Chapter 5. The Heated Words

My shift starts at eight, and I know Gabrielle’s does, too, so I arrive at the hospital two hours early. The place feels half-empty—most of the staff are at home celebrating Christmas, as are the less serious patients. Only the essential personnel from each department are here tonight. The whole building buzzes with a kind of Christmas serenity: quiet, peaceful, with soft music playing at the nurses’ station ( Mariah Carey , of course). It creates an almost cozy, festive vibe, and I can already tell this is going to be a laid-back shift. Thank God. I’m feeling much better now—the hangover is gone, replaced with a nervous energy that keeps me sharp. Maybe I can find somewhere to hide and lay low to avoid Gabrielle entirely.

The first thing I do is head to the changing rooms to get ready, hoping to avoid any chance of running into him later. I’m extra cautious as I open the door, peeking inside. The light is off, and the room is bathed in deep blue shadows from the windows. I don’t see anyone else inside, so I let out a sigh of relief and step in.

But as I walk down the narrow corridor and round the corner, I collide with something—or rather, someone. Big, warm, and very shirtless.

And because life has a very twisted sense of humor, that shirtless someone is, of course, none other than James Gabrielle. He’s wearing earbuds, which explains why he doesn’t hear me coming before we collide. He jerks back slightly, pulling the earbuds out so they dangle around his neck.

“Ray?” Gabrielle says, his voice surprised, while I stand there, desperately trying not to combust from sheer embarrassment.

“Sorry,” I mumble, my face blazing. “I thought I was alone.”

My eyes dart everywhere but at him because I can’t bring myself to meet his gaze, and I definitely can’t look at his bare chest, which I already kind of did—it’s all lean muscle and golden skin, still slightly damp from what must have been a recent shower. He doesn’t look hungover in the slightest, like he emerged from last night’s chaos untouched, while I’m barely held together with my decaf Coke and sheer willpower.

“I, uh, came early to…” I trail off, realizing I don’t actually have a prepared excuse. I obviously can’t tell him I came early to avoid him.

“Me too,” Gabrielle says quickly, then clears his throat and adds, “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” I stammer, the words tumbling out awkwardly.

Gabrielle nods, his face blank, and then turns to his locker, giving me a view of his back that does absolutely nothing to steady my already faltering composure.

I shuffle awkwardly toward my own locker, trying to maintain what feels like a safe distance—which is ridiculous, considering less than 24 hours ago, I had his tongue in my mouth, and then he watched me rub my very hard cock against him.

The silence stretches between us, thick and unbearable. I fumble with my combination lock, getting it wrong twice because my hands won’t stop shaking. The metal clangs loudly in the quiet room, making me wince.

I stall for as long as I can, unwilling to undress in front of him, but I can sense Gabrielle is stalling too. Eventually, though, there’s no avoiding it, and I start changing. As I pull off my shirt and slip on my scrubs, I can feel Gabrielle’s eyes on me, a sensation that sets my nerves on fire. When I’m finally dressed, I steel myself for what I know I have to do and turn to face him.

“About last night—” I begin, but my voice comes out embarrassingly high-pitched. In the dim light, I see Gabrielle freeze, his shoulders going rigid. I look away and force myself to keep going, knowing this needs to be said. “I’m really sorry for…kissing you. That was poor judgment on my part. I was really, really drunk, and I didn’t know what I was doing.”

It’s a lie—every word of it—but I need to make things right between us. I glance up at Gabrielle, but in the poor lighting, his expression is unreadable. “Really, really drunk,” I add, just to hammer it home.

Gabrielle runs a hand through his hair—a nervous gesture I’ve never seen from him before. “We both were,” he says quickly, his perfectly groomed eyebrows drawing together in what looks like regret. “I’m your superior, and you’re right, it was completely inappropriate, and—”

“Yeah,” I cut him off, unable to bear hearing him list all the reasons why kissing me was a terrible idea. “Let’s just…” I falter, swallowing hard, the word sticking in my throat. But then I force it out. “…forget it happened. I mean, we were both drunk, it was Christmas Eve, and…yeah.”

