But Gabriel stilled all of a sudden, deep inside her. Then her wrists were free. She blinked, opening her eyes in time to see him grip the sides of her blouse and pull them apart with a sharp jerk. Honor gasped as fabric ripped, buttons flying. He pushed the ruined material off her shoulders, pulling it down her arms.
“W-what are you doing?” she asked shakily.
He didn’t answer but then he didn’t have to. As he tied the blouse around her wrists, binding them behind her back, she couldn’t stop the groan that broke from her. Although he hadn’t tied it too tight, it was firm enough she couldn’t get free.
He leaned back a little, his intense black gaze drinking her in. Then he gripped her bra and tore that in half, too.
This time she didn’t make a sound, shivering as the cool air whispered over her hot skin, raising goose bumps.
Gabriel leaned back on the bed, looking at her. “Fuck … yes…” There was so much hunger in his expression, a raw possessiveness that should have made her angry. Because she wasn’t anyone’s to own.
Until now. He wasn’t looking at her and thinking money, that was for damn sure. He was looking at her like he wanted to devour her. She’d never imagined how erotic that would be. Never even thought she’d like it. With her hands tied behind her back, naked to his gaze, there was no way she could control this situation. No way to stop him from taking what he wanted. No way to take charge.
There was freedom in that she’d only dreamed of.
The hand on her hip keeping her steady slid higher, cupping one breast. The heat of his palm scalded her and she moaned as he circled her aching nipple with his thumb, brushing back and forth. At the same time he began to move again, the slow thrust of his hips making her thoughts break apart and scatter under the sheer weight of the pleasure.
“I’m going to make you scream, baby,” he said in a low, rough voice. “I’m going to make you scream yourself hoarse.” Then he pinched her nipple, hard enough for the pleasure to have a rough edge of pain.
God, why did she like that? She couldn’t keep the cry inside her. A wordless sound of desperation.
He began to move faster and the world fell away, narrowed, becoming only the push of his cock inside her, the heat of his body beneath her, the clever fingers on her breast, and the slow, relentless build of an ecstasy that wouldn’t be denied.
Honor began to shake, caught on the cusp of something immense. Something vast. Pleasure a living flame inside her clawing to get out. She shut her eyes, panting, sobs crowding in her throat. This couldn’t be happening, not so soon. Not again.
“I can’t…” she said raggedly, hardly even aware she was speaking. “I can’t…”
“Don’t fight it,” he said, dark and soft. “Let go.” And he shifted, an arm sliding around her waist, the heat of his body pressing hard against her front. Then his hand slid between them, down between her thighs to where they were joined. And he brushed one finger over her clit, so lightly. But it was enough.
Honor stopped fighting. Let go as lightning bolted up her spine and she screamed as a column of fire exploded in her head. Behind her eyes. Flooding her body with pleasure so intense she didn’t think she’d survive it.
Gabriel’s arms tightened around her and she pressed her forehead into his shoulder, sobbing as sensation tore her apart.
Some time passed and the intensity began to fade.
Then he said, “My turn.”
His arms tightened further, turning her on her back onto the white sheets of the bed, still inside her. Then he slid a hand behind her knee, lifting her leg up high, over one powerful shoulder, tilting her hips so he could get even deeper.
She panted, moving restlessly, the heavy laxness of the first orgasm beginning to fade, tension gathering in the pit of her stomach. Oh, Jesus, please don’t say he was going to break her. Not again.
“Say my name,” he ordered, one arm wrapped around her leg. “Say it.”
“G-Gabriel…”
He drew his hips back. “Again.”
“Gabriel…” The name ended on a cry as he thrust back in, hard. “Oh … please … I can’t … not again…”
“You can. You will.” He began to move, a relentless, driving rhythm, the tension in her stomach becoming an ache, a need, pulling tighter, another climax beginning to dig sharp claws in her.
