Chapter 5 - Gabriel
She thinks she’s playing a game.
She thinks she’s the one moving the pieces on the board, using me as a pawn to hurt my son.
It’s adorable, really.
If I weren’t so consumed by the need to tear that dress off her body and sink myself inside her until I touch her soul, I might actually laugh.
Blair Ashby has no idea she just walked into a trap I set three years ago.
Her weight settles on my lap, and every muscle in my body locks up.
Fuck.
The sensation of her thighs bracketing my hips is a level of torture I haven’t prepared for. I’ve imagined this. I’ve spent nights staring at the ceiling, my hand working overtime, picturing exactly this—Blair, desperate and furious, climbing me like I’m the only solid thing left in her world.
But the reality?
The reality is violent.
It hits me in the chest, knocking the wind out of me.
She smells like the same expensive perfume Ryder buys all his little toys and I grit my teeth with the effort to hold back the urge to cover her in the scent of me instead.
To wipe away every single trace of the disappointment that is my son from her skin.
Her hands running up my chest and around my neck bring me back to the here and now.
Blair feels soft where I’m hard, small where I’m big.
And she’s mine.
Finally.
I look past her shoulder. The room is empty at the moment outside of the two of us and the bouncer.
Good.
Because if anyone else looks at her right now, with her skirt hiked up and her head thrown back, I’ll kill them.
I won’t just hurt them. I’ll end them.
I’ll gouge their eyes out and feed them to the strays in the alley out back.
Possessiveness surges through my veins, black and toxic. It’s the feeling of a man who has starved for a lifetime suddenly sitting at a banquet.
I clench her waist, my fingers digging into her flesh through the silk of her dress.
“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” I growl, my voice unrecognizable. It’s a rough scrape of sound, barely human.
She grinds down.
A curse rips from my throat.
She’s sitting right on my cock. Through the wool of my trousers, I can feel the heat of her. She’s not wearing much underneath that dress.
Maybe nothing at all.
The thought makes my vision blur.
“I want to hurt him,” she whispers, leaning in until her lips brush my jaw. “Help me hurt him, Gabriel.”
Ryder.
Always fucking Ryder.
My jaw clenches so hard I hear a crack. I hate that his name is in her mouth. I hate that he’s the reason she’s here.
But I’ll take it. For now.
“Forget him,” I command.
I slide my hand up her thigh. Her skin is fire. Soft, smooth, burning. My palm is rough against her and she shivers.
I find the hem of her panties. They’re lace. Flimsy.
I hook a finger under the fabric and drag it to the side.
She gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders, and she’s so fucking wet she’s slick against my fingers.
Triumph roars in my ears.
She can say this is about revenge all she wants. She can lie to herself. She can lie to me. But her body? Her body is telling the truth.
She wants this. She wants me.
“You’re soaking,” I murmur against her neck, inhaling the scent of her arousal.
It’s intoxicating. Better than the scotch sitting on the table.
Better than the money in my bank account.
“Is this for revenge? Or is this because you’ve been wondering what it would be like to be with a real man instead of a boy? ”
She shudders, her hips seeking the pressure of my hand. “Gabriel…”
“Say it.”
I rub my thumb over her clit, slick and swollen.
Her head falls back, exposing the long, elegant line of her throat. I want to bite her. I want to mark her so deep the bruise lasts for weeks. I want Ryder to see it at Christmas dinner and know exactly whose mouth put it there.
“I want you,” she sobs out.
That’s it.
My willpower shatters.
I reach down between us with my free hand and work my zipper. I free myself, the cool air hitting my skin for a fraction of a second before I’m lining myself up.
“Look at me,” I order.
She drags her eyes open. They’re blown wide, dark with lust and confusion.
"I’m going to ruin you," I warn her. I promise her. "After tonight, you are never going to be able to look at another man without wishing he was me."
I grip her hips and lift her.