Something flickers across Gabrielle’s face—too quick for me to pin down. But before I can dwell on it, his expression smooths into that familiar professional mask.

“Right,” he says, his tone clipped. “That would be…best.”

I turn back to my locker, blinking rapidly to fight the sting in my eyes. God, I’m pathetic. Behind me, I hear Gabrielle finish getting dressed, the rustle of fabric painfully loud in the oppressive silence.

“I’ll see you at rounds, Dr. Hale,” he says finally, his voice carefully neutral.

I nod jerkily, unable to turn around, waiting until I hear his footsteps retreat down the hall and the door close behind him before letting out a shaky breath. Then I lean forward, pressing my forehead against the cool metal of my locker.

“Fuck,” I whisper, closing my eyes. This is going to be the longest shift of my life.

***

It’s four hours later, and Gabrielle and I have just finished our rounds in the ICU. The whole thing was very professional on both our parts. Meaning: awkward. I made a concerted effort to keep my distance, but when our elbows inevitably brushed, I felt an electric shock pass through me every single time. I’ve been watching Gabrielle closely, and he seemed just as careful about not invading my personal space—though that didn’t always work out.

Case in point: Mr. Dodger. The man suddenly decided he was feeling great, got out of bed, and promptly collapsed on me. Gabrielle rushed to help, and together we managed to wrestle the protesting man back onto the mattress. By the time we were done, both of us were sweaty and thoroughly disheveled, which only added to the tension hanging between us.

When the ICU rounds are finally over, we head back to the changing rooms. The hospital’s policy is clear: after working in the ICU, a shower and scrubs change is mandatory. As we walk down the corridors, my brain spins chaotically, trying to figure out a way to avoid going into the locker rooms with Gabrielle. Because that would mean taking a shower next to him. Which, given the events of last night, couldn’t possibly be more awkward.

I consider making up an excuse and slipping off to a changing room on another floor, but that would only make it obvious how uncomfortable I am—and how badly I want to avoid this situation.

So when we walk into the changing rooms, I feel like a lamb being led to slaughter.

I feel Gabrielle sneaking quick glances at me the entire time, but the moment we open our lockers, he turns away and swiftly sheds his scrubs. I stand there, frozen, watching as he stands completely naked. My eyes betray me, tracing the sharp lines of his etched muscles and smooth skin.

And then he turns. His gaze locks onto mine, catching me red-handed, blatantly ogling him.

I whip around so fast I nearly give myself whiplash, my face burning for two excruciating reasons: number one—he catches me staring, and number two—I get a glimpse of his cock. His very big, very aroused cock.

My mind spirals out of control, thoughts galloping like a runaway horse. I quickly peel off my own scrubs, my hands fumbling, and hear Gabrielle walk into the shower room. I stand there for a moment, trying desperately to collect myself, before grabbing my towel and following him, my heart pounding so loudly it drowns out every other sound in my ears.

The shower room is thick with steam, turning everything into a hazy, dreamlike blur. Through the mist, water cascades down Gabrielle’s back, tracing the lines of his muscles and gathering at the curve of his spine before slipping lower, disappearing down the perfect slope of his ass. I try not to stare, but it’s impossible not to notice the way the water clings to his skin, making it gleam. My heart pounds as I step into the stall next to him.

The silence between us is deafening, broken only by the rhythmic sound of water hitting tile. As I quickly lather myself with shower gel, Gabrielle’s presence feels like a physical weight, every nerve in my body tingling with awareness. I risk a glance in his direction and catch him watching me, his gaze intense, making my breath hitch.

The steam wraps around us, isolating us from the rest of the room, making everything feel close and unbearably intimate. I’m hyper-aware of how Gabrielle’s body is slightly angled toward me as if he’s about to say or do something. For minutes, we wash in silence, rinsing away the sweat and tension of the ICU.

Then, his shower shuts off. A wave of disappointment crashes over me, but I quickly turn away, pretending not to notice. My heart sinks as I brace myself for the sound of his footsteps retreating.