Honor gasped, twisting beneath him, but there was no escaping it. No escaping him. The orgasm crashed over her like a building falling, leaving her gasping and shivering as he drove into her, his arm wrapped around her thigh, his hand on her hip, holding her still.
Then abruptly he growled deep in his throat, his hips giving one last, convulsive thrust, and his big body shuddered, the growl becoming a rough, hoarse cry.
She couldn’t move, didn’t even have the energy to speak. She could only lie there, panting, with her eyes shut, staring at the bright spots behind her lids, feeling him shake as the release caught him as well.
God in heaven. He’d destroyed her. Utterly wrecked her and left her in pieces. How the hell could she ever recover from this? Would she even want to?
She felt him move, withdrawing from her. Then he reached beneath her, releasing the fabric tying her wrists. Her hands tingled as he drew them from behind her back, gently chafing her wrists.
She opened her eyes, found her vision blurry with tears.
“Wait there,” Gabriel murmured. “I won’t be long.” He left the bed, disappearing into the bathroom en suite.
Honor drew the sheet over herself, shaking and unable to stop.
Sex wasn’t supposed to be this way. At least it had never been that way for her. No, she’d never come with any of her lovers but it had been nice. Pleasant. Vaguely pleasurable but ultimately forgettable. Not … intense. Passionate. Soul-destroying. Addicting …
She turned her hot face into the cool pillow. No … she had to pull herself together. No falling apart. So she’d let go. Given up control. And yes, it had been incredible. But all that feeling didn’t make it mean anything. She wouldn’t let it.
It was only sex. The intensity was only because he’d given her three orgasms in a row and she wasn’t used to it. Not because it felt like he’d ripped away her control, leaving her aching, raw, and vulnerable. And wanting more …
The bed dipped, Gabriel returning, and she wanted to get away from him all of a sudden. Be alone to recover, build herself back up again. But before she could move, his arms came around her, drawing her in close, and as the heat of his body surrounded her, she realized he must have taken his clothes off—all she felt was hot, bare skin against hers.
“Oh, no,” she said, half-desperately, “I can’t—”
“Relax, sweetheart.” His deep voice was in her ear, full of rough heat. “I think you’ve had enough for tonight.” He ran a hand down her side in a gentle motion, then back up again. A light, undemanding, soothing touch. And despite herself she felt the tension in her begin to lessen.
Get up. Go. Get away while you can.
The warning rang loud in her head but she felt strangely reluctant to move. Warmth had begun to uncurl through her body, the raw feeling fading. Gabriel’s hand stroked up and down her side, his body like a fire at her back.
She’d never much liked sleeping with another person. Having the bed all to yourself was infinitely preferable to sharing space with someone else. God, sometimes even being held left her feeling constrained and suffocated. Stiff and tense.
But she realized she didn’t feel any of those things now. She felt only … warm. Loose. A deep sense of relaxation seeping through her.
“Gabriel,” she said thickly. “I think we need to—”
“Not now,” he interrupted. “I think now we need to sleep.”
Honor sighed. She should argue, she really should. Or at least insist he get up and go to his own room. Except she didn’t want to. She didn’t even want to move.
So all she said was, “Okay.”
And five minutes later, she
was asleep.
CHAPTER NINE
Gabriel woke to find the room flooded with the kind of cold, bright light that always came with early morning on snowy days. He wasn’t alone, he knew that immediately because he could feel warmth nestled against his side, the scent of flowers and musk surrounding him.
A woman. Honor.
He turned his head and there she was, lying curled against him, her hair spread over the white pillow in a glossy black spill, her eyes shut, still fast asleep. Peaceful. So different from the flushed, panting woman he’d held in his arms. The one who’d screamed as he’d brought her to a second climax. Who’d sobbed as he’d given her a third.
Christ, it had been good. He’d made her lose control in his arms more than once, which was extremely satisfying and all according to plan. Except he couldn’t allow himself to get too carried away. He had to maintain his distance, keep himself separate and unengaged.
