Chapter 7 - Blair
The first thing I notice is the heat. And the wetness.
My brain is still swimming in the thick, soupy haze of sleep, but my body is already wide awake, responding to the wicked things happening between my legs.
It feels like a dream. It has to be a dream, because in my real life, I wake up to the sound of garbage trucks backing up in the alley and the smell of my neighbor’s burnt toast.
I definitely don’t wake up to a tongue—skilled, relentless, and devastating—lapping at me with a rhythm that makes my hips buck off the mattress before I can even open my eyes.
A low, vibrating hum against my inner thigh tells me this isn’t a dream.
I gasp, my hands flying down to tangle in thick hair. "Gabriel?"
He doesn't answer. He doesn't stop. If anything, saying his name seems to encourage him. He presses my thighs wider, anchoring me exactly where he wants me.
The question of what the hell he thinks he's doing waking me up like this gets lost somewhere between my brain and my mouth. His thumb finds that bundle of nerves he tortured last night, and all that comes out is a ragged moan as he shows it no mercy.
"W-wait," I stammer, though I’m lifting my hips, silently begging for the exact opposite.
He ignores me. He’s not asking for permission. He’s taking what he apparently decided is his while I was unconscious.
Just as the pressure builds, just as I feel that coil in my belly start to wind tight enough to snap, he stops.
The loss is a cold splash of water.
"Don't stop," I whine, the words slipping out before my pride can catch them.
The mattress shifts. The heavy weight of him moves up my body, a wall of muscle and heat in the darkness. He looms over me, a shadow darker than the room.
"Never," he growls, his voice rough with sleep and lust. He settles between my legs and drives inside me in one long, smooth stroke that steals the air right out of my lungs.
It’s not frantic like last night in the club. It’s heavy. Lazy. Possessive. It’s the kind of sex that says I have all the time in the world, and you aren’t going anywhere.
He fills me completely, stretching me out, and I wrap my legs around him on instinct.
"This wet already," he growls against my throat, stubble burning my skin. "And I've barely touched you."
"I was sleeping," I choke out, nails digging into his shoulders as he begins to move.
"Doesn't matter. This body knows who it belongs to now."
He pounds into me, slow and brutal, each thrust punching a cry from my lungs. He kisses me then, swallowing every sound I make, his tongue as demanding as the rest of him.
I unravel. Completely.
My body stops being mine and becomes something that exists only to move with his, to arch into him, to take everything he's giving.
When the end comes, it's violent. I break apart beneath him, clinging to his shoulders, writing constellations across his skin with my nails.
Gabriel follows me seconds later. He groans, a guttural sound torn from his chest, and buries himself as deep as physically possible. He holds himself there, his body rigid, pouring himself into me.
He doesn't pull out after.
He stays there, heavy and spent, crushing me into the mattress.
"Keep it in," he commands softly, pressing a kiss to my sweaty forehead.
After a few minutes, he slides down to press a soft kiss to my stomach, then stretches out beside me. He pulls me into his side, his arm like a steel band around my waist.
I lay there for a minute, ears ringing and thighs trembling, trying to reassemble my brain.
Gabriel shifts, reaching for something on the nightstand. A moment later, a remote clicks, and the blackout curtains glide open with a soft whir.
Gray light floods the room.
I blink against the brightness, looking around.
The room is massive. Cavernous. It’s filled with dark wood furniture and minimal decor. It’s beautiful, but it’s cold. There are no personal touches that I can see.
It’s a five-star hotel room where someone happens to sleep permanently.
"Bathroom is through there," Gabriel says, sitting up and nodding toward a door on the left. He stands, completely unselfconscious about his nudity.
I tear my eyes away from his back—specifically the muscles shifting under his skin as he stretches—and scramble out of bed.
I grab the first thing I see to cover myself: a white button-down shirt hanging off the back of a chair. It swallows me whole, the hem hitting me mid-thigh.
When I come out of the bathroom ten minutes later, face washed and teeth brushed with a spare toothbrush I found in a drawer, the bed is already made.
Gabriel is gone.
I follow the smell of coffee.
I wander down the massive staircase, my bare feet padding softly on the hardwood. The silence in this house is suffocating. It feels like a mausoleum.
I find him in the kitchen.
It’s a chef’s kitchen, gleaming with stainless steel and marble surfaces that look like they’ve never seen a crumb. Gabriel is standing at the stove. He’s wearing gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips and nothing else.
"Sit," he says without turning around.
I hop onto one of the barstools at the island. "You cook?"
"I eat. Therefore, I cook." He turns, sliding a plate across the marble toward me.
I look down and freeze.
It’s an egg white omelet with spinach, feta, and sun-dried tomatoes. On the side is a small bowl of berries—no melon, because I hate melon.
My stomach gives a traitorous rumble, but my mind is reeling.
"How did you know?" I ask, looking up at him. "This is my specific order from the cafe on 4th."
Gabriel leans back against the counter, crossing his arms over his bare chest. He takes a sip of his coffee, watching me over the rim. He looks smug as hell when the side of his lip tilts up.
"I know a lot of things about you," he says calmly. "Eat."
A chill skitters down my spine. The rational part of my brain knows this is a red flag the size of a billboard.
But I'm staring at a plate with no cantaloupe, made by a man who noticed things Ryder never bothered to learn. My ex couldn't remember how I took my coffee. Gabriel knows what fruit I pick out of a cup. It's unsettling. It's also the most seen I've felt in years.
I take a bite. It’s perfect.
"So," I say between bites, trying to keep things casual. "This was... fun. Revenge is sweet, literally. But I should probably get going. I have a lot of work to do to try and salvage my business."
Gabriel sets his mug down. "You're not going anywhere."
I pause, fork halfway to my mouth. "Excuse me?"
