Free Gabriel David's White Horse by Gina Watson

his sperm.
    Once his cock quit twitching he crawled onto the bed and plopped down on his back. He was still short of breath when she rolled into his side and placed her head on the middle of his wet chest. She wrapped one leg over his and was as close to him as she could physically get. She purred and delicately rubbed her cheek back and forth over his chest. He guessed she was showing her appreciation for the otherworldly sex they’d just shared, but as the minutes went on he realized she’d fallen asleep atop him.
    His eyes closed and when he awoke he realized three hours had passed. Mirabelle still slept burrowed into his chest and with her leg wrapped around him. He liked how she couldn’t seem to get herself close enough to him. He’d felt that way too and couldn’t wait to be wrapped in her. Right now though he needed to relieve himself, but he didn’t relish the thought of waking her. He tested the weight of the arm draped across his chest. A slight wiggle and a move had him able to ease his body from her touch.
    When he returned from the bathroom she was wiggling into a pair of tight jeans. She’d already donned a cream-colored knit shirt. He imagined the T-shirt would be soft to the touch, but was completely thrown off thought when he realized the threadbare cotton revealed the anatomy of her breasts in the most provocative way. Her curves drove him to the brink of his sanity as a human being and it was there that animal instinct took over. All he wanted to do in the world was rip the clothes from her body, bend her over the bed, and take what his body demanded.
    He stared at her, needy despite all of their amorous activity. Her stomach panged, announcing its needs. The sound was loud in the otherwise quiet room and her eyes bulged, causing him to laugh.
    “My stomach has a mind of its own when I’m hungry.”
    He wanted to capture her shy, sleepy smile and lock it away in his heart. While he was at it, he wished he could freeze this moment because he honestly couldn’t remember being this content.
    “We should see what we can scrounge up,” she said, and then tossed his jeans at him.
    He put his jeans on and followed her into the kitchen where he found her bent into the refrigerator, her tight jeans pulled even tighter over her curves. Parts of his anatomy throbbed as they longed to be caressed by her body.
    She backed out and turned with an armful of ham and cheese and vegetables. “I hope you like to cook,” she said in a sultry, post coital voice.
    “I actually do, but I’m not very good at it.”
    She spoke as she laid out the ingredients, “I like to eat, so I had to learn how to make some stuff. I think I’m an okay cook.”
    “I have no doubt that you’re an excellent cook.” He popped a cherry tomato into his mouth and took a seat on the barstool. He could think of nothing he wanted more than to watch her move around the kitchen in that curve-hugging denim.
    * * *
    How was it possible that the simple act of watching him chew a cherry tomato sent sizzling heat straight to her sex? The man was an art form. He was a Greek god and she wanted to be the goddess who served him in all capacities, be it hunger for food or sex or—dare she think it—love. She shook her head to clear it and cued up Van Morrison on the kitchen radio.
    She pulled a cutting board and knife from the drawer of the island and placed it before him where he sat across from her at the attached bar. She then passed him a tomato, three green onion stalks, and a broccoli crown.
    He picked up the onions and turned them between his fingers. “The cutting board, the knife, the vegetables…I assume you’re trying to tell me something.”
    “Don’t just feel them up, start chopping.”
    He gave her a sexy smirk. “I like feeling things up, especially when they have curves for days.” He picked up the bell pepper and caressed it.
    It was hot, but she didn’t want him to know that, “Creepy.” She crinkled her nose at