But instead of leaving, he moves closer. My breath catches, and I slowly turn, my pulse pounding, to find him standing at the edge of my stall. Water drips from his chest, tracing the defined lines of his muscles, his dark eyes fixed on me with a focus that makes my stomach flip.

“I wasn’t really drunk,” Gabrielle says, his voice low. There’s something resigned in his eyes like he’s already bracing for the fallout, whatever that might be. The steam drifts between us, softening the harsh fluorescent light into something unexpectedly intimate.

My breath hitches. I stare at him, my mind struggling to process his words.

“I’m in love with you, Ray,” he says, his tone quiet but firm, like he’s finally letting go of something that’s been weighing on him for too long.

The words hit me like a jolt to the chest, making my heart stutter and race so fast it feels like it might burst.

His gaze locks onto mine, unwavering. “I have been—for the whole damn year.”

My chest tightens as I try to make sense of it, to reconcile the Gabrielle standing in front of me—unguarded and vulnerable—with the composed, distant man I thought I knew. The man who’s been impossible to read, impossible to reach.

“I—” My voice cracks. I don’t even know where to begin. The intensity of the moment is almost too much, my heart pounding so hard it’s making me lightheaded.

Gabrielle doesn’t move, doesn’t look away. “I wasn’t going to say anything,” he admits, his voice quieter now, tinged with something raw and unsteady. “I decided that a while ago. I wasn’t going to say anything—maybe not ever. But after…” He hesitates, his jaw tightening before he continues. “After kissing you—and realizing you might actually want me—I couldn’t keep lying to myself. I can’t keep pretending.” His gaze sharpens, his voice breaking slightly with desperation. “I thought I could push it down, bury it, but being near you—it’s unbearable. It’s driving me insane.” He blinks. “I know it’s unprofessional. I know I shouldn’t feel this way. But I can’t stop.” His eyes hold mine, his voice strained. “Every time I see you smile, watch you run your hands through your hair, or catch you biting your lip when you’re concentrating—it drives me out of my mind.”

“Oh,” I say, my thoughts a jumbled mess. He steps closer, filling the shrinking space between us until the proximity is almost unbearable.

“Last night,” he continues, his voice dropping to a whisper, “I wanted you so badly. But you were drunk, and I couldn’t—I wouldn’t let myself take advantage of you.”

His words hang between us, heavy and unflinching, each one hitting like a sharp tug in my chest. And then, as if something snaps, the control in his voice fractures.

“But fuck, Ray,” he breathes, stepping closer, his chest brushing against mine. “I wanted to.” His voice drops lower, barely audible, each word cutting through the silence. “I wanted to fuck you so badly it hurt. And when I left, all I could think about was how much I wanted to make you come, how much I wanted to feel you lose yourself in my hands.”

My knees threaten to buckle, his voice hitting me like a live wire, electrifying every inch of me. His gaze burns into mine, searching, like he’s trying to read my mind.

“Then fuck me,” I breathe, taking his hand in mine, my voice unsteady but determined. “Make me come because—fuck—I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you.”

The words hit him hard—I see it in the sharp hitch of his breath, the slight parting of his lips. I tug him into my stall, and he steps in, closing the space between us. But before I can do anything else, his hand cups my cheek, anchoring me in place.

“Tell me you want this,” he murmurs, a plea threading through his voice. “Tell me you really want me, and I won’t hold back.”

His gaze is relentless, searing into my skin, and my cock throbs in response.

I don’t hesitate. With trembling hands, I loop my arms around his neck and whisper, the words spilling out with a courage I didn’t know I had, “I really, really want you…to fuck me. To be mine.”

The surprise flashes in his eyes for a heartbeat before something darker and hungrier takes over. His hands are on me instantly, gripping my waist and pulling me tight against him, his body hard and unyielding.

And then his mouth crashes into mine, fierce and consuming, leaving my body weak and pliant in his hands. There’s nothing slow or tentative about this—it’s raw, urgent, a release of months of unspoken desire. His teeth catch my bottom lip, tugging just enough to make me gasp, and then his tongue claims me, sweeping into my mouth. I clutch at his shoulders and his back, desperate to hold on, to feel as much of him as I can.