She whimpers, desperate, trying to impale herself on me.
But I don’t let her.
I lower her slowly, agonizingly, until just the head of my cock breaches her entrance.
She gasps, a muffled sound against my shoulder.
She’s tight. So tight it hurts.
“Please,” she begs, her nails clawing at my jacket. “Please, Gabriel. More.”
“Not here,” I grit out, sweat beading on my forehead as her hips roll against mine, desperate to sink down just another inch.
I hold her there, my fingers digging into her hip to hold her still. Just the tip buried inside her tight, wet heat. It’s agony. It’s the best feeling I’ve ever had.
I want to drive into her. I want to slam her down and pound into her until she can’t remember her own name, let alone my son’s.
But I won’t do it here.
I want to see every expression on her face when I fill her. I need to hear every sound she makes. I need to lay her body out like an offering before me so I can worship her the way she deserves.
And I’m sure as fuck not using protection when I do it.
I never planned to.
I’ve been tracking her for months. I know her cycle.
And I know she’s fertile.
Right now.
And I’m going to put my baby in her.
I’m going to bind her to me with DNA and blood, and she’s going to give me everything.
She tries to push down, to take more of me, but I hold her firm.
“More,” she begs as frustrated tears slip down her cheeks.
“Not yet,’ I say, pulling out.
She whines, a sound of devastating loss, and tries to chase me, but I’m already adjusting her dress, covering the prize I intend to claim in about thirty seconds.
I tuck myself away, zip my pants, ignoring the throbbing ache in my balls that demands satisfaction.
“Up,” I snarl.
I grab her hand and drag her out of the booth.
She stumbles, dazed, her legs clearly not working right. Good.
I pull her toward the back hallway. I know the layout of Red Rum since I’m here so often doing business. I know exactly which door leads to the private VIP lounge that has a lock on the inside.
The bouncer starts to turn toward us, sees my face, and immediately looks at the floor.
Smart man.
I kick the door open and shove Blair inside.
It’s dark. Smells like leather and cedar. There’s a velvet sofa against the wall.
It’s perfect.
I slam the door and lock it.
Blair is standing in the middle of the room, chest heaving, hair wild. She looks like a wreck. She looks like an angel who just fell from grace and landed in my hell.
“Get on the couch,” I command.
She doesn’t hesitate. She doesn’t argue. She moves.
She scrambles onto the velvet, hiking her dress up to her waist before she even settles. She spreads her legs, offering everything to me.
Fuck.
My control is hanging by a thread.
I strip off my jacket and throw it on the floor. My tie follows.
I stalk toward her, unbuckling my belt.
“You want revenge?” I ask, looming over her. I watch her eyes track my hands. I watch her lick her lips. “You want to use me?”
I push her knees wider, stepping between them.
I free myself again. This time, there’s no hesitation. No teasing.
“Fine,” I tell her, grabbing her hips and dragging her to the edge of the cushion as I sink to my knees. “But I’m a monster of your making, unleashed after hunting you for years. There is no escaping me now.”
Her eyes widen.
“What?”
I don’t explain.
I don’t give her time to process.
I grab her ankles and wrap her legs around my waist. I grip the base of my cock, running the head along the slickness of her pussy, pushing inside a little with each pass.
“It’s too late to run."
I drive into her.
Deep.
Until I can’t go any deeper.
She screams, her head falling back against the velvet cushions, her body bowing like a willow branch in a storm.
Goddamn.
The sensation is blinding. It’s a car crash. It’s a building collapsing. It’s the end of my fucking world.
She’s so tight, clamping down on my cock like she’s trying to keep me inside of her.
"Look at me," I bite out, grabbing her jaw and forcing her gaze to mine.
I need her to see who’s doing this.
I need her to know it’s not Ryder. It’s never going to be Ryder again.
"You feel that?" I snap my hips, withdrawing and slamming back in. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the small room. I wonder if she feels her world collapsing around her the way I do. The way it’s laying a new foundation brick by brick every time our bodies come back together.