He gestures with his chin toward the living room, visible through the open archway.
The fork clatters against the plate as I abandon breakfast, slide off the stool, and walk toward the living room on unsteady legs.
My breath catches in my throat when I see what he’s done.
There are boxes.
Dozens of them. Stacked neatly in the center of the room.
All of them are labeled things like kitchen or bathroom.
I recognize the lamp sitting on top of a stack.
I recognize the throw pillows spilling out of an open box.
"What is this?" My voice comes out high and thin. I spin around to face him. "What did you do?"
"I had my team pack up your apartment last night while you were sleeping," he says, as casually as if he’s discussing the weather. "Your lease has been terminated. The locks have been changed. You live here now."
"You can't do that!" I sputter, anger finally piercing through the shock.
"Who’s going to stop me?" he says dryly. "I can do whatever I want."
He stops right in front of me, towering over me. He reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I bat his hand away.
"You can't just kidnap me, Gabriel! This is insane. I have a life. I have—"
"You have a struggling business that my son destroyed," he cuts in. "You have an apartment in a neighborhood that isn't safe. You have debt." He steps closer, crowding me. "Here, you have security. You have comfort. And you have me."
"That's not the point!" I stomp my foot and I swear the bastard’s lips twitch like he’s trying not to laugh. "You are bulldozing my entire life."
Gabriel pushes off the counter. He stalks around the island, moving into my space until I have to tilt my head back to look at him.
"I’m upgrading your life," he says, his voice dropping to that low register that vibrates in my chest. "You were living in a shoebox in a bad neighborhood, struggling to pay rent because my son ruined your reputation. Now you’re here. You’re safe. You’re taken care of."
"I don't need to be taken care of," I argue, though the protest sounds weak even to my own ears. "I'm independent."
"You're exhausted," he counters. He reaches up, his thumb brushing under my eye. "I see it. You’re tired of fighting. You’re tired of scraping by. So stop."
I stare at him. He’s right. I am tired. I’m so incredibly tired of checking my bank account balance before I buy groceries. I’m tired of hustle culture. I’m tired of being the strong one.
"This is kidnapping," I whisper.
"This is coming home," he says.
Gabriel sees the fight drain out of me. He smirks—just a little.
He guides me back into the kitchen, grabbing something on the island I hadn't noticed before. He holds it out to me along with a glass of water.
It’s a pill.
"What is this?" I ask suspiciously, taking the glass but not the pill.
"A prenatal vitamin," he says.
I choke on my own spit. "I’m sorry, what?"
"Take it," he orders. "We’re fucking and not using protection. Best to start now to ensure you and the baby have everything you need."
I stare at him. "There’s no baby."
"If there isn’t already, there will be," he promises. "And we're going to fuck a lot. It's a matter of when, not if. Open your mouth, Blair."
He holds the pill out, his gray eyes locking onto mine. It’s a dare. It’s a test.
If I take it, I’m agreeing to this. I’m agreeing to the boxes in the living room. I’m agreeing to the madness. I’m agreeing to let him fill me up until there’s no room left for doubt.
I look at the pill. I look at him.
Then I open my mouth.
He places the pill on my tongue. His fingers linger against my lip for a second, before he pulls back and I lift the glass of water, swallowing it down. I stare him dead in the eye the entire time.
Gabriel’s eyes darken. He looks like he wants to drag me back upstairs right now.
"Good girl," he murmurs.
He leans down and kisses me, tasting the submission on my tongue. Tasting his victory. It’s a deep, searing kiss that seals the deal. When he pulls back, he looks smug.
"Finish your breakfast," he says, stepping back and picking up his coffee again. "Then you can unpack."
I turn back to my omelet, my heart racing. I feel trapped. I feel overwhelmed.
I feel... relieved.
I turn away, needing to put some distance between us before I spontaneously combust. I walk back toward the living room, looking around at the gray walls, the beige furniture, the complete lack of life.
"If I'm living here," I say, my voice steadying, "we’re going to have to do something about this place."
"What's wrong with it?" Gabriel asks, following me.
"It looks like a prison for billionaires," I say, gesturing to the empty mantel. "It’s December, Gabriel. Where’s the tree? Where are the lights? Where’s the joy?"
"I don't do Christmas," he says flatly.
"Well, I do," I counter, crossing my arms. "You kidnapped me—you get my traditions too. I want a tree. A big one. Real, not fake. And lights. Everywhere."
Gabriel sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. He looks annoyed, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Fine. Whatever you want."
"Whatever?" I challenge.
"Within reason."
"I want my phone," I say, holding out my hand. "I need to text my friend so she doesn't send a S.W.A.T. team to find me."
He reaches into his pocket—how he had it in his sweatpants without me noticing is a mystery—and hands it to me.
I grab it, unlocking it quickly. There are twelve missed texts from Harper.
Harper: Did you die?
Harper: Your dot is in at the Hollis Estate
Harper: OMFG you actually did it
I type back quickly.
Me: calm down
Three dots appear instantly.
Harper: DETAILS. NOW.
Me: Can't. I'll explain later.
I glance up at Gabriel. He’s watching me type, his gaze heavy and possessive.
I put the phone face down before she can ask more questions. I’m not ready to explain that I apparently live here now and am taking vitamins for a hypothetical fetus.
"Happy?" Gabriel asks.
I look at the boxes. I look at the man who just hijacked my life, fed me breakfast, and is currently plotting to impregnate me.
"Ask me again after we get the tree," I say.
Gabriel steps forward, wrapping his arms around me from behind. He rests his chin on top of my head, his hands splaying over my stomach.
"We'll get the biggest fucking tree on the mountain," he promises.
And for the first time in months, standing in the middle of a hostage situation disguised as a relationship, I smile.