L.L. Foster - The Acceptance

They’d almost reached his car at the farthest end of the lot when she said, “Most of the johns can be cruel, you know. They hurt the women just because they can. They’re mean, nasty, and sometimes they cross the line. But they’re not necessarily evil, just wretched human beings.”

So her intuition didn’t allow for mundane, ordinary, everyday evil? Realizing his own thoughts, Luther shook his head. He’d believe in her—to a point. But he wasn’t ready to buy in hook, line, and sinker.

He decided she needed a little clarification on her observations. “Men who pay for sex are not the best of men, Gaby. Don’t judge everyone by them.”

“I wouldn’t.” At his car, she circled around to the passenger’s side, then stopped and turned to face him. “But I can’t judge all men by you, either.”

Luther told himself to get in the car, to take her to her room so she could get the rest she needed. But his feet wouldn’t budge. There was a magnetic pull to Gaby, and he always felt helpless against it.

They stood in shadows, the chill evening air still around them.

She tipped her head and looked . . . around him. “You’re aroused,” she said.

Like a moth light-struck in her glow, Luther braced his hands on the car around her, caging her in. “You think so, do you?”

Totally relaxed and almost sleepy, Gaby rested against the car. Her expression never changed as she nodded. “I see your aura, so I know you are.”

“Ah. Yeah, I’d almost forgotten.” Many times now, Gaby had commented on auras—always, for him, in a complimentary way.

“Your raw energy is really dancing, Luther. It’s shimmering around you, all excited and jittery and warm.”

Damn. She seduced him, destroyed his better intentions, without even trying. “It’s been established, honey, that I always want you.”

Not one for shyness, Gaby stared into his eyes. “It’s pretty frustrating for me. I don’t want to have sex with you. Hell, I’m still not entirely sure I understand the lure of sex. If you want the truth, what I’ve seen is interesting, but also a little disgusting.”

“What you’ve seen is the dregs of society copulating.” Luther couldn’t keep his gaze off her small breasts. “That’s nothing like a man and woman making love.”

“Oh please. Don’t even mention love. I don’t know what it is, don’t even believe in it, and it sure as hell has nothing to do with a man sticking his dick into a woman until he grunts and moans.”

Luther pulled back. Damn it, her coarse ways weren’t new to him. But her porn-star descriptions still had the power to shock him clean down to his toes.

She rolled her eyes. “Sorry. I can see I said too much. My point is that I want something, but I’m not sure what, and it’s all pretty damned confusing and annoying and I don’t like losing sleep over it.”

An idea came to Luther.

A horrible, wonderful, masochistic idea. His heart thumped; his dick got hard. He licked his lips, leaned in a little closer, and said, “How about I prove a point to you, Gaby? We won’t have intercourse, since you say you aren’t ready. But . . .”

Her brows knit together. “But what? What are you thinking?”

To regain his calm, Luther closed his eyes for just a moment. It didn’t help. His plans became visual, and he saw Gaby, what he wanted to do to her, what he eventually planned to do to her.

And the end result: Her blue eyes glazed with amazement, her body warm and fluid and . . . wet.

Shit. He had it bad, no denying that.

When Luther opened his eyes it was to take a quick look around the empty parking lot while he considered their isolated position. Even if someone did show up at this ungodly hour, his car would block any view of them, of what he’d be doing to her.

He inhaled, girding himself.

“Oh for crying out loud!” Gaby exploded. “Are you planning a murder or worse? What the hell are you up to, cop?”

In response, Luther put his fingertips on the inside of her right knee.

Her eyes widened.

“I can ease your frustration, Gaby. I can make you feel things you didn’t know existed.” As he spoke, he trailed his fingertips higher—under the edge of her skirt, and up to the elastic leg band of her panties.

The cotton was soft, but unadorned—like Gaby. But then, what else would he expect her to wear? Lace? Silk? Not likely.

She held herself perfectly still, watching his face the way a trapped mouse would watch a cat.

“You already feel it, don’t you, honey?”

She swallowed, lifted her chin. “Maybe.”

Yeah, she felt it. His chest expanded with satisfaction— and his body hurt with lust. “Put your arms around my neck.”

With a surprising eagerness, Gaby did as he instructed. Luther kept his right hand between her legs, and with his left, tipped her face up more to accommodate a devouring kiss. She stood only three inches shorter than him, and he knew her to be a very capable woman.

But now, right this moment, she felt fragile and very delicate. Her compliance filled him with steam. With their mouths melded together, her tongue came out to mate with his, urging him on, easing the way for his lesson.

Against her lips, Luther said, “Men who care about women don’t just rut with them. They take the time to enjoy them. I’m going to enjoy you a little, Gaby.”

“Yeah, okay.” She closed the small space between their lips with an insistent kiss.

So eager.

And so easy to sway when aroused.

It was a novel thing to have Gaby in an agreeable mood. He liked it. But then, he liked her even when she was contrary and antagonistic. At times, Luther felt that if he didn’t have her, he’d go mad with the wanting.

When his hand cupped her small breast, she started and pulled her mouth away.

Their gazes met. Watching her, Luther skimmed his thumb over her tightly beaded nipple.

Her breath caught. “What are you doing?”

“Enjoying you.”

Her lips parted and her eyelids went heavy. “Why . . . why does that feel so good?”

Oh God, it was the sweetest torture. “Because you’re enjoying me, too.”

Leaning into his hand, she said again, “Okay.”

Against his wrist, Luther felt the static beat of her heart. Her flesh was soft, her nipple supple. She had sensitive breasts. He liked that. A lot.

After playing with both breasts, tweaking, tugging on her nipples, Luther cupped his other hand over her crotch.

She shot to her tiptoes in surprise.

“Shhh.” Taking her mouth to silence her, to share with her, Luther began stroking. His touch was light and easy, teasing, over the now damp cotton of her panties.

Gaby panted, her breath coming fast and harsh. Her strong fingers sank into his shoulder muscles, almost to the point of pain, definitely with demand. She rocked her hips once, then stilled herself.

“No,” Luther whispered, “don’t stop. Move as you want to move, Gaby. It’ll make it even nicer for you.”

“I don’t know about this.”

“I do.”

Her hands clutched at him. “I feel like a wire being tightened.”

Luther bit her bottom lip, her chin, her throat as he made his way down to her chest. By her nipple, he said, “I want you pulled so tight, you snap.” And then he drew her nipple into his mouth.

She cried out, curled herself around him, moaned.

No reserve for Gaby. In this, she couldn’t be more honest.

“Lift your shirt for me, Gaby.” As he said it, Luther worked his hand up and over into the waistband of her panties. He felt her soft pubic curls, her hot flesh.

She didn’t move and he raised his face to look at her.

From the time he’d known Gabrielle Cody, he’d noticed some affliction that altered her appearance through strong emotion.