Chapter 26 - Gabriel
She's slipping away from me.
I can feel it—a subtle withdrawal, a distance that wasn't there before. She's still in my bed, still responds when I touch her, still says the right things at the right times. But something has shifted. Some essential part of her has retreated to a place I can't reach.
I know I should tell her. Bryan's words have been echoing in my head for days: Tell her before Zachary poisons her against you completely.
Every time I look at her, I rehearse the conversation in my mind.
Your father was a monster. I killed him before you were born.
I didn't know about you—didn't know you existed.
But the words won't come. Every time I open my mouth to speak them, I see the way she looks at me now—wary, yes, but still with that undercurrent of desire, of connection. I imagine that look transforming into horror, revulsion, hatred.
I'm not ready to see that. I'm not ready to lose her.
So I do what I've always done when words fail me. I take. I claim. I remind her, in the only language I truly understand, that she belongs to me.
It's evening when I find her in the library, curled in one of the leather chairs with a book she's not reading. Her eyes are distant, fixed on something I can't see. She doesn't notice me in the doorway, doesn't register my presence until I speak.
"You've been hiding from me."
She startles, the book slipping from her fingers. "Gabriel. I didn't hear you come in."
"You never do." I cross the room slowly, watching her the way I might watch prey. "You've been distracted. Distant. What are you thinking about?"
"Nothing. Just tired."
A lie. I can taste it in the air between us, sour and sharp. She's been lying a lot lately—small lies, careful lies, lies that slide out so smoothly I almost believe them.
Almost.
"Stand up."
She blinks. "What?"
"I said stand up."
A moment of hesitation. Then she sets the book aside and rises, her movements uncertain. She's wearing a simple dress—soft fabric, easy to remove—and her feet are bare against the hardwood floor.
"Gabriel, what—"
"Don't talk." I close the remaining distance between us, stopping close enough to feel the heat of her body. "I don't want words right now. I want you."
Her breath catches. I see the pulse jump in her throat, the way her pupils dilate despite herself. Whatever secrets she's keeping, her body still responds to me. That, at least, hasn't changed.
I thread my fingers through her hair and pull, tilting her head back, exposing the long line of her throat. She gasps but doesn't resist.
"You've been keeping things from me," I murmur against her ear. "I can feel it. I can smell it on you."
"I don't know what you're—"
"I said don't talk." I tighten my grip, just enough to make her wince. "You're going to listen. You're going to do exactly what I tell you. And by the end of tonight, you're going to remember who you belong to."
I don't give her a chance to respond. I kiss her—hard, demanding, my tongue claiming her mouth the way I intend to claim the rest of her. She moans against my lips, her hands coming up to grip my shoulders, her body melting into mine despite whatever resistance her mind might be mounting.
This. This is what I need. This is the only truth I know how to speak.
I pull back just long enough to see her face—flushed, dazed, her lips already swollen from my kiss. Then I grab her hand and drag her from the library, down the corridor, toward the bedroom.
She stumbles to keep up, her bare feet slapping against the floor. "Gabriel, wait—"
"No waiting." I push open the bedroom door and pull her inside, kicking it shut behind us. "I've been waiting for days. Watching you retreat into yourself, watching you hide from me. I'm done waiting."
I release her hand and move to the bureau where I keep certain items—things I've collected over the years, tools for the kind of pleasure that lives in shadows. I pull out a length of black silk, soft but strong, and turn to face her.
Her eyes widen when she sees what I'm holding. "Gabriel..."
"Take off your dress."
Her hands tremble as she reaches for the hem. She pulls the fabric over her head in one smooth motion, letting it fall to the floor. Underneath, she's wearing simple cotton underwear—white, innocent, a stark contrast to what I'm about to do to her.
"All of it."
She unhooks her bra, lets it drop. Slides her underwear down her legs and steps out of them. Then she stands before me, naked and vulnerable, waiting for whatever comes next.
