22. Maeve
MAEVE
Gabriel’s words send my pulse into overdrive, my heart hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to escape my chest entirely.
I can’t wrap my mind around the fact that Gabriel—sophisticated, worldly, devastatingly attractive Gabriel who could have literally any woman he wanted—is actually turned on by me.
Me, with my student debt and discount store wardrobe and tendency to stress-eat cookie dough straight from the tube.
The evidence pressing insistently against my backside suggests otherwise, though, and my body responds with an enthusiasm that should probably be illegal in public.
Heat pools between my thighs, and I have to bite my lip to keep from making a sound that would definitely get us arrested.
He feels incredible—thick and hard and substantial in a way that makes my mouth water and my imagination run wild.
It’s been so long since I’ve been touched by anyone, let alone someone who clearly knows what he’s doing, and I can’t stop myself from wondering what it would feel like to have him inside me.
He’d stretch me perfectly, I just know it, hitting that spot deep inside that would make me scream his name until my voice gave out.
Get a grip, I order myself sternly . You’re literally in a sleigh with other people, including your other boss and Ford’s family, both of whom think you’re engaged to their brother.
If they suspected I was having impure thoughts about Gabriel while supposedly committed to Ford, I’d die of mortification on the spot. I’d never put anyone through the humiliation of public cheating, not after what Liam did to me.
As if she can sense the tension radiating from our corner of the sleigh, Lydia glances back at us with a curious smile. I force my expression into what I hope passes for innocent Christmas cheer rather than very inappropriate arousal, praying she can’t see the flush that’s burning across my cheeks.
She beams back at me, clearly delighted that I’m enjoying the ride, then turns to face forward again.
It takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to squirm against Gabriel’s cock like some kind of horny teenager.
All I want is to rock my hips back against him, to see exactly how far I can push him before his control finally snaps.
I want his hands off my hips and between my legs, want to feel those long fingers sliding inside me while he whispers filthy things in my ear in that sinful French accent.
God, imagine if he actually did slip a hand beneath my coat and sweater.
He could probably hide it pretty well under all these winter layers.
I’d have to bite my tongue bloody to stay quiet, but I can so easily picture him finding his way past my jeans, discovering just how wet I am for him, the two of us getting each other off right here while everyone else enjoys the innocent Christmas magic around us…
I force myself to take several deep breaths, trying to regain some semblance of composure.
The sleigh ride has to be almost over—we’re nearly back to where we started, and I just need to maintain this facade for a few more minutes.
This is just biology, I tell myself. A natural physical response that doesn’t mean anything beyond the fact that we’re both functioning adults with working nerve endings. I can be mature about this.
The sleigh glides to a smooth stop, and we thank the elderly driver who looks like he stepped out of a Norman Rockwell painting.
Liam and Lydia climb out first, chattering excitedly about the ride, and Gabriel’s hands span my waist as he lifts me effortlessly from his lap.
His touch burns through my winter coat like it’s made of tissue paper.
Hayden shoots us both a sharp, assessing look as he tips the driver, and I wonder exactly how much of our little moment he witnessed. Gabriel discretely adjusts himself as he exits the sleigh, using my body as a shield so Liam and Lydia can’t see his current state of arousal.
But I can see. Oh god, I can definitely see, and the sight of him trying to manage what appears to be a very substantial problem makes my knees go weak with want. I’m so turned on I feel like I’m vibrating at a frequency only dogs can hear.
Before I can do or say anything monumentally stupid, Elaine materializes beside us like Christmas magic personified, immediately shepherding our group toward some kind of historical performance featuring traditional English pantomimes.
It’s probably lovely and educational and exactly the sort of cultural experience I should appreciate, but I can barely focus on anything beyond the persistent ache between my legs and the memory of Gabriel’s hard body beneath mine.
Thankfully, after the performance ends—something about Victorian Christmas traditions that I’m sure was fascinating—we’re all driven back to the house for a brief rest before dinner at some family friend’s home.
Elaine assures me it’s not a “full party” but suggests I might want to venture into town if I didn’t pack enough formal wear.
I think about the three Black Amex cards nestled in my purse like sleeping dragons.
I’m actually proud of my professional wardrobe, since working as an executive assistant to three powerful men means I’ve had to look polished and put-together even on a budget.
But I suspect my modest collection of affordable dresses won’t exactly measure up to whatever designer outfits the other guests will be wearing.
I won’t give in to the temptation of using those cards, though. If necessary, I’ll ask Ford if we can overnight some appropriate outfits so I won’t embarrass him by looking underdressed at whatever high-society gathering we’re attending.
Since everyone is scattering for some downtime, I seize the opportunity to try to escape upstairs. Maybe I’ll even take a cold shower, despite the frigid temperatures outside. I’m just stepping through the front door when Liam’s hand closes around my forearm.
