You Before Me (18 page)

Gabe tenses, but then steps around me.
I'm about to ask what he's doing, but he's just closing the blinds
on the window of the door.

“On the table.”

A thrill runs through me at his order.
I move a chair out of the way and hop up to sit on the table. He
disappears down the hall and into his bathroom but reappears
moments later with a condom. Gabe walks over and pushes the napkins
and salt and pepper shakers that are behind me out of the way
before finally settling between my knees. He grabs my waist and
scoots me forward so I'm on the edge of the table.

“Lift your hips.”

With my hands on either side of me, I
do. Gabe hooks his fingers in the waistband of my shorts and yanks
them off. God, he's fucking hot when he gets like this. He's
clearly thinking about only one thing, and that is what he's about
to do to me. The condom is tossed onto the table before Gabe pulls
the chair over, taking a seat.

“Lay down on the table,
Ryan.”

I lean back on the table as Gabe
spreads my knees, muttering about how wet I am already. He kisses
my inner thigh but switches to the other one before finally
bringing his mouth down on me, his beard scratching my skin. Fuck.
When I look, all I can see is a head full of curls between my legs.
Gabe's mouth is hot as he sucks before piercing me with his tongue.
My mind and body surrender completely to him right then and there.
I'm lost in an ocean of scorching, never-ending
pleasure.

When Gabe brings me to the brink, he
pushes me backwards, making me wait. He commands me to sit up and
put the condom on him, my hands trembling with need. And then he
fucks me on the kitchen table. My body is weak and shaking from the
orgasm, but Gabe picks me up and we're off to the next room. After
each powerful climax that makes me scream from the top of my lungs,
I don't think I can do it again. I'm out of energy until Gabe tugs
me to the next location and gets me all hot and wet to the point
where I have to have him inside me again.

Once we've made our rounds, our
clothes somewhere between his room and the kitchen, he plops onto
the bed. Thank God. I didn't think his energy would ever run out.
Unfortunately for him, we're not quite done yet. My mouth waters
with what I want to do. His hooded eyes watch me as I crawl over
him, my breasts brushing against his legs.

“Ryan,” he starts as I wrap my fingers
around his cock and swirl my tongue over the tip. He groans
instantly, and I know he's extra sensitive. I lick and suck down
his shaft, dragging noises from Gabe as I do so.

Slowly, I come back up and take him
into my mouth. Gabe's hand goes to the base of my neck. I don't
need him to guide me though. With a careful ease, I lower myself
more and more until I can't without gagging. He's taut and salty in
my mouth. When I suddenly suck in and Gabe curses, I've never felt
so good about this in my entire life. I work him with my hand and
mouth until a hot squirt hits the back of my throat, causing Gabe
to mutter something incoherently. Watching him watch me, I pull
away, lick my lips deliberately and lazily before
swallowing.

He shakes his head slightly, but
there's a faint smile on his lips. As I crawl to lay next to him,
how spent I am hits me. Just as I get comfortable in his arms, my
phone blares from the kitchen.

“Damn it,” I whine. “I don't wanna get
up.”

Gabe chuckles. “I'll go get
it.”

He leaves, and I hear him answer it
for me, returning seconds later with the phone held out to me. A
glance at my screen tells me it's Viv.

“Hey, what's up?” I ask as Gabe gets
back into bed.

“You've slept with him, Ryan?!” she
yells and I flinch. I didn't think he'd remember, but I guess he
did. Why would he mention that to her anyway? “Damn it, Ryan. How
am I supposed to even get to know a guy if you've slept with half
the men on campus?! I don't want him if you've had him.”

“What are you trying to say, Viv? How
did this even come up?”

“He was buzzed and made a comment
about how he fucked you and how we should have a threesome!” She
calms down as she takes a deep breath. “You're my friend, Ryan. All
I meant is that I would feel a lot better about seeing or sleeping
with a guy if I knew you hadn't have slept with them
already.”

“Sorry. Would you like a list?” I
joke.

“No, just warn me next time,
okay?”

“Okay.”

We hang up, and I glance at Gabe who
has fallen asleep. I turn my phone on silent, set it on his bedside
table, and cuddle up to him. He immediately tugs me closer. Soon, I
drift to sleep.

* * *

This time when I wake up, I'm on my
side, facing the edge of the bed. An arm suddenly lands on me, and
Gabe pulls me against his chest. I try not to move or let him know
that I'm awake. I don't want to in turn wake him up. A couple
minutes pass before Gabe nuzzles into my neck.

“You're awake, aren't you?” He
mumbles.

“How'd you know?”

“You're too still.”

I laugh. “Sorry. I was trying not to
wake you up.”

“It's time to get up anyway,” he says,
and I glance at the clock. It's seven thirty in the morning. “Are
you going to let me take over your Me Day? There's some place I
want to take you.”

I roll over in his arms. “Where's
that?”

Gabe shakes his head. “Not telling.
You might not go if I tell you. So I'm making it a
surprise.”

A surprise? The kind where if I know
beforehand, I wouldn't want to go. “Well, now I'm
scared.”

Gabe laughs, his smile a beautiful
thing to see this morning. “Don't worry, Ryan. It's only going to
be you and me. We'll have breakfast, showers, and then we'll head
out.”

That's just what we do too. Although,
he should have just said shower because we took one together. It's
around eleven thirty when we leave. Gabe takes me downtown, and I
realize we're going to the art museum. This is where he wanted to
take me? He glances at me, looking for a bad reaction, but I'm not
going to give him one. If this is where he wanted to take me, then
I'll have an open mind. Gabe reaches for my hand and leads me
inside when I smile at him.

“Why did you want to bring me here?” I
ask curiously.

“Honestly?”

“You can lie if you want,” I laugh,
bumping his shoulder. Gabe smiles. “I want to know, Gabe,” I say
seriously.

