Page 53 of Fallen Angel

She puts her arms around him and kisses him with an intensity that matches the late night at the office. He pulls her close and runs his hands up and down her body, eagerly cupping her breasts under her sweater. His hands are chilly but his touch is gentle, and as his fingers play with her nipples, his kiss becomes more ardent.

She moves to the edge of the bed and he follows, his hands never leaving her body. She doesn’t want him to stop touching her; she hasn’t had sex with any man but Alec in years, and being on the verge makes her nervous. But then, she’s an overthinker: The only thing that turns off her mind is turning on her body.

Gavin reclines on the bed and gently pulls her next to him. Heart pounding, she opens his belt, and he helps her slide his pants down. His legs are long, lean, and muscular. She imagines them wrapped around her waist.

She brushes her hand lightly over his boxers, feeling his cock hard underneath the fabric. She slips her fingers inside the opening, and touches his bare flesh, his penis so warm against her hand it’s practically throbbing. She can’t believe she’s touching Gavin Stone like this.

He lifts her sweater to kiss her breasts, and she impatiently pulls it off to give him access to her body. His tongue traces her nipples, followed by his hands. She sighs with pleasure, unzipping her skirt and thankful she remembered to choose her underwear carefully: cream-colored lace boy shorts from the lingerie shop La Petite Coquette—a treasure of a place that Bette introduced her to when they first met.

“God, you’re flawless,” Gavin says, his hand trailing from her breasts to the lace edge of her underwear. From her vantage point, he’s pretty damn perfect, too. She unbuttons his shirt, then slips it over his shoulders to reveal his magnificently proportioned shoulders, chest, and taut stomach.

The performer in her kicks in, and she wants to impress him.

He kisses her, his hand stroking her hair, then cradling the base of her head while his arms bring her closer to him. Their bodies grind together, only their underwear between them. She feels his cock so hard and defined between her legs, it’s as if there’s no fabric between them at all. But somehow, the fact that there’s still something left to remove makes the moment all the more thrilling.

She pulls back slightly, adjusting herself so she has leverage to get on top of him. When she straddles him, he looks up at her with a sort of awe.

She gets up on her knees, slipping off her panties one leg at a time. She tosses them aside, and Gavin immediately presses his hand to the wetness between her legs. He touches her gingerly, his fingers slow and almost uncertain inside the folds of her pussy. His hands aren’t as big as Alec’s, and she knows she won’t be able to come as easily as she does from her lover’s touch—so practiced and perfect.

Stop thinking about Alec!

But Gavin is being tentative, and it’s giving her mind too much space to wander.

She has an idea to unleash his reserve once and for all.

She gently presses his hand away—it’s not doing anything for her yet, and she’d rather just wait a minute and lower herself onto his gorgeous cock. She knows then that they will finally click. But first …

She leans forward and grabs her sweater from the corner of the bed.

“Come back here,” Gavin says, smiling, tugging on her hand. Holding her sweater, she leans down and kisses him, then wraps the sweater around his eyes, a loose, bulky blindfold. She reaches down to touch his cock …

“What the hell are you doing?” he snaps, pulling the sweater off his face and throwing it across the room.

“What’s wrong?” she says, jumping off him.

“What’s wrong? What do you think is wrong? Why don’t you tell me what you think you’re doing.”

“I’m, um, blindfolding you.”

“Yeah, I gathered that. Mallory …” His voice softens, but he speaks to her as if she’s a child. “Let’s be clear: I’m glad you quit burlesque. But I also don’t want these types of antics in my bedroom.”

Mallory sits back on her heels. She couldn’t be more shocked if he had physically struck her.

Then she thinks, No, he must be joking. Please let him be joking.

“Very funny,” she says, a desperate attempt to get things back on track.

Gavin sits up straight. She can’t resist peeking to see if he’s still hard.

He’s not.

“I’m serious, Mallory. Maybe with your nightlife, you’re used to sleeping with guys who expect a show in the bedroom. But I’m not one of them. I like women who have a little class.”

Mallory can’t, in that moment, think of any reply to that other than to tell him to fuck off. But she refrains. Might as well keep it “classy.”

“I should go,” she says, fumbling around for her clothes.

She feels more naked and exposed than she ever had onstage.