“Hey, Maeve, I was wondering if we could?—”
“Just give me one second!” I say quickly, then moderate my tone a little as I add, “I, uh, really need to use the bathroom.”
He looks a bit annoyed but nods, releasing his grip on my arm, and I hustle away without another word. When I peek into the makeshift office where the men have set up their temporary command center, Ford is nowhere to be seen.
Please god, don’t let him be upstairs in our bedroom .
I need a moment without him or any of the men around, to pull myself back together.
“Are you looking for Mr. Ford, Miss?” one of the house staff asks helpfully.
“Oh, um… yes, thank you.” Being his supposed fiancée, it makes perfect sense that I’d want to know his whereabouts.
“He stepped out to handle some business matter. Said he’d be back in time for dinner this evening.”
“Perfect, thank you!” I nod gratefully, then make my escape upstairs before anyone else decides they need something from me.
Nobody stops me as I slip into the bedroom I share with Ford, and I immediately head for the en suite bathroom. I splash cool water on my face, then grip the marble countertop and stare at myself sternly in the ornate mirror.
“Get your head on straight,” I whisper fiercely to my reflection. “Be smart. Don’t do anything stupid.”
But even as I say the words, I know it’s a losing battle. My cheeks are flushed a deep pink that has nothing to do with winter air, and I can’t seem to get my pulse to slow down.
Gabriel’s scent still clings to my sweater, filling my nostrils with the subtle hint of saffron and leather.
I close my eyes and I’m instantly back on that sleigh, pressed against his hard chest, feeling every shift of his powerful body beneath mine.
The memory of his cock pressing against me, of his rough warning whispered in my ear, makes my head spin.
I shouldn’t be thinking about this. About him.
About the way his voice dropped to that commanding whisper when he told me to stop moving, or how I could feel the tension gathering in his body as the ride went on.
Heat pools low in my abdomen as I remember the unmistakable evidence of his desire, the way his hands gripped my hips like he was fighting the urge to drag me closer.
This is insane. Ford’s family is right downstairs .
The rational part of my brain tells me to just turn the shower on cold, get in, and try to rinse this out of my system. But that rational part is being drowned out by the part that’s been slowly dying from trying to shove down my attraction to my bosses all day. Hell, for a lot longer than that.
Fuck it.
The decision hits me like lightning, and before I can second-guess myself, I slide my hand beneath the waistband of my jeans.
The first touch of my fingers against my clit makes me gasp—a sharp intake of breath that echoes off the bathroom tiles.
I’m already so wet, so worked up, that even the lightest pressure makes my knees nearly buckle.
I brace my free hand against the marble countertop, my knuckles going white as I struggle to stay upright. The stone is blessedly cool against my heated palm, and I use it to ground myself as I work my clit.
I start with slow, teasing circles, which I’ve learned draws out the pleasure, but my body is wound so impossibly tight that it feels like torture. I’ve been tormenting myself all day with thoughts I definitely shouldn’t be having, so I’m definitely not starting from zero here.
“God,” I breathe, the word barely audible in the empty bathroom.
My eyes drift closed as I imagine Gabriel’s skilled fingers replacing mine, picturing the confident smirk he’d wear as he watched me fall apart under his touch. His voice would be low and rough, his French accent thick as he told me exactly what he wanted to do to me.
I whimper softly at the fantasy, my hips rocking forward to seek more friction, more pressure, more everything.
The pleasure builds in slow waves, each one stronger than the last. My fingers curl against the counter, my palm slipping a little on the smooth surface.
The bathroom feels stifling now, too small to contain the heat radiating from my skin, and I swear I can smell my own arousal mixing with the expensive bath products.
With a quiet moan, I undo my jeans and slide my fingers lower, pressing against my pussy’s entrance while the heel of my hand grinds against my clit.
I can’t quite believe I’m actually doing this—touching myself in Ford’s family home while thinking about Gabriel—and the recklessness of it all only heightens how good it feels.
I’m starting to lose myself in the building sensation, my breaths turning ragged as I rock my hips forward and back, when I hear it.
A soft footstep on the thick bedroom carpet. Barely audible, yet somehow the loudest sound in the universe.
My eyes snap open and my head jerks up, my breath stopping in my chest.
Gabriel stands in the doorway, his tall frame filling the space, his amber-flecked eyes burning like coals. There’s something in his expression that I’ve never seen before—something hungry that makes my hand freeze between my legs even as my body screams in protest.
Heat floods my face in a rush of mortification… and something else.
My heart pounds so loud that I’m certain he can hear it from across the room. The rational part of my brain is telling me that I should move my hand, should cover myself, should somehow pretend this isn’t happening.
But I can’t move. I’m frozen under his gaze, caught between shame and a reckless desire so much bigger than my embarrassment.
The air between us seems to thicken, so loaded with tension that it makes goosebumps break out across my skin. His chest rises and falls with several deep breaths, and I can see the muscles in his jaw jump as he drinks in the sight of me.