Again and again and again.
"Gabriel," she cries out as she rakes her nails down my back.
Good.
I want scars. I want proof.
Hearing my name torn from her throat while I’m buried inside her is better than any deal I’ve ever closed. It’s better than the first million I made.
I pound into her, setting a brutal, punishing rhythm. I’m not being gentle. Gentle is for boys who are afraid they’ll break something.
I know exactly how much she can take. I know she’s strong enough for this. I’ve watched her hold herself together while my son tore her down piece by piece.
Now I’m going to build her back up, but I’m going to do it my way.
"Tell me who you belong to," I growl, grinding my thumb against her clit while I thrust.
She unravels.
I feel the spasms start deep inside her, tightening around my dick like a vice as she comes.
"You," she cries out, her eyes rolling back. "Yours. I’m yours."
The words hit me like heroin injected straight into my veins. I’ve waited years for those two words and with them, my control disintegrates.
I’m close. Too fucking close.
My mind flashes to the fact that I’m bare inside her.
Most men would pull out. Most men would worry about the consequences, about the scandal, about the complication of knocking up their son's ex-girlfriend.
I am not most men.
I drive into her harder, aiming for her womb.
I’m going to fill her. I’m going to give her a reason to stay. A reason that grows for nine months and binds us together for eighteen years.
"I’m not pulling out," I tell her.
I want her to know.
I want her to feel the danger.
Her eyes snap to mine, hazy and drugged with lust, but I see the spark of realization.
She doesn’t tell me to stop.
She wraps her legs tighter around my waist.
"Give it to me," she whispers.
That’s it.
I’m gone.
I bury my face in her neck, biting down on the sensitive cord of muscle there as I hammer into her one last time, embedding myself as deep as physically possible.
I pour myself into her.
Ropes of hot cum flood her, coating her, claiming her. I groan, a guttural sound torn from the bottom of my soul, as I empty everything I have into her.
I hold her hips down.
I don’t let her move.
I stay buried inside her, throbbing, making sure every single drop stays exactly where it’s supposed to be.
"Mine," I pant against her skin.
She’s trembling beneath me, her aftershocks still rippling through her body, drawing the last of me out.
I keep her pinned to the velvet, my weight pressing her down.
I wait.
I wait until I’m soft, until I’m sure gravity has done its job.
Only then do I pull back, just enough to look at her face.
She looks wrecked. Beautifully, tragically ruined. Her lips are swollen, her hair is a disaster, and there’s a red mark on her neck starting to bloom where I bit her.
Ryder is going to see that mark.
The thought makes a dark, twisted satisfaction curl in my gut.
I pull out slowly.
A mix of my fluids and hers leaks out onto the dark velvet.
I trace the mess with my thumb, then drag it up over her stomach, painting her with the evidence of what we just did.
I stand up, adjusting my clothes and tucking my half-hard cock away. I don't offer her a tissue. I don't offer her an apology.
I want her to feel it. I want her to walk out of here feeling me dripping down her thighs. I want her to go home and know that she’s carrying a part of me.
"Get dressed," I say, grabbing my jacket from the floor.
She sits up, her hands shaking as she reaches for her panties.
I stop her.
I grab the scrap of lace from her hand and shove it into my pocket.
"You won't be needing these," I say. "I want easy access for later."
She blinks up at me. "Later?"
I lean down, bracing my hands on either side of her hips, trapping her one last time.
"You started a war tonight," I tell her, my voice dropping to a whisper that’s pure darkness. "And I don't stop fighting until I've conquered it all."
I brush a kiss over her forehead—a deceptive, tender gesture that is completely at odds with the way I just used her body.
"Let's go," I say, straightening up and holding out my hand. "You're coming home with me."
She stares at my hand.
She knows I’m the villain in this story.
But still…
She places her palm in mine.