Forbidden

Tears fall freely from my face as I arrange the documents in front of me. Months of credit card transactions, text messages and emails line the coffee table in neat little piles in their smug little way. My stomach twists with the realization of my husband's infidelity, but I can't bring myself to confront him. Two days of heartbreak have left me drained and empty. Of course, he had been home last night, but he had noticed nothing . . . no tears dried on my face, no hollow expression . . . nothing.

Perhaps I shouldn't be surprised. He had stopped being intimate over three months ago, although I had documents that proved his affair had begun long before then. Her name was Portia Gonzales, and she worked with him in the firm. Classy, Greg. Classy.

Of course, I should be angry. However, I can't feel anything past this numbness that has settled. It's like a disease, plaguing my every waking moment with thoughts of them kissing . . . fucking. That thought causes more tears, and I fall back into the couch in despair and self-pity.

At that precise, painful moment, my cell phone decides to ring. I glance at the screen and am surprised to see that Gabe's name has come up. What could Greg's father possibly need?

Trying to keep the tears from my voice, I bring the phone to my ear and answer it.

"Hello?" I ask politely. My voice cracks all over the place.

"Delylah? What's wrong?" Gabe asks, and his genuinity kills me. That's him though, always caring for anybody else before himself.

"Nothing, Gabe." I let out a laugh, but it's as fake as the smile my husband gives me. I hear him let out a soft sigh on the other end of the line.

"What has he done?" he asks, his voice becoming dark and dangerous. It causes a flicker of a smile to cross my face at his display of protection towards me. Through my 5 year marriage to his son, I had become extremely close with Gabe. He was kind and gentle, a complete opposite from his son who is arrogant and a dickhole.

"It's really nothing. I don't . . ." my words fade off as I try to keep myself from breaking into a million, tender pieces. My sobs become uncontrollable, and I feel myself shattering.

"I'll be there soon, Del." He promises gently, and he's off the phone.

How can someone so kind father someone who is so cruel? The thought puzzles me, and I recall the first time I had met Gabe. Unlike his son, Gabe was reserved and tender. He enjoyed tinkering with cars in his spare time but was a handyman by trade. His extensive knowledge of pipes, wood and wires fascinated me, and his painstaking patience was something I envied.

Of course, the man was extremely handsome as well. High cheekbones that melted perfectly with his proportionate nose. His neat, graying beard was short and professional. Glasses framed intelligent blue eyes that were always twinkling. Easily, he stood a foot over myself. And the kindness, the tenderness . . . his concern for others was overwhelming.

Feeling sick with myself, I push thoughts of Gabe from my mind. He's Greg's father before anything else. The idea that the man was causing me warm, tender feelings was unacceptable. Sniffing, I look away from the documents and turn my gaze to the blank television.

At that moment, I hear a knock at the door, who can only be Gabe. I stand and make the short voyage, taking my time before twisting the handle and pulling it aside. And there he is, casual jeans, a well-fitting tee and a hat that caused his graying hair to curl outwards. In spite of the turmoil I felt inside, the sight of him causes my face to split into a genuine smile.

"Tell me what happened," he says gently, and I move to let him inside. Quickly, I shut the door behind him and shake my head.

"He's cheating, Gabe. Greg . . ." I shake my head again, pointing to the incriminating coffee table and letting fresh sobs wash over me.

"You didn't deserve this," Gabe growls ten minutes later, finishing reading a few of the documents that brought my husband's infidelity to light. "This . . . I never raised him to . . ." Gabe presses his lips together, turning his blue eyes to mine.

"This isn't your fault," I tell him, but he shakes his head at me. Carefully, he shuffles nearer to me on the loveseat.

"It's not yours either, Delylah. The thought of him hurting you . . ." he stops himself, his cheeks taking a pink hint to them.

"Let's not talk about him right now," I whisper, and Gabe gives me his infamous crooked grin. However his eyes are different with this one; full of pain and sorrow.

"It's pretty cold outside," he says softly, and I nod my agreement.

"Isn't it supposed to snow?" I sniff.

