Chapter Seventeen #2
game we’ve been playing before, the rules have changed. And judging by the hunger in Gale’s eyes, we are both more than ready
to play.
“Strip to your underwear,” I command. “Slowly.”
Gale’s eyes widen, but he complies without hesitation. As he peels off his shirt, I allow my gaze to roam over his sculpted
torso, appreciating how years of hockey have honed his body to perfection. His chest is broad and his nipples flat and more
brown than pink. I fight off a sudden urge to lick one.
My gaze travels over the planes of his chest, noting a faint white line just below his left collarbone. Another scar, jagged
and about three inches long, runs along his right side. I find myself curious about the stories behind these marks, evidence
of a physicality I hadn’t fully appreciated before.
Then I notice it—a single word tattooed in elegant script along his left rib cage, stark against his skin.
“‘Indómitus,’” I read aloud, my finger hovering just above the ink. “Latin?”
He nods, a hint of pride in his voice. “In essence, it means ‘unconquered.’”
“Unconquered,” I repeat, tasting the challenge. “Quite the bold statement.”
A flicker of understanding passes between us. His jaw clenches slightly, the movement accentuating the strong lines of his face. “It seemed appropriate when I got it,” he says, his voice low.
My hand finally makes contact with his body, tracing the letters slowly. I feel his sharp intake of breath at my touch, watch
as the muscles in his abdomen tense reflexively.
“And now?” I ask, my gaze never leaving his.
“Now . . . I’m not sure.”
I lean in closer, my lips nearly brushing his ear, inhaling the scent of his skin. “We’re about to find out. Remove the rest.”
His hands move to his belt, fumbling in his eagerness. I tsk softly. “Slowly.”
He takes a deep breath, visibly steadying himself. This time, his movements are deliberate, almost teasing. When he stands
before me in just his black boxer briefs, I circle him slowly, drinking in the sight.
“Good,” I praise, trailing a finger across the top of his bare V-line. I feel him shiver at my touch. “Now, on the bed. Sit
with your back against the headboard.”
Gale moves to comply, settling himself among the pile of oversized pillows. He doesn’t blink as I approach the bed.
“Have you dreamed of this?” I ask, my knee dipping onto the mattress. “Having me in here?”
He nods. “Fuck yes.”
I smirk. “Tell me. Tell me what you’ve imagined.”
His composure slips. “Fuck,” he repeats, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve imagined . . . Christ, what haven’t I imagined.”
His eyes are so raw and hungry. “I’ve thought about putting my hand up under your pretty little dresses and seeing how wet you feel under my fingers. I wonder what sounds you’d make. I’ve jerked off thinking about my mouth between your legs, memorizing your taste.”
“Keep going.” I watch as his chest rises and falls, his control unraveling.
“I’ve pictured you riding me, your nails digging into my chest, right over this damn tattoo,” he continues, his voice rough.
“I’ve imagined making you come so hard you forget your own name.”
His hands clench at his sides, as if he is physically restraining himself from reaching out to me. “But you know what really
gets me? What really messes me up?”
I shake my head, transfixed.
His next breath is unsteady, his eyes wild with a mix of desperation and desire. “It’s . . . fuck, I can’t believe I’m going
to say this.” He runs a hand over his face, struggling to maintain his composure.
“Say it,” I order, my voice barely above a whisper.
“It’s you taking control. Completely. Utterly. Tying me up, leaving me fucking at your mercy.” His breath hitches. “You’d
tease me for hours, touching me everywhere except where I need it most. And I’d be begging, pleading for you to let me come.
I picture you forcing me to admit how much I need this. How much I need you. Making me say out loud that I’m not unconquered at all. That I’m yours to command, to use. Letting you own me—”
His voice breaks on the last four words, his six-pack trembling with the force of his confession. “It scares me how much I
want that. How much I want you to break me apart and put me back together.”
He trails off, looking both relieved and terrified. The vulnerability in his eyes is staggering, a stark contrast to his usual
swag.
His chest heaves with each ragged breath, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his skin.
His pupils are blown wide, darkening his eyes to near-black pools of raw need.
His lips part slightly, dry from his heavy breathing.
I watch as he runs his tongue over them nervously, the gesture both self-soothing and unconsciously erotic.
This man who has always exuded strength and control is stripped bare.
Every line of his body screams of conflict—the desire to retreat to safety warring with the need to stay, to finally let himself be truly seen.
He’s backed against the headboard, and I can see he’s on the edge of a precipice, craving the fall.