I take my time looking at her. The curve of her breasts, fuller than they were when we started this—or is that my imagination?
The dip of her waist, the flare of her hips, the dark triangle of hair between her thighs.
She's beautiful. She's always been beautiful.
But there's something different about her now, something I can't quite identify.
"On the bed. Lie down on your back."
She complies, climbing onto the mattress and stretching out, her dark hair fanning across the pillows. Her eyes never leave mine.
I approach slowly, the silk trailing from my fingers. When I reach the bed, I lean down and capture her wrist, lifting it toward the headboard.
"I'm going to tie you up," I tell her, my voice low. "Both hands. You won't be able to move, won't be able to touch yourself or me. All you'll be able to do is feel."
Her breath hitches. "Okay."
I secure her wrist to the headboard, wrapping the silk around the iron bars, testing the knot to make sure it's firm but won't cut off circulation. Then I move to her other wrist and repeat the process.
When I'm done, she's spread before me like an offering—arms stretched above her head, body open and exposed. The sight makes my cock throb painfully against my trousers.
But I'm not done yet.
I return to the bureau and retrieve another item: a blindfold, the same black silk as the restraints. When she sees it, her breath quickens.
"I want you in the dark," I explain, climbing onto the bed beside her. "I want you to feel everything without seeing it coming. I want you completely at my mercy."
"Gabriel..." Her voice is barely a whisper.
I lower the blindfold over her eyes, plunging her into darkness. "You take whatever I give you. Understood?"
She nods, her lips parting on a shaky breath.
I sit back and look at her—bound, blindfolded, trembling slightly in anticipation. She's never looked more beautiful. Never looked more mine.
I start slowly. A brush of fingertips across her collarbone. A kiss pressed to the hollow of her throat. Light, teasing touches that make her strain against her bonds, trying to press closer.
"Patience," I murmur against her skin. "We have all night."
I trace my way down her body, pausing to circle her nipples with my tongue until they're hard and aching. She gasps when I suck one into my mouth, arches off the bed when I bite gently.
"Please," she whimpers.
"Please what?"
"More. I need more."
"You'll get more when I decide you're ready." I move lower, kissing across her stomach, feeling the muscles jump beneath my lips. "Right now, you're going to learn patience."
I spread her thighs and settle between them, my breath hot against her center. She's already wet—I can see it glistening, can smell her arousal thick in the air. But I don't touch her there. Not yet.
Instead, I press kisses to her inner thighs, trailing my tongue along the sensitive skin, getting close to where she wants me but never quite arriving. She writhes beneath me, her hips lifting in desperate invitation.
"Gabriel, please—"
"What did I say about talking?"
"I can't—I need—"
I press my thumb against her clit, a single firm stroke, and her words dissolve into a moan. But I don't give her more. I pull my hand away, leaving her gasping and empty.
"You come when I say you can come. Not before."
"Please..." The word is broken, desperate.
"Please what? Tell me what you want."
"I want you. Inside me. Please, Gabriel, I need—"
"Not yet." I climb off the bed, and I hear her whimper at the loss of contact. "First, you're going to show me how much you need it."
I strip off my clothes quickly, efficiently, my eyes never leaving her bound form. When I return to the bed, I position myself beside her head, my cock hard and heavy.
"Open your mouth."
She obeys instantly, her lips parting in invitation. I guide myself between them, groaning at the wet heat that envelops me. She can't use her hands, can't control the rhythm—all she can do is take what I give her.
I fuck her mouth slowly, carefully, watching my cock disappear between her lips. She moans around me, the vibration sending sparks up my spine. When I hit the back of her throat, she gags slightly but doesn't pull away.
"That's it," I praise her, my voice rough. "Such a good girl. Taking me so well."
I could come like this—down her throat, marking her from the inside. But that's not what I want tonight. Tonight I want to be buried so deep inside her she forgets where she ends and I begin.