Nothing could be allowed to get in the way of his anger, and most certainly not lust. He’d never had any problems keeping his distance before, he shouldn’t be having any problems now.
He let out a breath. What he should be doing is getting up and going to the hotel gym, indulging in his usual early morning workout. Yet he found himself strangely reluctant to move.
It had been a while since he’d woken up with a woman. While his mother had been sick he hadn’t had the time or the energy to waste on sex. It had only ever been a release valve anyway. All he’d ever needed was anger.
He turned on his side, looking down at her.
She was motionless in sleep, her breathing even and deep, her lashes lying thick on her flushed cheeks. Her skin was fine and pale, and he remembered how it had felt under his fingers the night before. Soft. Smooth. Warm.
He let his gaze travel over the curve of her shoulder to the flare of her hips, then to the gentle swell of her thighs. She was lovely, delicate. Not the kind of woman he usually had in his bed. Yes, she had that perfectly put together, expensive look to her. And yet, there was a strength and depth to her other sophisticated women lacked. Behind that cool, calm front lay fire. Passion. A passion that apparently she’d never let out with anyone else.
Her lashes fluttered then they lifted, the deep blue of her eyes looking up into his. And for a second he couldn’t remember where he was or what he was doing, something painful constricting in his chest. Then she blinked, her face flushing, and the painful sensation was gone.
“How long have you been staring at me?” she asked.
“A minute or so,” he replied with absolute truth.
“Why?”
“Because you’re beautiful.” And that, too, was the truth.
“Oh.” Her gaze flickered away.
“I’ve been trying to decide whether or not to go have a workout or wake you up and make you scream again.”
The color in her cheeks deepened. “Why me? Isn’t it your turn to scream?”
He smiled, genuinely amused. “Baby, you’re certainly welcome to try.”
Her deep blue gaze came to his. “Are you serious?”
Ah, of course. Now he’d become a challenge. He found the thought made him even harder than he was already. “If you think you can do it, why not?”
The look on her face turned to one full of intent, her gaze sweeping down his body. She reached out, placed her palm on his chest over the cross he’d had tattooed there when his mother had reluctantly told him who he was. Where he’d come from. And why she was sometimes afraid of him.
He still remembered the cold pain of the tattoo. Like ice. A welcome respite to the anger that had burned in his heart after his mother had revealed what his father had done to her. Shattering his boyhood dreams of having a proper dad he could look up to.
The anger had cooled now, become sharp, an anger he’d honed over the years into a vicious edge.
But the warmth of her hand heated his skin, chasing away the ice. It made him shiver and he almost wanted to take her hand away. Cold was so much easier to bear than heat. Yet he didn’t. Because now her hand was moving down, over his abdomen, farther down, her fingers finding his cock, stroking him.
His muscles tightened, the sweet ache intensifying as she took his dick in her palm, gripping him. “I think I get to call the shots now,” she said softly, tightening her hold.
A thread of unease wound through him and he couldn’t figure out why. He liked to be in charge during sex because it gave him control, helped him to maintain distance. But plenty of women over the years had jerked or sucked him off and he’d never once lost it with any of them. One blue-eyed, black-haired woman wasn’t going to break the habit of a lifetime. Was she?
“Okay,” he said. “For now.”
Her fingers tightened. “Lie on your back.”
Hell, he’d do that. If it kept her hand right where it was. He rolled over. Honor pulled back the sheet and shifted, kneeling between his thighs, her hand still gripping his cock firmly. The sight of her hand wrapped around him shook him on a level he hadn’t realized he possessed.
The unease deepened.
She bent her head, the silky ends of her hair brushing his abs, sending chills racing through his body. Then she swirled her tongue around the head of his cock, licking him delicately, like he was her favorite ice cream.
Pleasure uncoiled, stroking over nerve endings that he’d thought deadened long ago. He’d always found physical pleasure a faint, dulled thing but this … This wasn’t dull. It was sharp, hot. Last night he’d managed to handle it by staying in control of her, but this time, there was no such distraction.
