23. Gabriel
GAbrIEL
Her back is to me, but there’s no mistaking what she was doing when I walked into this room.
What I’m witnessing has obliterated every rational thought in my head. Maeve stands frozen at the marble counter, her hand still buried in her jeans, those stunning green eyes wide with shock and something far more dangerous—something that looks suspiciously like arousal.
My cock, which had finally started to cooperate after that torture session disguised as a sleigh ride, snaps back to painful attention with the force of a lightning strike. Blood rushes south so fast it leaves me dizzy, and I have to grip the doorframe to keep from staggering.
She looks devastating—cheeks flushed that perfect shade of rose, lips swollen from biting them, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths that make her breasts strain against her sweater.
The bathroom’s warm lighting transforms her into something both angelic and sinful, and I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire life.
That whole damn sleigh ride was agony. Feeling her pressed against me, fighting to keep my hands respectful while every instinct screamed at me to touch her, taste her, claim her. When she shifted against my cock, I nearly lost control right there like some inexperienced teenager.
The scent of her arousal reaches me even from the doorway—sweet and musky and intoxicating. It mingles with the expensive vanilla bath products and something uniquely her, something that makes my mouth water and my hands itch to explore every inch of her skin.
I can see her pulse hammering frantically in the delicate column of her throat. Her skin is flushed all the way down her chest, disappearing beneath her sweater, and I find myself wondering how far that beautiful blush extends.
Does it cover her breasts? Her stomach? Lower?
“Well, well,” I murmur, my voice coming out rougher than intended. The sound seems to break her trance, and I watch her swallow hard, the movement of her throat making me want to trace it with my tongue. “What do we have here?”
Her gaze finds mine in the mirror, and the desire burning there hits me like a physical blow.
She’s thinking about me—I can see it in the way her pupils have dilated, in how her hand remains pressed against her most intimate places despite being caught.
The knowledge that I’ve been starring in her fantasies sends possessive satisfaction roaring through my chest.
Some part of me wonders if she’s been thinking about Ford or Hayden too. Surprisingly, that thought only makes my arousal spike higher. I’d give anything to see her face when she comes apart, regardless of who’s making it happen.
“Gabriel, I?—”
Raising my hand, I stop her mid-sentence. “Don’t stop on my account, petit oiseau doux .”
I step into the bathroom, my movements deliberate despite the way blood is surging through my veins. The door closes behind me with a soft click.
“In fact,” I continue, my voice low, “I’m very curious about what you were thinking about just now. Did it maybe have something to do with our little sleigh ride?”
Her breathing becomes even more shallow, and I can see her hand trembling between her legs. The knowledge that she’s still touching herself, even with me watching, makes my blood burn even hotter.
This time, I have no intention of being respectful.
“You know exactly what I was thinking about,” she says, her voice breathless and slightly shaky.
“Do I?” I move closer, stopping just inside the doorway so I can memorize every detail of this moment. The way her free hand grips the counter like an anchor, knuckles white with tension. How her hips shift restlessly as if seeking more friction. The bitten red of her perfect lips. “Tell me.”
She swallows again, and I track the movement of her soft throat.
“You. On the sleigh, just like you said. The way you felt pressed against me…”
“The way I felt when you were grinding that perfect ass against my cock?” I let my voice drop as I say the last words, and I’m rewarded with a delicate shiver that runs through her entire body.
“When you were trying so hard to be subtle while rubbing against me like you wanted me to fuck you right then and there, consequences be damned?”
A soft whimper escapes her lips, and the sound goes straight to my cock. I’ve imagined that exact sound countless times, usually late at night when I’m alone in my bed, stroking myself to forbidden thoughts of her that I never allow myself during daylight hours.
My heart pounds with adrenaline and arousal, my nostrils flaring. The air in the bathroom feels charged with electricity, so thick with possibility that I can taste it with every inhale.
“Do you want me to leave?” I ask quietly, giving her a chance to end this even though walking away now might actually kill me. My hands are clenched into fists to keep from reaching for her, every muscle in my body coiled tight with restraint.
She meets my gaze in the mirror and shakes her head. The movement is barely perceptible, but it’s all I need.
I swallow, dragging in a slow breath. “Good girl.”
The praise makes her pupils dilate, and I file that reaction away for future use. She responds to approval, craves being told she’s good for me. I plan to give her plenty of opportunities to earn more praise.
“Now…” I take one step closer. “If you’re going to touch yourself while thinking of me, you should do it properly.”
She licks her lips, the pink tip of her tongue making my cock throb. “How is that?”
“Turn around.” I move closer again, until I can smell her subtle perfume mixed with the heady scent of her arousal. “Sit on the counter. Push those jeans down and spread your legs. Show me exactly how turned on you are.”
She hesitates, desire clearly warring with uncertainty.
“You want me here, right?” I ask quietly.
