“This one you won’t grow apart from," Mum said, tapping her lip, then smiling broadly. "He doesn't strike me as the type that would let you."
"Let me? Let me? Has the past fifty years of feminism passed you by completely? If I want apart from him, he'll have to give it to me or be the recipient of a restraining order."
"Oh, bollocks," she said. Our jaws dropped to the ground. I could count the number of times Mum had used profanity on one hand. "You want to lecture me on feminism? I went to marches, did my fair share of Women's Studies at university. I don't mean coerce you, Ashley, I would never want that for my daughters. No, I meant he would be unlikely to let that prickly exterior of yours–"
"What prickly exterior? Is this some kind of family conspiracy? I am unfailingly nice to customers all day, I’ve never been reprimanded by my bosses and I have friends–"
"Who? You just hang out with Jez and me all the time," Tess said.
"I'm always nice to cashiers–"
"That just makes you not an entitled arsehole," Tess said.
"Are you serious about him? What do you want from this man?" Mum asked.
I want to punch him in the face and I want to take him upstairs and fuck him until I can't take it anymore, my brain supplied helpfully. Yeah, I was not saying that to my mother. Keep it vague and slightly hopeful, that way she'll get off your case, a more rational and devious part of my mind suggested.
"I'm not sure," I said, "but for now, I'd like to see where it leads."
"Hmm, fair enough. I'll send you that credit report tomorrow afternoon."
"Mother. . . ."
We took the salads out to find the guys clustered around the barbeque. It showed how much of a favourable impression Gabe had made that Dad let him turn a few steaks on his pride and joy: a high-end grill made bespoke by some British chef. He handed the tongs back to Dad when he saw me, taking the salad bowls and putting them on the table, then pulling me into his arms. "Any chance you going to show me some old photo albums?"
"No freaking way."
"Her old room is the first on the left at the top of the stairs," Mum said.
"You want me to take a guy into my room? You used to pitch a fit if even friends dared step over the threshold."
"Yes, and now you're thirty. Dinner will be on the table in ten minutes. Don't be late."
Gabe grinned and pulled me inside, looking around and then finding the stairway. "Ladies first," he said.
"You just want to check out my arse," I said.
"Oh, I wanna do more than look, babe. I want to bite and lick. . . ." I took off up the stairs at a run, him hot on my heels. I opened the door and there I was, in a time capsule. She'd taken down all my old posters, she always hated them, but you could still see the darker squares on the wallpaper where they'd been.
"What are you going to show me in ten minutes?" he asked in a low rumble, lips against my neck. The long hard weight of his body was pressed against mine, he shifted his hand to rub it against my mound, pushing on it to force my arse up against his erection.
"Gabe!"
"Babe, I can’t help it. You smell so sweet, all honey and roses. I'm a hair’s breadth away from piling you into the Lexus and whisking you away."
"A Lexus? You came here in a Lexus?"
"Seemed to be the kind of car that would impress a lady who was a partner in one of the largest financial consulting firms in the city," he said, trailing his lips down my neck. Despite myself, I found myself arching up against him, his hands quickly covering my breasts as I moved. He pushed my cardigan to one side and plucked at my nipples through my t-shirt, pulling a groan from me. “I could slip my hand under that cute little skirt you got on," he murmured, "give your clit a couple of flicks. You'd be so wet, it wouldn't take long.” He gasped as my hips ground into his. "You'd like that."
"Gabe, you can’t give me a hand job in my parents’ house," I whimpered as one hand dropped downwards. At this point, I wasn’t sure who I was convincing, myself or him. My body felt like it was on fire, his touch left a heavy, burning drugged feeling in its wake. My clit throbbed in time with his words, sending semaphore messages in the faint hope I'd relent and do what he wanted.
"So, no chance you'd give me one?" he asked with a chuckle. I turned around in his arms, anything to free myself from his relentless fingers before I did something I regretted. Figuring turnabout’s fair play, I rubbed my hand along the front of his pants to the sound of him hissing, closing my fingers around his length as much as the fabric would allow. "Tell me that as soon as it’s polite, we're getting the hell out of here, so I can bury myself in your tight little cunt."
"We need to talk," I gasped.
"We will, love, I promise, we will. I need that, too, but if we don’t have sex first, at least once, you are just not going to get my full attention."
"Me, either," I nipped at his lips, wanting his tongue, his taste.