“I love seeing all the art. It's
peaceful and there's just something fascinating about being able to
see every stroke on the painting. You'll see what I
mean.”

I sure hope so because I don't want to
disappoint him. There are a couple of people strolling around, and
we come to the first painting hanging on the wall. It's an image
during autumn by the colorful trees, and the sky is a bright blue
dotted with clouds. Towards the right side, there is a log cabin
nestled into the mountains. Gabe stands next to me, his head tilted
as he examines it. I try to see what he sees.

No doubt it's a beautiful painting.
Looking closer, I can see the texture along the surface from the
different brush strokes. To think that each individual flourish of
the brush made the image as a whole does seem fascinating like Gabe
said. We move onto the next one which is a stormy ocean and a
lighthouse. This one is stunning. I want to take it home and absorb
it all. To take time to appreciate all the colors and details that
went into making it look like this. I almost wish I had an artistic
talent, so I could create something like that.

“Wow,” I whisper.

“You like this one?” Gabe
questions.

“Yeah, I do.”

He squeezes my hand. “This is my
favorite.”

We move throughout the place, seeing
all different pieces of art. But when we come across a large
painting that has its own wall, I'm in awe. In a way, it's simple.
A painting of fire. Orange, red, white, all mixed together on a
black background. I can't even begin to absorb the magnificence of
it. After five minutes of me not making a move to go to the next
one, Gabe stands behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, and
rests his chin on my shoulder. As if by standing like this, he can
see exactly what has me captivated. I'm trying to understand it
myself.

The flames almost seem to be warring
with themselves. Haphazardly going this way and that while
stretching upwards. I see little flecks of white at the top of the
wall, and I'm convinced that the fire is trying to reach for the
sky. This one, huge inferno feels like it's battling itself while
hoping to stretch to the sky. I wonder if the artist felt angry and
lost at being pulled in so many different directions.

That's what I feel as my eyes rake
over each stroke. The raging flames dance with the wind as it's
forced to go in whichever different it's being push towards while
struggling to rise up to reach its desired destination. It's so
much like me. I want to go my own way, but I'm tangled with the
coercion of my parents and their hopes for my life. And like the
fire battling the unseen hands of the gusts of air, I struggle
against my parents. While trying to find a middle ground, I end up
fighting myself as well and destroying what's around me. I want to
reach the sky. Or at least be a star. It's much calmer up there
than down here with the fire.

I become overwhelmed with all there
is, it's too much to take in. Faintly, I know I'll be back to see
it again. It spoke to me, and I want to return later to examine it
further. Maybe even find answers.

“This is my favorite. Hands down,” I
murmur, not wanting to speak too loudly. I want to tell him more,
explain it to him, but I don't think I can. Instead, I turn in his
arms to find those brown eyes. “Thank you for bringing me,
Gabe.”

He chuckles. “You're welcome. I'm so
happy you've enjoyed yourself, but there's more to see, you
know.”

With a quick kiss, I reluctantly allow
him to lead me to the rest of the art. It is relaxing, oddly
enough. I never thought I would enjoy something like this. Boring
is the first word that would come to mind. Not anymore. When we
finish, we head outside and walk a little ways to an Italian
restaurant for a late lunch.

“If you liked that, maybe we can make
a trip to Raleigh. They have a large museum up there that I'd love
to see,” Gabe tells me with a hint of excitement. He really does
love this stuff, and I never would have thought that.

“Yeah, sure. That sounds like
fun.”

After we've ordered, a seriousness
settles over us. I don't particularly like it or want it to be this
way. Not today anyhow. Gabe has one hand under the table, his
fingers dancing over my knee.

“Are you still going to major in
French?”

Withholding a groan, I shrug. “I'm not
sure if I want to do that anymore. There's too many choices. It's
impossible to decide, Gabe.” He gives me a stern, disapproving
look, and I feel the need to continue. “French was a rash decision
anyway. I made it within a couple days. You would think that after
a year of college, I would have more of an idea, but I
don't.”

“Ryan,” Gabe interrupts before I keep
going on and on. “Major in French.” His tone is authoritative like
when we're having sex.

“But what if I hate it? Or what if I'm
terrible at it?”

“You have to do it in order to know
either of those things.”

True. He has a point. “Why don't we
talk about you?”

It slightly irritates me when he grins
and says, “Let's talk away. What do you want to know or
discuss?”

I narrow my eyes at him, taking a sip
of my iced water because this place doesn't have any Sunkist. After
thinking about it for a bit, I know just the thing. “Fine. Tell me
what your mother was talking about last night when she said you
overlook key signs that cause you to get hurt.”

Gabe loses his smile, and I regret
asking him before he even answers. The waiter brings us our dishes.
It's not until we've started eating that Gabe tells me. “I
sometimes have more faith in people than they deserve. I give them
chances they shouldn't have. Because of that, I consequently ignore
signs that show they will hurt me in the end. That's
all.”

He seems awfully vague, so I decide to
let it go. “Did you play any other sports besides football when you
were growing up?”

“Yeah, I played baseball
too.”

Mm. I could just picture him in a
baseball uniform. It's even hotter than the football picture on his
mantel. Wonder where that picture is because I want to see it. He's
got the perfect ass for those pants.

“Do you ever wish you hadn't quit
tennis?” He asks.

“No.” I shake my head. “It was too
much pressure.”

“But what if the pressure wasn't there
anymore? Would you play again?”

“I'm probably not that great now. It's
been so long.” Why is he asking me this? “I've done a little bit of
everything, remember? Tennis, softball, gymnastics, track,
swimming, piano, violin, choir, Spanish, dance, theater; you name
it, I've probably tried it. Even took a kickboxing class once, but
that was too boyish for my parents to handle.”