When she nods, I reach out and brush a strand of her hair away from her neck, my fingers barely grazing her skin.
Even that minimal contact is enough to make her shiver.
“Good, because I want to be here. I want to see everything. I’ve been imagining this ever since that sleigh ride—ever since I felt the way you responded to being on my lap. ”
Something shifts in her eyes, and I can practically see the moment she makes the decision. She turns around slowly, her cheeks flushed but her gaze steady as she holds mine. There’s something so damn stunning about her in this moment, brave and vulnerable and sexier than she even realizes.
She scoots up onto the counter beside the sink, then pushes her jeans and panties down, kicking them off. The sight of her spreading her legs for me, leaning back to display herself so openly, makes my mouth go dry.
She’s even more beautiful in person than she was in those photos I accidentally saw at the office.
Her skin is pale and soft, and her pussy is pink and glistening with arousal.
I can see how swollen she is, how wet she’s gotten just from thinking about me, and it takes every ounce of control I have not to drop to my knees and bury my face between her thighs.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous. Such a good girl for me.” She whimpers again at the praise, and my cock strains painfully against my pants. “Touch yourself. Show me what you were doing before I interrupted.”
Her hand slides between her legs, and I watch, transfixed, as she finds her clit. She’s so wet I can see her arousal coating her fingers, and the sight makes me want to taste her so badly my hands shake.
“That’s perfect,” I tell her, my voice rough. “Slower now. Make it last. Tell me how it feels.”
“So good,” she gasps, her hips rocking against her hand in a rhythm that makes me think of other, infinitely better activities. “But this isn’t fair.”
“What’s not fair, petit oiseau doux ?” The endearment rolls off my tongue like a caress, and I see her shiver in response.
“That I’m the only one falling apart here.”
The naked need in her voice, the way her eyes drop to my obvious erection with such hunger, shatters what little remains of my control.
“Fuck it.” I step closer and shove my pants down to free my aching cock. It springs free, rock hard and desperate for her attention. “You want to see me lose control too? You want to see what watching you does to me?”
I wrap my hand around my length, stroking slowly as I watch her touch herself.
Her eyes are glued to my cock, wide with want, and the hunger in her gaze makes me stroke harder.
Especially when she dips her fingers into her wetness, whimpering and biting her lips as if imagining something else filling her.
The bathroom fills with the sounds of our mutual pleasure—her soft whimpers, my rough breathing, the wet sounds of skin against skin. It’s erotic and intimate and so perfect I couldn’t have scripted it better.
“Come for me,” I command, stepping closer until I’m positioned right between her spread knees, stroking my cock inches from her body. “I want to watch you fall apart while you stare at what you’re doing to me.”
“I’m close, but I need—” She gasps, her movements becoming more frantic. “I need… something…”
Without thinking, I reach out and wrap my hand around her throat, applying just enough pressure to make her breath catch. Her pulse hammers against my palm, and the trust she’s showing by letting me touch her this way makes my chest go tight.
I tilt her head up so our gazes lock, stroking my thumb across her pulse point. “Look at me,” I order softly. “Come for me, petit oiseau doux .”
She shatters beautifully, crying out as her orgasm takes her. Her throat flutters under my palm, her body arching off the counter as waves of pleasure crash over her. The sight of her coming undone, and knowing that I brought her to this point, sends me over the edge.
I stroke myself harder, faster, until I’m coming too, my release painting her inner thighs with hot stripes. The sight of myself marking her, claiming her in the most primitive way possible, makes me groan low in my throat.
“Good girl,” I murmur, stroking the soft skin of her throat as we both catch our breath, aftershocks rolling through both our bodies. “Such a perfect girl for me.”
We’re both breathing hard, staring at each other in the aftermath. The air between us feels heavy with satisfaction and something else—something deeper that I’m not quite ready to name or examine.
I can hardly believe what just happened. From the shell-shocked expression on her face, she’s feeling equally stunned. We’ve crossed a line that can’t be uncrossed, entered territory that fundamentally changes everything between us.
“Was that—did we just—” She starts, then stops, uncertainty creeping into her voice. I release her throat reluctantly, and her hand immediately flies to the spot I was touching, as if she misses the contact already.
“The only thing I regret,” I admit roughly, reaching for tissues from the ornate dispenser, “is not being buried inside that gorgeous pussy of yours instead.”
Her breath catches, and as I watch her pupils blow wide at my crude words, the urge to kiss her, taste her, and bury myself inside her is almost overwhelming.
But I force myself to step back instead.
The last thing I want is for her to regret this, so before I lose all control and do something she’s not ready for, I turn and head for the door.
Still, I can’t resist glancing over my shoulder and adding, “I hope you have sweet dreams, petit oiseau doux . I know I will.”
Then I close the door behind me, leaning against it as I try to wrap my head around what just happened… and all the lines we just crossed.