I’m tired of denying myself of this. Of him. Isn’t he tired of it too? Or does he enjoy the torture? There is something to be said for denying yourself what you desperately want. I should know as queen of the diets. I remember going on a no carbs diet one time and all I ever did was crave chocolate cake. Like, dreamed about it and everything.

I don’t even really like chocolate cake. I’m more of a vanilla and buttercream frosting kind of girl. It was just the point that I couldn’t have it. By the third day of that diet, I was stuffing my face with a slice of decadent chocolate cake I bought at the local supermarket. I ate it for dinner.

Never went back on that carbs only diet either.

Gabe is my proverbial slice of chocolate cake. Hell, he’s the entire cake. I’m normally not a huge fan, it’s never been my usual craving, but oh wow, when I want it, I become desperate. I’ll do anything to have just one taste.

Just one.

“No more diets, Lucy,” he murmurs against my lips. His deep, sexy voice pulls me from my thoughts, reminds me that I can have another taste of my newfound craving right now. “I like you just as you are. I wish you would too.”

His words melt me further. Why is he so perfect? God, he makes me crazy. Insane. He starts to kiss me again and I lose myself in it, his hands fully beneath my shirt now, his fingers toying with the lacy edge of my bra. I pull away from him, remembering that we’re in the living room. His sister is sleeping on the couch and his parents could walk through the front door at any given moment.

“I should go,” I say, releasing a shaky breath as I glance around the room. I only brought my phone and a set of keys, both of which are on me so I can go. I should go.

But it’s like I can’t make my legs move.

He studies me, his lips swollen and damp from our kisses, his hair a mess from my fingers. He takes hold of my hand, interlacing our fingers together. It’s like he’s touching the very depths of my soul, which is totally corny right? Who thinks like that, let alone really feels like that?

Me. I do. Oh my God, I do. Gabe’s eyes are warm as they study me and he reaches out with his free hand, draws his finger up my cheek, tucking a wild strand of hair behind my ear. “Come on,” he murmurs.

When he speaks to me in that low, seductive tone, I feel all shivery inside. A feeling I want to experience again.

And again.

He gently tugs on my hand and I follow after him like I can’t do anything else, and I swear, I can’t. I don’t want to go anywhere else. I definitely don’t want to go back to that giant, lonely house and crawl into my empty, lonely bed. Whatever he wants to do, I’m up for it.

I blow out a shaky breath. Fine, I’m a little nervous. Okay, a lot nervous. But I’m up for it.

Totally up for it.

When he remains silent, I finally can’t take it anymore. “Where are we going?” I ask as he leads me up the stairs.

“My room.” He glances over his shoulder, his gaze direct, his intentions beyond clear. “Is that okay?”

Is it? My rational side is telling me to decline. Every other part of my body is screaming at me to say yes.

So I do.

The bedroom he brings me into is dark, the only light let in from the blinds on the window that are slightly cracked. The moon was full, it had been for days and it causes silvery lines to streak across the walls and floor. I stand completely still, glancing around as Gabe shuts the door behind us and when he turns to face me, all I can see are his eyes and his lips.

My mouth goes dry as our gazes hold. I’m immobilized, unable to say anything or make the first move. Not that I have to.

Our fingers still intertwined, he pulls me in close, settling his mouth on mine without an ounce of hesitation. His kiss is confident, swiftly taking but also offering so much too, and I open to him immediately, trying my best to shut off my brain, to stop thinking and just feel. That’s all I want, is to feel Gabe’s hands on me, his lips on mine, his tongue in my mouth. He releases my hand and cups my face, making me feel cherished. Cared about.

Silly. We’ve only just met. I don’t know much about him, not really. We’ve hung out a few times, we’ve kissed. We’ve fought our sexual attraction and right about now, it looks like we’ve lost.

Not that I’m protesting…

But he’s practically a stranger and I don’t do this sort of thing with men I don’t know. I do know Gabe doesn’t really like his parents. He’s very protective of his sister, though he plays it off. He’s thoughtful. Funny. Kind. A drill sergeant when it comes to exercise. He tastes good—like, really good. I like his smile. He’s sexy. Those eyes of his seem to see everything, even the things I absolutely don’t want him to know. He’s a good driver, though a little reckless. In fact, he’s a little reckless with everything he does, not that that’s necessarily a bad trait. He’s smart. I like talking to him. I really like kissing him.

Huh. Maybe I know him better than I thought.

“Your brain.” He pulls away from me, his brows furrowed, his thumbs smoothing over my cheeks in this soothing back and forth motion that makes me want to purr like a cat.

Or jump him. Hmm, yeah jump him. That sounds perfect.

Wait, where did that thought come from? I’m a virgin for a reason. I don’t give in easily. I never have. I’ve never really been tempted.

Until Gabe.

“My what?” I ask, confused. Aroused. Wait, did he say my brain?

“Your brain. You’re thinking too much.” He kisses my temple tenderly, his soft lips lingering on my skin and making my knees weak. “You need to relax.”

Thinking too much. He’s right. And that’s exactly what I didn’t want to do—overthinking everything. It’s such an ingrained habit though. “I can’t help it,” I admit, closing my eyes on a sigh when he kisses my cheek, my ear, the left corner of my mouth. The right. Teasing, sweet kisses that make my head swim. “You make me nervous.”

He pulls away, frowning again. “That’s the last thing I want to do.”

“I know. It’s not really you. This is all on me.” I rest my hands on his chest, slowly dragging my fingers down the muscular planes. Wow, he’s so incredibly hard. I glance up to see a pained expression cross his face and I immediately remove my hands from him, thinking I’m the cause.

“Christ, don’t stop,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Put your hands back on me, Luce. Please.”

I do as he says, running my hands over his pecs, up to his shoulders, then back down, along his stomach, until I reach the hem of his T-shirt. Lifting my head, I see that he’s watching me, his neck bent, his intense gaze locked on my hands. I want to say something. Demand he let me take his shirt off. I mean, I don’t want to take this all the way, not tonight. I’m not ready.

But if he’ll let me explore and…play, I’ll gladly return the favor.

My cheeks burn just thinking about it.

“Are you trying to strip me?” he finally asks when I remain silent. Amusement laces his voice and he’s smiling. This is encouraging.

I raise my brows. “Will you let me?” Please say yes.

All traces of amusement evaporate. Just like that. “I’ll let you do just about anything you want to if I can get those hands of yours on me.”