And then, as if the weight of his confession finally has become too much to bear, the slight quiver in his abs quickly spreads
throughout his body. His broad shoulders shake against the wood behind him, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The trembling
intensifies faster than a hurricane, as if years of pent-up emotion are finally breaking free, leaving him utterly exposed
and vulnerable before me.
His eyes lock onto mine, wild and desperate. “I . . . I’ve never . . .” he chokes out.
“Finish it,” I snap, one hand braced on the headboard beside his head.
Gale’s jaw clenches, tendons straining in his neck. “I’ve never wanted anyone like this,” he spits out. “It’s fucking terrifying.
You could break me.”
“Think you can handle it?” I lean in closer, my other hand finding his hip.
He lets out a strangled laugh. “Hell no. But I want it anyway. Need it.”
“Show me how much,” I challenge, and with that I lick the seam of his mouth.
His lips crash into mine, all teeth and tongue and pent-up hunger. Nothing gentle about it. Nothing romantic. Just raw, primal need.
When we break apart, both gasping, I see it in his eyes—the last threads of his control snap. “Do it, Smythe,” he rasps. “Make
me yours.”
I straddle his lap, careful not to make contact where he wants it most. His hands twitch at his sides, but he doesn’t touch
me without permission. I like it.
“Hands on the headboard. Don’t move them unless I say so.”
Gale immediately grips the wooden slats above his head. The position highlights every sculpted muscle in his arms and chest.
I straddle him, pinning his wrists. “If I break you, what then?”
Gale bucks beneath me, testing my grip. I hold firm, and see the moment he truly yields.
“Then I’m yours,” he breathes. “To put back together however you see fit.”
“I want you to remember one thing.” I lean in, lips brushing his ear. “You asked for this,” I whisper, feeling him tremble
beneath me. “Begged, even.”
As I pull back to look at him, I see my own mix of excitement and trepidation mirrored in his eyes. We’re about to cross a
line, to dive into uncharted waters. And despite the uncertainty churning in my gut, I’ve never wanted anything more. My pussy
clenches so hard I want to scream.
Instead I lean in close. “I’m going to kiss you again. But remember, you take what I give you. Understood?”
“Yes,” Gale whispers, his eyes are almost black with desire.
Slowly, teasingly, I bring my lips to his. The first touch is electric, sending sparks shooting through my body. I keep the
kiss light, teasing, pulling back whenever Gale tries to deepen it.
When I finally allow my tongue to trace his lower lip, Gale groans. His hips buck involuntarily, seeking friction.
I pull back, tsking softly. “Ah-ah-ah. Did I say you could move?”
“Sorry,” he gasps. “Please, Harri—”
“Please what?” I ask innocently, trailing kisses along his scruffy jaw, loving the rough scrape.
“Please . . . more. Do anything. Whatever you want.”
I smile against his skin. “What a good answer. And since you asked so nicely . . .”
I capture his lips again, this time with deliberate intent. The kiss deepens, and he responds with equal fervor—matching my
intensity while still yielding control. His restraint is both impressive and maddeningly arousing. The taste of him floods
me—mint intertwined with something distinctly his own, something I couldn’t replicate or forget if I tried.
As our tongues dance, the heat from his body radiates against mine, and I can feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, his
heart pounding in time with my own.
I shift slightly, and Gale lets out a guttural moan that vibrates to my core. The sound is primal, needy, and it sparks something
deep within me. I tighten my grip on his wrists, feeling the strength in his arms as he instinctively tests my hold.
As I pull away, I nip his lower lip playfully, relishing the sharp gasp. “Very good,” I purr, my voice so husky it’s almost
unrecognizable to my own ears. “I think you’ve earned a reward. Let’s see what other skills that mouth has?” I murmur, trailing
a finger along his jawline.
He swallows hard, his throat working visibly. When he speaks, his voice is rough, barely above a whisper. “Please,” he breathes,
the word a prayer and a plea rolled into one.
I lean in close, letting my lips brush against the shell of his ear and kitten flick my tongue against his lobe. “Please what? Use your words.”
“I want, no, I need to taste you. Now. Please.”
I pull back to look at him, taking in every detail of his face. The usual cocky grin is gone, replaced by parted lips, slick
from our kisses. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple, and I watch its path, mesmerized at my own power here.
“You are being so good,” I murmur, releasing one of his wrists to card my fingers through his hair. He leans into the touch like he
is starving and I’m nourishment. “You want this, don’t you? Want to give me everything.”