His cock, hard and insistent, presses against my hip as his hands slide down to grab my ass, pulling me flush against him. His grip is possessive, leaving no space between us, no question about what he wants.

“Fuck,” he growls against my mouth, breaking the kiss just long enough to breathe. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to fuck you. To feel you. God…” He lets out a low, breathless laugh. “I’m glad you can’t read my mind because if you knew the things I’ve imagined doing to you during hospital rounds—all the ways, in every…fucking…place—” Each word is punctuated by a thrust of his hips, his cock grinding against my thigh like a promise of everything he’s about to do to me.

I can’t speak, can’t even think straight. My chest heaves, my cock throbbing painfully, as I grip him tighter, clinging to the solid heat of his body. “Then don’t stop,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the sound of my own pounding heart. “Please, James.”

His name has an immediate effect. Gabrielle doesn’t hesitate. His hand slides between us, and before I can fully process it, his fingers close around my cock. The contact is electric, sending a bolt of pleasure so sharp it nearly knocks the air out of me. My knees threaten to give out, and I clutch at his shoulders for support, my breath coming in shallow gasps as his grip tightens. He strokes me slowly, teasing and torturous all at once, drawing out every ounce of need until I’m trembling against him.

“Fuck,” I breathe, my head tipping back against the warm, slick tile. The steamy cascade of water pouring over us blends with the heat of his touch, intensifying every sensation until it’s almost too much.

“You’re so hard for me,” Gabrielle whispers, his voice raspy and close against my ear. His lips kiss the side of my neck before his teeth graze over the sensitive skin. I shudder, a helpless whimper escaping me, and the sound only seems to spur him on.

He presses closer, his body pinning me firmly to the wall as his strokes grow more intense. His thumb circles the head of my cock, spreading the slickness. Every touch is measured, controlled, like he’s savoring the way I’m falling apart in his hands.

“James,” I moan, my voice breaking as his teeth sink lightly into my neck again, the pressure enough to make me gasp. He follows it with the warm slide of his tongue, soothing the sting, only to nip at me again, his mouth leaving a trail of fire across my skin.

“Hearing you moan like that—fuck, Ray, you don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he growls, his voice rough with need.

I moan helplessly and close my eyes as his hand moves faster, his strokes leaving me shaking. My hips jerk into his grip, wanting more, the sensation building so quickly it feels like I’m losing control. His other hand slides down my back to grab my ass, supporting me as my legs threaten to buckle entirely.

“Look at me,” Gabrielle commands, his voice thick with authority and want. My eyes flutter open, and when I meet his gaze, it nearly undoes me. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide, his lips parted as he watches me unravel beneath him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he says, his voice low, almost reverent. His grip tightens just enough to draw a choked cry from me, the sound sound echoing in the stillness of the room.

His mouth returns to my neck, and I arch into him, nails digging into his shoulders as my moans spill out, unrestrained and frantic. “James, I—” My voice breaks as the pressure inside me builds unbearably, every nerve wound tight.

“Come for me,” he pleads against my skin, his voice a soft, commanding rasp. His hand moves faster, his thumb pressing just right, every stroke precise and devastating until I can’t hold back anymore.

I cry out, my body convulsing as the pleasure tears through me, my release spilling hot over his hand. He doesn’t stop right away, his strokes easing only as the tremors subside, leaving me spent and trembling, every nerve alight with the aftershocks of pleasure.

Gabrielle leans in, his forehead pressing gently against mine, his breathing as ragged as my own. His hand cradles me with a tenderness that feels at odds with the intensity of everything that just happened like he’s afraid I might shatter. “You’re incredible,” he says, his voice soft but unshakably certain.

I manage a weak nod, my body still trembling, my mind a whirlwind as I close my eyes again, trying to process what just happened. But then his lips find mine again, slow and unhurried. And in that moment, I know one thing for sure—I don’t want this to end.

