Chapter 27
GAbrIELA
Something stirs me from my sleep, and it takes me a moment to register the warmth of his lips against my ear.
“Happy birthday, little shark.”
“Hi,” I murmur, opening my eyes to find the room completely blacked out.
He must have lowered the shades, and I didn’t even hear it.
“Miss me?” He kisses a path along my jaw, sparking a wave of goosebumps over my skin.
A soft sound of pleasure escapes me, and he crushes his lips against mine and kisses me like we’ve been apart for months, rather than days.
I understand that frantic, all-consuming need, because I feel it too.
I have missed him, and I don’t care if he knows it.
I reach out for him in the dark, fingers pressing into his back, but as I try to pull him closer, his muscles tense. It reminds me of the last time he was here, and I wonder if he’s been injured somehow.
“Are you okay?” I break free from the kiss, concern seeping through my voice.
“I’ll be better when I’m inside you.”
He distracts me by sliding his palm beneath my tank top, fingers grazing my breast until I forget what I was trying to ask him.
“How many times does the birthday girl want to come?” He teases the words against my lips.
“As many as you’re willing to give me?”
A low, dark laugh hums in his chest. “You’ll regret saying that.”
“I’m open to testing that theory.”
He pushes up the fabric of my top and sucks my nipple into his mouth, and I arch into him.
My fingers slide through his hair, cradling the back of his head as he worships my body with his lips. It’s the only way to describe how he touches me. Everything he does is laced with that deep, aching hunger, and it feeds my craving to be the sole focus of his attention.
A thought enters my mind that this kind of chemistry can’t possibly be normal, and before I can stop myself, the question tumbles out.
“Do you think it’s like this between other people?”
He pauses momentarily, tilting his gaze up, even though he can’t see me.
“No,” he answers roughly. “There’s nothing else in the world that could compare to this.”
That declaration flows through my veins, pulling me deeper into an addiction I’m not sure I’ll be able to shake.
He presses a soft kiss between my breasts, lingering there for a moment before his lips claim every inch of my skin all the way down to my naval.
I close my eyes, giving myself over to him as he lifts my hips and removes my shorts.
He spreads my legs, warm palms gliding up the back of my thighs until I’m completely bared to him.
Taking his time, he teases his lips and teeth against me before he finally edges closer to where I need him.
The first lash of his tongue gets me so high on pleasure, my entire body shudders.
“So fucking wet for me,” he rasps. “I hope you had a nice nap, baby, because I’m going to fuck you until the sun rises.”
A soft sound of agreement falls from my lips, presuming he means figuratively, but I should have known he was serious.
He makes me come with his mouth, then strips himself bare and slides deep inside me. After that, everything is a blur of heat and desire that never fully fades.
It seems insane that we could spend this long wrapped up in each other, but it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like this is exactly where we’re meant to be.
I lose track of how many times he actually makes me come before I finally collapse from exhaustion.
“Have enough of me yet?” He smooths my hair back and kisses my temple.
It sparks a sudden ache in my chest, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Hey.” His fingers graze my cheek as a rough exhalation spills from my lips. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re so good to me,” I choke out. “I don’t know how to handle it.”
“You deserve nothing less,” he answers solemnly. “But I’m no saint, Gabi. So don’t think of me as one.”
It feels like another warning, but I’m too exhausted to process that right now.
While he’s still inside me, he lifts me up off the bed and heads for the bathroom.
“Another bath?”
“I filled you up.” A note of possession bleeds through his claim. “As much as that pleases me, I’m sure you don’t want to lie in it.”
“Okay.” I yawn. “But I can’t promise I won’t fall asleep.”
“I’ll put you back to bed.”
It’s such a simple reassurance, but it wraps me in a cocoon of safety.
Despite all his warnings, I do trust this man.
As he carries me into the bathroom, I notice he seems stiffer than usual, and it feels like he has a slight limp.
I want to ask him about it, but I know he’ll just deflect, so I don’t.
When he steps into the tub and slowly withdraws from my body, I feel his cum leaking down my thighs.
He was right that he filled me up, and there’s something insanely hot about that.
He lowers us both into the basin and drags his fingers through the mess with a low groan.
“You like that?” His lips brush against my ear.
I nod against him, melting into his touch.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Because this belongs to me, Gabriela.”
His words soak into my skin, warming the most neglected part of me—the need to be wanted.
It soothes some of those jagged wounds that still live inside me, but it doesn’t come without a painful reminder.
This is all I ever wanted with Romeo. I couldn’t imagine a life where I wasn’t bound to him in some way.
But that hope died a slow, agonizing death, and I swore I’d never let it breathe again.
I just don’t know how I’m supposed to do that when his is the only face I imagine as Eros lays claim to me.
I can’t stop searching for signs and comparing the two of them, and I don’t know if it’s guilt—or that my heart already knows what my mind refuses to accept.
As Eros fills the tub with warm water and settles me against him, I release myself from the prison of my mind, if only temporarily.
He takes care of me the way he always does, washing me and massaging the tension from my body. As my eyes grow heavy and I start to drift off, only one thought remains.
I don’t want this to end.
The sound of the shades opening pulls me from sleep and floods the room with light.
I let out a groan and roll over to glare at the offending party, only to find her looking far too happy for this time of day.
“Morning, sunshine,” Chantel sings. “We’ve got fun on the agenda.”
I throw the covers over my head.
“Oh my God,” she shrieks. “Who’s that hot guy in your bed?”
I toss the covers off in a panic, only to glance over and see that Eros is not actually here.
