I love how his chest hair tickles my palms, the same way his beard is rough and soft as he rubs it against my chin. I love feeling the way time has passed through his body, the way we’ve both changed. This Gabe feels more real to me than the one I basically dry-humped on his couch ten years ago.

And this is the Gabe I want.

“Take off your pants,” I murmur as his hands skate along my sides, tracing my hips.

Laughter sputters out of me as Gabe rears back, attacking the buttons on his well-worn jeans as if they were on fire. He flings them across the room and comes back down against me, kissing the remaining humor from my lips.

That need—his need—is enough to make me shake.

Because this is Gabe. Not just Gabe Parker the Movie Star, though it must be acknowledged, but Gabe. I’m feeling too many things at once, and for a moment I’m overwhelmed, stepping outside my body and looking down on our forms entangled on the bed and wondering, How the fuck did I end up here?

I know that if we do this, I’ll never get over him.

He stops, pulling back to look at me, his eyes searching my face.

I’m in love with him.

But I can’t say it. I can’t.

Instead, I take his face in my hands and kiss him. Sweetly and then less sweetly. He’s a quick study and not a fool, so it doesn’t take long to ratchet both of us back up to that burning, taut point of desire we’d been climbing toward.

Dragging my hands down the length of his spine, I hook my fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs and begin to push them down. He shifts to help me, leaning back enough that he can do the same for me, removing my bra and my underwear.

Then he’s on me again, kissing me hard.

I think of the dumb joke from all those years ago. What’s my perfect weight? Me with Gabe Parker on top of me.

If that isn’t the whole damn truth, though.

Gabe’s mouth finds my ear, each touch of his like he’s discovering something new.

“Please,” I beg. “Please, please, please.”

I don’t even know what I’m begging for, but thankfully he does. He drags his hot, perfect mouth downward, nipping my collarbone, his beard coarse against my stomach.

Then the weight of him, the heat of him, is gone. He wraps his long, beautiful hands around my ankles and pulls me toward him, my feet hanging off the edge, his palms hot on my legs.

“Can I?” he asks.

I nod, my heartbeat like a drum throughout my entire body.

The sight of him there, kneeling in front of me, is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.