“It was the royal dickhead, wasn’t it?” I have no intention of telling him how terrifying the crash truly was, but I answer his question with a nod. “How?” My face is between his hands, his thumb tracing my bottom lip.

Although his touch is soft, I know he’s angry. He’s probably never been this angry, and I understand perfectly. If he came home with even the slightest scratch on his body because of someone else, I would be furious with whoever hurt him.

“It was a karting accident, but it’s okay, don’t worry. It already feels a lot better,” I assure him and step back to drop onto my bed.

“Chérie, it’s not okay. At least tell me you gave back harder than he dished out,” he replies, getting frustrated with me now.This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.

“Not a scratch on him, you want to know why?” I ask, and he crosses his arms in front of his chest.

It momentarily distracts me, his muscles and veins sticking out from under his rolled-up long-sleeved shirt.

“Tell me,” he replies in French, and I smile.

“Because I’m better than him. I don’t resort to violence, and I never will. The seat will be mine because I’m the one who follows all the rules.”

My answer doesn’t satisfy him one bit so I slide my shirt over my head and crooked my finger, signaling for him to come closer.

“Get your sweet ass over here and fuck me until I can’t walk anymore, Gabriel.” He runs his tongue over his bottom lip before biting down on it.

“You want it harder today, chérie?” he asks, lifting his shirt over his head and moving toward me.

“Yes,” I admit while he places his hands on each side of me on the mattress.

“You want me to flip you onto your chest, pull you in by the hips, and fuck you from behind?” I swallow hard when his face is merely a few centimeters from mine, my heart racing uncontrollably fast.

“Yes.” I bring my lips against his, barely brushing them.

My hand moves to his bulge so I can palm him through his jeans. His confident composure fades ever so slightly, and I smirk at the control my touch has over him.

“Just watch the wrist,” I say with a challenging smile, and he brings it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the dressing.

“I’ll be gentle with it,” he assures me as he places it on my lap again. “Have you ever had rough sex?” he asks, pushing my curls out of my face to grab it and tilt it upward to him.

“No, have you?” Gabriel gives me a sad smile.

“You can’t make love if you’re not in love. Before you, that was the only type of sex I had,” he replies, and I hold my breath as he guides my lips back to his. “Say ‘tournesol’ if it gets too much for you, and I will stop immediately,” he says, and I can see in his eyes that he doesn’t want to overstep any boundaries.

But I need this. I want him to be rough with me, to fuck me like never before. He’s been careful so far, almost as if I’d break if he pushed harder. I’m not easily broken, and we both crave this, I can see it in his eyes.

“Bring me pleasure,” I say before his lips crash onto mine.