I pull out of her mouth and move between her thighs. She's dripping now, her arousal coating her inner thighs, her clit swollen and begging for attention. I run the head of my cock through her folds, teasing her entrance, and she cries out.
"Please, please, please—"
"Who do you belong to?"
"You. I belong to you."
"Say my name."
"Gabriel. I belong to Gabriel. Please—"
I thrust into her in one hard stroke.
She screams—a sound of pure, desperate pleasure that echoes off the walls. I don't give her time to adjust. I set a punishing pace, driving into her again and again, my hips slamming against hers with enough force to shake the bed.
"This is mine," I growl, punctuating each word with a thrust. "This cunt. This body. You. All of it belongs to me."
"Yes," she sobs. "Yes, I'm yours, all yours—"
I reach up and wrap my hand around her throat. Not squeezing—not yet—just holding, feeling her pulse race beneath my palm. Her breath catches, her body arching into mine.
"You don't get to hide from me," I tell her, my voice savage. "You don't get to keep secrets. You don't get to pull away."
"I'm not—I didn't—"
I tighten my grip slightly, cutting off her words. "I can feel you drifting. I can feel you building walls. But you don't get walls. Not with me."
I release her throat and grab her hips instead, lifting them off the bed, changing the angle, so I'm hitting that spot deep inside that makes her see stars. She wails, her hands straining against the silk ties.
"I'm going to make you come so hard you forget your own name," I promise. "And then I'm going to do it again. And again. Until you remember that there's nothing in your life more important than this. Than us."
I reach between us and find her clit, rubbing in tight circles as I continue to pound into her. She's close—I can feel it in the way her walls flutter around me, hear it in the pitch of her moans.
"Come," I command. "Come for me now."
She shatters.
Her orgasm rips through her with violent intensity, her body convulsing, her cunt clenching around my cock so tight it's almost painful. She screams my name, tears leaking from beneath the blindfold, her whole body shaking with the force of her release.
I don't stop. I fuck her through it, extending her pleasure until she's sobbing, until she's begging me to stop, until the overstimulation makes her whole body twitch with every thrust.
"One more," I growl. "Give me one more."
"I can't—it's too much—"
"You can. You will." I increase the pressure on her clit, rubbing faster, harder. "Come for me again. Show me you're mine."
It doesn't take long. Her second orgasm crashes over her with even more force than the first, her back arching completely off the bed, her mouth open in a silent scream. I feel her pulse around me, and it's enough to send me over the edge.
I bury myself as deep as I can go and let go, spilling into her with a groan that feels like it's being ripped from my chest. The pleasure is overwhelming, obliterating—wave after wave of release that leaves me shaking, breathless, completely undone.
When it's over, I collapse beside her, my chest heaving. With trembling hands, I reach up and remove the blindfold, then untie the silk restraints, freeing her wrists.
She blinks at me, her eyes wet, her face flushed, her lips swollen. She looks ruined. She looks perfect.
"Gabriel," she whispers, and there's something in her voice—awe, maybe, or fear, or both.
I pull her into my arms, holding her against my chest, feeling her heart pound in time with mine.
"You're mine," I murmur into her hair. "Whatever happens, whatever secrets you're keeping, you're mine. Don't ever forget that."
She doesn't respond. She just burrows closer, her body melting into mine, her breath slowly evening out.
I should tell her. Now, in this moment of vulnerability and connection, I should confess everything. About her father. About what I did. About the impossible truth that binds us together.
But the words won't come. They lodge in my throat like stones, choking me, refusing to be spoken.
Tomorrow, I tell myself. Tomorrow I'll find the words.
I don't know that tomorrow she's meeting my enemy. I don't know that the truth is about to explode in ways I can't control.
All I know is this moment—her body in my arms, her scent in my lungs, the temporary peace of possession that will never, ever be enough.
I hold her tighter and stare at the ceiling, watching shadows move across the darkness.
She's slipping away from me.
And I don't know how to make her stay.