The warm tile presses against my back as I try to catch my breath, my chest rising and falling. Every nerve in my body still hums with the aftershocks of my orgasm as I open my eyes, and when I meet his gaze, I see the want still smoldering there. Then I notice it—he’s still hard. His cock, thick and flushed, glistens in the humid light.

For a moment, I freeze, my cheeks flushing at the sight of him. But then, like a flicker of fire catching on dry wood, courage sparks inside me. The memory of how he touched me, how his voice sounded when he fell apart, fuels me.

My lips part, and I hear my voice, even despite the pounding of my heart. “Do you want to come in my mouth?”

His eyes darken, and he groans, deep and guttural like my words have snapped whatever fragile hold he had on his control. “Fuck, Ray,” he growls. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

But I do. I know exactly what I’m asking. Slowly, I sink to my knees, my heart pounding in my chest as I look up at him. The way he’s staring at me like I’m the only thing in the world, his chest heaving, his cock so close, flushed and glistening.

With trembling hands, I reach out, my fingers wrapping around him. He’s so hot, so heavy in my grip, and Gabrielle hisses sharply, his whole body tensing as I stroke him. The sounds he makes—those low, wrecked groans and whispered curses—send a thrill through me.

I lean in, my lips sliding against the swollen tip, and he lets out a gasp, sharp and shaky like he’s barely holding himself together. I glance up at him, and the sight of his face—his blazing eyes, his parted lips—makes my pulse thunder in my ears.

I part my lips and take him into my mouth, swirling my tongue over the sensitive head as he wraps his own hand around the base of his cock, guiding himself in. His other hand flies to my hair, his fingers tangling in the damp strands as he groans, “Fuck, Ray.” His voice is wrecked, his hips jerking slightly as I take him deeper, swallowing him down.

The weight of him, the taste of him, the desperation of his hand gripping my hair—it’s overwhelming in the best way. I slide my lips down his length, my tongue pressing firmly against the underside, and he curses again.

“Fuck,” he growls as I find a rhythm, bobbing my head, hollowing my cheeks with each motion. “You’re so fucking good at this.”

His words send a jolt through me, and I hum around him in response, the vibration pulling another sharp groan from him. I push myself further, taking him even deeper, my throat relaxing as I swallow more of him. His cock throbs against my tongue, and I feel the tension coiling in his body, his muscles taut under my hands as I grip his thighs.

“Ray,” he breathes, his voice breaking, torn between warning and desperation. “You’re gonna make me—fuck—I’m going to—”

I don’t stop. I take him deeper still, my hands sliding to his hips to keep him steady as he bucks against my mouth. His head tips back, his fingers tightening in my hair, and the moan that escapes him is almost guttural, echoing in the steamy room.

When he comes, it’s with a shuddering groan, his release hot and pulsing in my mouth. I swallow it all, my hands holding him as his body trembles. I keep going, my tongue moving gently until he’s completely spent. Finally, I sit back on my heels, my eyes lifting to meet his as I wipe my lips, waiting for him to come back to reality.

Gabrielle stares down at me, his chest rising and falling as he’s trying to catch his breath. His expression is unreadable at first—then softens as he reaches out, his fingers brushing over my cheek in a way so tender it nearly undoes me.

“Ray,” he says, his voice raw. “You’re fucking incredible.”

The shower is quiet except for the rhythmic patter of water against the tile. Neither of us speaks as we rinse off, the water washing away the evidence of what just happened. Our touches linger—his fingers grazing my shoulders, my hands finding his waist. It’s quiet, unspoken, and achingly intimate.

When we step out into the changing room, we dry off in silence, Gabrielle’s gaze lingering on me in a way that makes me blush. There’s something unspoken in the space between us, but neither of us is ready to break it. Not yet.

***

As the shift picks up again, the hospital settles into its late-night rhythm, quieter than usual in the calm of the Christmas lull. Gabrielle and I fall into step like always, our movements seamless, the kind of partnership forged through months of working together. But now, every glance, every accidental touch feels different—deliberate, intentional.