“Ha, I knew it.” Chantel smirks. “You did have a hot guy in your bed.”
“I need caffeine if we’re going to do this.”
“Did you think I came unprepared?” She nods at the nightstand.
I glance over and perk up when I see the layered drink cup from my favorite bakery. “Ooh, mango matcha.”
“I thought that might do the trick.” She laughs as I sit up and take a sip. “Cute PJ’s, by the way.”
I look down, realizing I didn’t actually dress myself after the bath, but apparently Eros did.
I’m wearing a pair of pink shorts and a cropped T-shirt that reads: You’re Cute When You Scream. I’ve never seen this set before, so he must have bought it for me.
“Where’d you get it?” Chantel asks. “Is it from the same person who left you that?”
I follow her gaze to the black gift box on my dresser.
It has to be from him.
“So.” Chantel rocks back on her heels. “Are we going to look?”
I bite my lip and nod, and she retrieves it for me while Beppe pokes his head out from the blankets to see what all the fuss is about. He blinks up at Chantel with sleepy eyes and comes over for a cuddle when she sits down beside me.
I set my drink aside and reach for the box between us, lifting the lid with a nervous flutter in my belly. As soon as I see the different-colored spines, I gasp.
“Are they all the same book?” Chantel asks.
“Yes.” I set them in my lap, examining them one by one. “They’re all the special editions of Pride and Prejudice I don’t have yet.”
“Well, that’s romantic,” she croons.
My face heats a little as I try to shut down that possibility—mostly for my benefit.
“It’s not romance. This is just what he does. He notices things, and he likes to give me gifts.”
“I bet he does.” Her eyes twinkle with amusement. “Are we going to talk about that night at the carnival or pretend it didn’t happen?”
I consider it for a moment before I decide. “You get one question.”
“How was it?”
“Amazing,” I answer with a dreamy sigh, which really isn’t helping my case that this isn’t a romantic thing.
“Well, I’m glad you had fun.” She leans over and glances inside the box. “It looks like there’s still something in there.”
I pull out the matte black envelope, curious what it might be. But when I open it, I’m not prepared for what I find.
It’s a stack of meticulously rendered drawings—so detailed, they look like they captured the exact moments these events took place.
The first one illustrates Eros wearing the Ghostface mask, cradling me in his lap as I sleep against his chest. Then there’s one of me at the carnival in my costume, squeezing the giant shark he won me, with an expression of pure happiness.
There’s also a depiction of him chasing me through the hall of mirrors, and finally, one of us sharing cotton candy on a Ferris wheel—sans the cages.
“Wow.” Chantel leans in to study them. “These are incredible. Look at how lifelike your expressions are. And all these other details, like the freckles on your nose…” She pauses to look up at me, and I think she’s counting them.
Her eyes widen, and she goes unnaturally still.
“Why do you have that look on your face? You’re freaking me out.”
“Gabi, this man is in love with you.”
“No, he’s not.” I swallow. “We’re keeping things casual.”
God, that word sounds so stupid, and I don’t know why I keep repeating it. I think the only person I’m trying to convince is myself.
“This level of detail is not from a man who thinks about you casually in any sort of way.”
I sit with that for a minute, wondering if that could be true, but then I think of all the times he’s tried to warn me away.
There’s way too much to unpack there, so I shove that thought deep inside a locked vault inside my head, telling myself I’ll come back to it later.
“Will you at least tell me something about him?” Chantel pleads. “I’m dying to know.”
“Well, that’s the thing.” I return the gifts to the box and set it aside. “I don’t really know much about him.”
“Like…at all?” She blinks.
“Nope. He wears a mask, and I told him to keep doing that.”
“I mean, I get it…the mask thing is hot, but how long has this been going on?”
“A while,” I admit. “It just feels less messy this way. I didn’t want any feelings involved.”
“You said didn’t want, as in past tense.” She points out. “Does that mean you do now?”
“I don’t know.” I flop back onto the bed and shove a pillow over my face. “I can’t figure out what I want.”
“Join the club.” Chantel sighs.
I peek out from beneath the pillow. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” She shrugs it off. “But we need to get ready. I’m taking you out for breakfast.”
It’s obvious she’s been sent as a distraction to get me out of the penthouse so my friends can set up for my birthday. I haven’t had nearly enough sleep, but I go along with it.
When I get up from the bed, I feel every second of last night with Eros, and Chantel doesn’t miss it.
“Should I be concerned about why you’re walking like that, or did you get railed within an inch of your life last night?”
“It was the latter. I’ll be fine after a shower, I think.”
I hope.
Chantel perks up. “A marathon session, huh? Got any burning questions for your friendly undercover sex columnist?”
I think about it before I nod. “Is it normal for a guy to keep going multiple times a night?”
“It depends on the guy,” she says. “Refractory periods vary from person to person. Some men only need a few minutes to recover, others require hours or even days. Age, health, and dopamine levels all play a role. But yes—it’s totally possible.
Psychological arousal is a big one. For example, a man who’s very, very into you can definitely have more stamina. ”
“Good to know.”
“Sooo…” Chantel drawls. “Was he very, very into you last night?”
A hint of a smile betrays my resolve to remain neutral. “I suppose you could say that.”
“But not in love with you.” She smirks.
“I’m showering now,” I call over my shoulder as I head into the bathroom, her laughter following me.
I try not to let my thoughts consume me, but as the warm water washes over me, there’s one thing I can’t seem to forget.
Once upon a time, Romeo used to draw pictures of me, too.