She was making it all about him.
As the realization hit, Honor’s mouth opened, almost swallowing him whole. The sensation of slick heat was astonishing. “Jesus…” He found his fingers were gripping the mattress, holding onto it as her hand tightened. As she increased suction.
Pressure began to build.
Fuck. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes from where she knelt, the sight of his cock disappearing into her mouth so erotic it left him breathless. She hadn’t done this before, or at least not very often, he could tell, and yet somehow that only made it hotter.
Then she looked up at him as she sucked him, blue eyes deep and wide. And with her other hand she touched him, running her fingers up his leg, over his abs, his chest, and back down again. A light, tantalizing touch that shouldn’t have been as fucking erotic as it was.
You don’t deserve this. You’ve never deserved it. Not after all the things you’ve done …
Darkness lurked just at the edge of his vision, an old pain slicing deep.
Gabriel groaned and reached for her, twining his fingers in her hair. This was wrong. He’d made a mistake. He had to control this somehow. He tried to tug her head up but she shook his fingers away. “Do that again and I’ll stop,” she said thickly, her breath washing over his aching cock. Then her mouth covered him again and she made a hungry sound at the back of her throat, her movements becoming faster.
Something tight began to crack inside him.
He tried to fight back, gain some semblance of control but there was nothing to hold onto. Nothing except her.
Gabriel arched back on the bed, his hips thrusting into her mouth, his fingers buried in the softness of her hair as the pressure built to intolerable levels.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “Honor…”
Then it smashed apart and he broke with it, his ragged cry of release echoing through the room.
He released his hold on her hair, just lying there for long minutes, staring blankly at the ceiling, his mind utterly empty of thought. He could feel her fingers tracing lazy circles on his stomach, her body shifting as she sat up. “I think I’ll take that as a scream,” she said, sounding pleased with herself. “Which means I win.” She leaned over him, frowning as she touched the back of his hand where it rested on his chest. “Where did these scars come from?”
He tried to swallow, his mouth dry. “Knife cuts. I did a lot of
fighting.”
Her fingers drifted lower, moving to the tattoos over his abdomen, the words he’d put there when he was eighteen. The last time he’d demanded his mother tell him the name of his father and she’d refused.
“‘I will repay,’” Honor said softly, her fingers tracing the letters. “That’s from the Bible.”
His skin felt tight, like something was pressing down on him, squeezing all the air from his lungs. It had been years since he’d felt like this. Years since he’d felt anything at all except anger. Yet she’d broken through his guard, cracked the ice he’d surrounded himself with. Made him feel something else …
What was it the Reverend had told him? “Hold onto your anger, Church. But make it cold. That way it lasts. You gotta have something to drive you and stone-cold anger is the best fuel there is.”
Fuck, he needed to breathe. Get out.
Before he could even think straight, he’d brushed away her hands, slipping off the bed, bending to pick up his clothes.
“Gabriel?” she asked softly.
Fighting for breath, he began to dress in sharp, jerky movements. “I’m going for a ride,” he managed to force out.
“What? Now?”
He pulled on his T-shirt. “Yeah, now.”
“But … Did I do something?” An edge of hurt had crept into her voice. “Say something?”
He couldn’t look at her. He had to get out. Into the air, where it was cold and clean and sharp. Where the ice would freeze out the heat she’d made him feel.
Where he’d reclaim his fucking detachment.
“Gabriel,” Honor said. “What’s wrong?”
But he ignored her. Without a word, he turned on his heel and strode from the room.
* * *
“What’s happening, Honor?” Guy’s cool voice held an edge to it. “I thought I would have heard by now.”
Honor turned from the windows and walked back across the room, her heels sinking soundlessly into the thick carpet.
“It’s okay, Dad,” she said soothingly. “Woolf is going to come to the party.”
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