"Sometime tomorrow, I believe," he answers. It surprised me how normal our conversation sounds, what pain it masks. "Del, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know," I say, taking in his expression. He reaches out and gently traces circles in my cheek. It's warm and pleasant . . . comforting. Of course, he's always been this way. Concerned for others, gentle. Handsome. Nooo, I moan to myself, pushing those thoughts away.

"I can give you some money," he offers quietly, but I immediately shake my head.

"I can't accept that sort of charity," I mutter, looking away from his gaze.

"Not charity, Del. It is merely a way for you to get on your feet, whatever your decision may be." He pushes gently.

"I said no," I snap, regret instantly forming when I realize my quip. "I'm sorry, Gabriel."

"No need for apologies, Delylah," he says. Cautiously, he reaches out and wraps his left arm around my shoulders. Instantly, I press myself to his chest. He smells of wood and his sweet cologne. I feel the effects of years of hard manual labor beneath his shirt and I wholly relax against him. Carefully, he manuevers his right arm and drapes it across my legs.

"You've always been painfully kind," I murmur and I feel him chuckle sadly against me.

"It's never been difficult where you're concerned," Gabe says softly, tracing a small circle in my knee. The small gesture stirs something inside me, and I realize my growing sense of arousal. I squeeze my legs together, trying to ignore the sensation.

"Why is that?" I ask quietly, and I turn my face slightly and gently blew my breath against his neck. Momentarily, he stiffens and I brace myself for the rejection and anger. However, he only cautiously presses his lips to my forehead.

"We've always been close," he reminds me, resting his chin on top of my head. With a small smile, I cuddle closer and he responds by squeezing tighter. From here, I can feel the steady thump of his heart.

"Why are we so close, Gabe? It goes beyond our commonalities, right? Am I wrong?" I ask, my voice cracking more as the words pour out.

"You're not wrong," he answers after a minute. His tone is ever-cautious, but I hear his heart beat faster. He raises his head and lets out a small, nervous sigh.

"What is it?" I ask softly, turning my face to his. He looks down at me while his right hand steadily travels up my leg . . . toward my steady-developing wetness. His fingers pause for a moment at the waistband of my yoga pants. I take in a deep breath and straighten my legs. Beneath me, Gabe leans against the arm of the couch, bringing me with him easily. Gracefully, he raises his left leg so it's beside me and his right foot rests on the floor. From my position, I'm still in a mostly-sitting posture, leaning against Gabe's strong chest for support. I bury my nose into his neck, letting out a small puff of warm air.

"I see the way you look at me," he breathes into my ear before shoving his large hand down my panties, his expert fingers rubbing my small, wet mound. I gasp in surprise before his lips seek out my own. "Surely, you've seen how I look at you?"

"Gabe . . . this . . . mmmm . . ." I buck against his hand, feeling myself slowly lose control. His lips stay on mine, kissing me so tenderly it hurts. His compassion burns through me, and I cry out as he shoves two fingers inside my depths.

"Mmm, so wet, Delylah. You are an exquisite woman," he nibbles my lower lip with his experienced teeth. His thumb knowingly rubs my mound, and he puts his other hand up my shirt. Quickly, he seeks out my breast and squeezes the nipple. I gasp as he continues his assult with his fingers.

"Shit, Gabe, I'm close . . ." I push myself into his chest as he squeezes my breast. Lustfully, I buck against his hand and his tongue enters my mouth. His kiss seems to ensnare my senses and I cry out as I climax around his fingers.

For a few minutes, I catch my breath against his mouth. Our kiss lasts both forever and no time at all. He's tender and giving, every move seemingly to be considered before being acted out. Then, he removes his fingers from my wetness and his hand from my breast. He holds my face close to his, and I can smell myself on his fingers.

When he pulls away, my hands go for the zipper of his jeans, but he stops me with that strong, tender grip. I look at him, but he merely shakes his handsome head.

"This was for you," he explains, pulling me back to his chest.

"Let me pleasure you," I murmur. Despite the obvious strain in his pants, he just shakes his head again.

"You already have, Del." He murmurs. "Happy Valentine's Day."