A couple of hours later, as I jot down notes on a patient’s chart, I glance up and catch Gabrielle looking at me. It’s not the quick, professional glance I’m used to—it’s smoldering like he’s undressing me right here in the hallway. My breath stutters and my pulse kicks up as his gaze lingers for a beat too long before he turns back to his work, the corner of his mouth tugging into a small, knowing smirk.

Another hour passes in a blur of patient rounds and quiet conversations with the night staff. By the time the clock reads past 1 a.m., the hospital has settled into a rare calm. I’m perched at the nurse’s station, finishing paperwork, when I hear the soft scuff of footsteps. Gabrielle leans in beside me, close enough that the warmth of his breath tickles my ear.

“I want to fuck you,” he says, his voice rough.

My pen slips from my fingers, clattering onto the desk. My head snaps up, locking onto his gaze, but he’s already straightening, his expression cool and composed, as though he didn’t just drop a line that my overactive, horny brain will replay on a loop for weeks to come. Without another word, he turns and walks away, leaving me frozen for half a second before my legs move on autopilot, trailing after him. My heart pounds in my chest, and I can only pray Julia, the 60-year-old nurse on call tonight, didn’t notice the way my cheeks flamed as I hurried to keep up.

We slip into the empty on-call room, the soft click of the door shutting behind us, cutting off the muted sounds of the hospital. The room is dim, lit only by the faint glow of a bedside lamp that casts warm, flickering light. Gabrielle turns to face me, his eyes dark, burning with intent. From his pocket, he pulls a small bottle of lube and a pack of condoms. The sight makes my breath hitch, heat pooling low in my belly.

Gabrielle steps closer, his hands tangling in my hair as his mouth crashes into mine. The kiss is hungry and consuming, yet beneath the urgency lies a tenderness, as if he’s savoring every moment we have.

“God, I want you,” he says against my mouth, his voice thick with desire.

His hands slide down to my waist, pulling me firmly against him. The solid warmth of his body radiates through our shirts, every point of contact igniting a primal need. His fingers make quick work of undressing me, and I shiver under his touch, my breath catching.

When I’m finally naked before him, his gaze travels over me, dark and intense, like he’s memorizing every inch. “So beautiful,” he whispers, the reverence in his tone making my heart skip.

He undresses himself next. I can’t look away as more of him is revealed—lean, sculpted muscle, his entire body breathtaking. When he’s fully bare, his cock is already painfully hard again, and the sight sends a fresh wave of desire through me.

Gabrielle steps closer, pressing his forehead to mine. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says.

I nod, unable to find my voice. God, I want him to wreck me, to slam me down and fuck me senseless.

He guides me to the small bed, helping me lie back. Then he pours a generous amount of lube onto his fingers, warming it between his hands before pressing a soft kiss to my inner thigh. His touch is slow and careful as he slides one slick finger along my entrance, teasing, before gently pressing in. I let out a soft gasp at the sensation, my body adjusting as he moves with care.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his free hand caressing my thigh. “Let me make you feel good.”

I nod, exhaling shakily as he starts to move his finger, sliding in and out in a rhythm that’s both soothing and electrifying. When he adds a second finger, the stretch stings slightly, but the way he watches me—his gaze locked on my face, reading every reaction—makes me feel safe.

“You’re doing so well,” he whispers, his fingers curling just enough to hit a spot inside me that sends pleasure surging through me. I moan, my hips arching instinctively, and he smiles—a dark, satisfied curve of his lips.

“You like that?” he asks, his voice dropping into something darker, more seductive. “I’ll make you feel even better.”

His fingers move faster now, scissoring and stretching me. He takes his time, his other hand stroking my thigh, his lips leaving a trail of kisses along its inner side. By the time he pulls his fingers out, my body is trembling, desperate for more.

Gabrielle rolls the condom over his length, slicking himself generously with lube. He kneels between my legs, his cock pushing slightly against my entrance as he leans over me, his lips hovering above mine.

“Can I fuck you?” he asks, his voice rough with need.

“Yes,” I breathe, my voice trembling with anticipation. “Please.”

