Eleven
Gabriel
I have her.
I have her.
I have her.
She’s mine.
Right now, at this moment, Eve lies sleeping on my bed, still dressed in the ballgown I gave her. She wore it for me. And she drank the champagne. Nothing, not even unlocking the secret of teleportation, has made me happier than the moment her lips touched that glass and she drank.
If she’d refused, I had a Gilda soldier in the shadows ready to take her anyway. But his help wasn’t needed. My girl wants me, and she took the final step to prove it.
She’s fucking mine!
The medical team have just finished placing a tiny tracker under the skin at the back of her neck. In the unlikely event she manages to escape the Compound, we’ll find her in no time. They also performed a series of tests, pronounced her free of any communicable diseases, and left her there.
In my bed .
Fuck.
I’m staring at her on the screen of my phone even though she’s right through the door. Stupid? Of course. But her being here is almost too much. I’ve wanted her for so long that the thought of actually having her feels unreal. Like she’s an apparition. I’ll blink, and she’ll disappear.
As soon as I made the decision to take her, I started to plan. Every moment of the next two weeks is laid out to perfection with one goal—her perfect behavior at the ceremony. Kendrick even told me to slow down on my research to allow more time to prep.
The utter madness of that haunts me occasionally. Gabriel, please ease off on the research that will change the direction of humanity. We need you to focus on the girl we’re forcing you to kidnap.
Forcing me? I can’t kid myself about that anymore. By this point, they could have hardly stopped me. I’ve play-acted situations like this before with girls who enjoyed the fantasy just as much as I did. I’ve “trained” women, ordered them to their knees, made them call me Sir or Master.
But it was all fake. Scenarios that were fun for a few hours before we went back to our real lives. This with Eve is going to be real. My real captive. My real slave.
Fuck. My hands are shaking. How can something so wrong feel like absolute perfection?
Since the night I killed Cole, I’ve also made a few other changes. Stepping up my workout routine, for one, switching from easygoing cardio and weights to intense, army-style sessions with Jacob. I’ve gained ten pounds of pure muscle and am stronger than I’ve ever been. He’s also been teaching me to really fight .
Not the careful moves I learned in my jujitsu classes, geared toward immobilizing your opponent without serious damage. He’s been teaching me how to disable, maim, and even kill with the greatest efficiency. I’ll never be that useless guy relying on his friend to save his girl again. If anyone tries to hurt Eve again, I’ll be fucking ready.
She’s my Ward. I’m her Patron. I’ll protect her with my life.
She shifts in her heavy, drugged sleep, and I set the phone down with a thump on my desk. I have to go in. I can’t wait a moment longer.
I push open the door, then close it behind me with a click. According to the med team, she won’t wake for at least a couple of hours, but for some reason, I feel the need to be silent. Creeping over to the bed, I sit on the edge of it and stare down at Eve.
She’s even more beautiful than I remember. The med team cleaned the makeup from her face, and I’m glad. She doesn’t need anything to enhance her features—they’re perfect as they are. Now, finally close up, I can study the little details that don’t come across on screen.
A light spray of freckles across each cheek. Soft, full lips parted in sleep, the bottom a little fuller than the top. Her hair isn’t a uniform brown, but threaded with natural highlights, a faint hint of red. I reach out to twirl a strand around my finger and pull back at the last second.
Once I touch her, I won’t be able to stop.
I know it deep in my gut. It’s been seventeen months since I touched a woman, and that was an unsatisfying one-night stand with a coworker after my leaving party. Seventeen months of frustration, four of them spent staring at Eve from afar.
I’ve spent countless hours imagining how soft her skin will feel. What she’ll smell like. How she’ll taste. And now she’s mine. I own her. I can touch her however I want. I’m on the precipice, about to take my very first hit of a drug that’ll take my soul in a death grip and never let it go.
Hesitant as a priest reaching for something he believes is a fragment of the true cross, I touch the tip of my finger to her bottom lip and draw it across the soft, velvety skin.
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
The dam breaks, blood rushing to every extremity. Months of pent-up need hit me all at once. I can touch her. And I don’t want to do anything else ever again.
I bring both hands to her face, cupping it as I lower my head to her hair and inhale. A lingering scent of something fruity, eclipsed by her . I breathe in her clean, fresh aroma, earthy and feminine all at once. I take in deep lungfuls of it like a drowning man who just found air and straighten to study her as my hands slide lower.
The dress has to go.
The pretty outfit I chose carefully, with the help of a saleswoman who thought I was surprising my girlfriend, might as well be a hessian sack. It’s in the way, cutting me off from everything I’ve dreamed of for months. It zips in the side, a feature I chose with this exact moment in mind, and I slide it down.
The fucking thing catches, and I yank at it with a grunt. I’ll cut the damn dress off if I have to. It moves, though, sliding right down to below her hips. My heart thunders as I grip the top. Time to unwrap my present.
I should feel guilty. Shouldn’t I? Maybe in the dim and distant future, I will. But right now, all I care about is her. I peel the dress away, discard it on the floor, and examine my girl, who’s now wearing only a pair of panties.
Plain white cotton, like the good girl she is.
Fuck .
