Gemma stills. She’s quiet for a long minute as I kiss her jaw.
“Don’t,” Gemma breathes.
A growl rips from me. “What?”
Why is she still saying no?
My cock throbs as she bucks against me, her body seeking the release she’s denying herself. I clench my teeth and grip her hips tighter, grinding my cock harder against Gemma. She moans, panting against my neck.
“Please. I want to stop.”
The heavy tension that blankets the room becomes suffocating as we both sit there, breathing harshly. I tumble her from my lap and she lands next to me on the floor. I crawl over her, caging her with my body.
Gemma’s mouth tightens at the corners.
Ice slides down my spine. She still thinks I’m some kind of fucking rapist. It’s written plainly on her face: she thinks I’ll ignore her and take what I want anyway.
That’s not me.
She flinches when I move, like she expects the worst. I glare at her as I grab the first aid kit.
“Show me your palms.”
Gemma blinks, confusion shadowing her face. “You’re not—?”
My whole face contorts and my nails dig into the area rug.
“No, I’m fucking not, Gemma! Jesus!”
Gemma’s chest heaves, her lips mashing. Regret wavers on her face for a second. She turns her head to the side, unable to look at me as I straddle her and tend to her injured hands. It’s a comical sight with my aching cock tenting my briefs. I apply ointment and climb to my feet.
I get dressed without paying attention, ending up in a pair of gray sweats and an old Rocky Mountain National Park shirt.
Without saying anything else, I leave the room. The door bangs behind me when I yank it shut. I stand outside in the hallway, flexing my hands.
Why does she still think the worst of me? Did I not save her damn life tonight?
I hang in the hallway, waiting for my erection to go away. The wild sounds of people having a good time drift upstairs.
I press my palms to the door frame and hang my head as I listen to Gemma rustle around the room. When it goes quiet, I assume she got in my bed to go to sleep.
Twenty-Three
Gemma
It’s warm when I wake up to the sun peeking through tree branches outside the window.
My head swims for a second and I struggle through disorientation when I find myself in a strange bed and a room that isn’t mine. The shelf of football trophies makes last night come back to me in a rush. I drag in air and flop against the blue sheets.
All of my muscles twinge in protest.
The sun is bright as it peeks over the horizon. The storm clouds driven away in the night.
Lancelot is curled against my thigh, snoring. A smile breaks free as I reach to stroke his back. He stretches and falls asleep again.
The other side of the bed is warm and unkempt, but empty. A discarded Rocky Mountain State Park t-shirt drapes over the end of the bed.
I bite my lip. I remember waking up at one point when it was still dark. I don’t know if it was one of those dreams that feel real or not, but strong arms surrounded me, holding me close against a solid bare chest.