He holds my gaze as he slowly presses forward, the head of his cock nudging my entrance before sliding in, inch by inch. The stretch is so good, a mix of pleasure and pressure, and he pauses, giving me time to adjust. His breathing is ragged, his hands gripping my hips as he holds himself back.

“You feel so good,” he groans, his voice thick with need, and I moan in response. “So fucking good.”

When he starts to move, it’s slow at first, each thrust deep and measured. My body arches into him, my hands clutching at his shoulders as I moan his name, the sound echoing in the small room. His lips find mine again, swallowing my cries as he thrusts deeper, his pace quickening.

“God, Ray,” he growls, his voice wrecked.

He adjusts his angle, and suddenly he’s hitting that perfect spot inside me with every thrust. Pleasure crashes over me in waves, my body trembling beneath him as he moves faster, harder. His hand slides between us, wrapping around my cock, stroking me in time with his thrusts. I cry out, my hips bucking helplessly into his touch as the pressure builds, each movement pushing me closer to the edge.

His grip tightens, his strokes perfectly in sync with the relentless rhythm of his hips. He pounds into me harder, the intensity stealing my breath until the pleasure is so overwhelming I can’t hold on any longer.

When I finally come, it’s with a cry that feels ripped from my soul, my release spilling between us as my body convulses beneath him. Gabrielle follows seconds later, groaning my name as his climax overtakes him, his body shuddering against mine as he spills inside me.

He collapses onto me, his weight grounding me as we both struggle to catch our breath. For a long moment, neither of us speaks, the room filled only with the sound of our labored breathing and the faint hum of the hospital beyond the door.

Finally, Gabrielle presses a soft kiss to my temple, his fingers brushing through my hair. “Merry Christmas,” he says, his voice full of warmth.

I laugh, closing my eyes as I bask in the warmth of his body, feeling like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be. “Merry Christmas.”

***

The day after Christmas, Gabrielle and I both have a rare day off. We spend it at his apartment, where he insists on making a proper—if belated—Christmas dinner. And, because I somehow always find a way to make things awkward for everybody, I’ve invited Cat to join me and my new boyfriend for dinner.

While we wait for her to arrive, I sit at the kitchen island, sipping wine as Gabrielle checks on the glazed ham in the oven. The smells wafting through the kitchen are nothing short of heavenly, and my stomach grumbles in anticipation.

“I still can’t believe Cat called my eyebrows gay,” Gabrielle says, glancing over his shoulder with a raised brow.

I cringe, the memory of my post-coital confession flashing through my mind. Why, of all things, did I have to blurt that out? Now, I’m fairly certain Gabrielle is going to bring it up the moment Cat walks through the door.

“To be fair,” I say carefully, “when you approached her at the party, she did backtrack and say you’re definitely not gay.”

Gabrielle straightens up from the oven, closing it with a soft click before turning to face me. “Actually, when I went to talk to her that night, it wasn’t really about her.”

“What?” I blink at him, wineglass paused halfway to my mouth.

He grins, wiping his hands on a dish towel as he walks over to the stool beside me. “I was trying to ask her about you. I wanted to know if you were seeing anyone.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” He sits down, his grin widening. “But then you showed up, and I completely lost my nerve.”

“So when she told me you said you were waiting for her…”

“I was waiting to talk about you,” he finishes, leaning in to put a soft kiss on my lips. “I didn’t plan to act on it or anything—I just wanted to know.”

I let out an incredulous laugh, setting my glass down before it spills. “We’re both idiots.”

“Maybe,” he says, his smile softening as his eyes meet mine. “But we got here eventually.”

I reach for him, pulling him down into another kiss, this one longer, deeper. When we finally pull apart, I rest my forehead against his, my lips finding his as I whisper, “We should probably thank those mystery shots.”

Gabrielle laughs, the sound rich and warm, filling the space between us. “Definitely. I need to know what was in them.”

I chuckle, leaning back just enough to look into his eyes. “Me too. I actually had this whole conspiracy theory about them…”

THE END