My cock strains against my jeans, the pressure almost unbearable, as I remove her panties too. All the movement must have disturbed her sleep a little as she shifts, head slipping to the side with a heavy breath, eyes moving beneath her lids. Is she dreaming? Maybe I can spice those dreams up.
Where to start? It’s like standing before an all-you-can-eat buffet, overwhelmed by the options. I reach out an almost steady hand and can’t hold back a moan as I cup her breast. She’s the perfect size, full with a little heaviness, and the soft, firm weight is the best thing I’ve ever felt. She has small nipples, a little darker than I’d have expected, and I trace one with the tip of my finger.
Even in her sleep, it hardens.
Yes! She’s sensitive there. I play with them both, bringing them to stiff peaks, and she shifts on the bed. Is the touch invading her dreams? Making her crave more? God, I hope so. I lower my head and run my tongue over the hard point, and the salty taste of her almost overwhelms me. I take deep breaths, trying not to lose control. So much more to explore before I do.
I move my hands lower, sliding over the soft mound of her stomach. She’s slim but not toned, too busy with classes to spend time at the gym. She hates the gentle roundness of her belly, but I think it’s intoxicating. A soft contrast to the hard lines of my body.
Once she wakes up, I’ll teach her how perfect she is. I’ll make her love her body as much as I do.
I finally let my eyes rest on the one part of her body still a true mystery to me. Gently, I bend her legs up and slide them apart to examine her pussy. Never once, in the months I’ve watched her every move, have I seen Eve play with herself. Oh, how I scoured the recordings, hoping to catch that magic moment .
I dreamed of watching her, legs spread on the bed, moaning while fucking a dildo or shuddering as she pressed a vibrator to her clit. But it never happened. My poor Eve hasn’t had an orgasm in at least three months. Probably much longer. She must have some lingering shame around the act.
Eve keeps her pussy shaved. Another small act of rebellion against her upbringing. I spread her wide open and bend close enough that my breath fans over the smooth skin. Her sweet, musky scent makes my head spin.
I can’t help myself. I part my lips and draw my tongue up the seam, over her pink clit. Her taste explodes on my tongue along with a hot, savage burst of possessive joy. No one else has ever tasted her. She’s all mine. I dive back in for another taste.
I’ve never been one to care about a girl’s sexual history. If anything, I’ve always leaned toward confident women who already know their kinks and limits and are as up for a good time as I am. But Eve is different. Training her is going to be an absolute fucking joy.
One more taste, and I pull back. Even in her deep slumber, she lets out a tiny whimper. My cock aches, pulsing in an echo of that plaintive little sound.
She's needy. Even in her sleep, she's craving pleasure. Once she wakes up, I'll give her more than she can handle. She'll beg me to stop, but I won't listen. I'll give her all the pleasure she's deprived herself of and more. It's what she deserves.
I can’t wait anymore. I’m only human.
Pushing her legs flat, I climb on top of her and unzip my jeans, freeing my cock. I don’t think I’ve ever been harder or more desperate for release. I groan at the pressure as I wrap my hand around myself and pump as if my life depends on it. It feels like it does .
I stare at Eve as I work myself. This is the last time I’ll have to do this. From now on, I’ll use her mouth, ass, or pussy whenever I want. And fuck, it’s going to be a lot. My balls tighten, a savage, burning lance of pleasure makes me cry out, and my release shoots free, splattering all over Eve’s chest and face.
What a beautiful sight.
As my heart rate slows and the aftershocks of my orgasm fade, a feral urge takes over. I'm a clean guy, to the point some call me obsessive. Sex, then shower, every time. But I don't want Eve clean. I want her marked with my scent.
Like a madman, I rub my fingers through the liquid decorating her sleeping body. I spread it out, massaging it into her skin like lotion. Not a drop wasted. It's going to be a rule she'll learn to follow, so she might as well start now.
I gather some on my finger and rub it over her lips. She'll taste me as soon as she wakes up. A taste I'll make her crave.
Task complete, my head feels something like normal again. I climb off her, pull the blanket up to cover her, place a pillow under her head, and kiss her forehead. My heart almost explodes when she curls onto her side with a contented sigh.
I'll have to be cruel soon. Strict. But not yet. I stroke the hair back from her face.
Moving quietly, I collect the dress and use my thumbprint to open the locked closet. Clothes are forbidden unless she behaves. I've even fastened all the blankets to the beds. I'm going to keep her naked for at least the first few days. After that, we'll see.
A new sensation rears up as I look down on Eve. Alongside the usual protectiveness, a heady sense of power. True power. The sort I've always fantasized about. Power that doesn't come with caveats. No safe words or limits. Her limits are what I decide to allow .
My blood heats again. She had no idea what she was agreeing to when she drank my champagne, but she still did it. She handed over control to me willingly. She wants me to take charge, and I won't disappoint.
Nothing can spoil my good mood, not even a text from my dad asking for more money. I ignore it, like I have the last three. His gambling is way out of control, but I don't have time to deal with it yet. I will. After the ceremony.
I pace the house, failing to focus on anything at all, until my phone screen lights up. Movement in the bedroom.
Eve is stirring.