Chapter 26 Gabriel
Gabriel
The Alliance meeting is still inside my head, heavy and lingering, and I can’t shake it. Not because Cassio spoke, but because Romano did. He used Savannah’s history in a room full of men, smiling like he was doing her a favor. He wanted to make an example of her.
And Savannah didn’t break. She shook, and still chose. That’s the part they don’t understand. A woman doesn’t have to be quiet to be dangerous.
The SUV rolls through the compound gates and the metal swings shut behind us. Savannah exhales like her lungs have been holding it in all morning. Her hands sit in her lap, fingers twisting together until the skin pales. I reach over and place my hand on her thigh.
She flinches once, tiny, then leans into the contact like her body remembers. She stares out the window, quiet, but not silent the way she used to be. This quiet has thoughts inside it. It has fight. I don’t interrupt it. I let her breathe.
Juan drives while Luca follows in the car behind us. The tires hum against the road and the glass is tinted, but the world outside still looks too open, too wide, too full of places for a man to hide.
* * *
When we reach the house, I get out first. Cold air slaps me in the face. I scan the corners and roof line and watch the guards at the gate, the way they hold their shoulders, the way they hold their hands. Trust is a luxury, and we don’t have it right now.
I open her door and offer my hand. She takes it. Her fingers are cold and still shaking, but she takes it.
Inside, the staff is gone. Only vetted guards remain, only men I trust, and it still isn’t enough. Someone left a note on her pillow with no forced entry and no camera glitches. That means someone was inside. That means the bones of my house are compromised. And what that really means is simple.
I failed my one job.
Savannah walks with me down the hallway and I can feel her fighting the instinct to glance at every door.
She’s trying to act normal. I can see it in the way her shoulders are too still, her breathing is too measured, and her eyes keep catching on reflective surfaces like she’s checking for movement behind her.
* * *
We reach the bedroom and she pauses at the threshold. Her breath catches and my jaw tightens. That room was violated. It’s the softest place we had, and they touched it.
Savannah doesn’t step in yet. She stands there like the air changed, like the light is wrong, like the bed is an enemy.
“You don’t have to go in,” I tell her, keeping my voice low.
Her throat works. “Yes,” she whispers, and I watch her face as it lands. She isn’t agreeing with me. She’s answering something inside her.
She steps in anyway. One step, then another, moving slowly toward the bed like she’s approaching a trap.
She sits on the edge with her hands in her lap and her back straight, bracing for impact, and something in my chest twists hard.
The bed should be a place where she melts, not a place where she armors up.
I kneel in front of her, the concrete cold under my knees. I don’t touch her yet. I don’t assume. I let her eyes find mine.
“Look at me,” I say.
She does. Her eyes are tired, angry, scared, alive. That last one hits me like a punch, because alive isn’t a guarantee in this world.
“Tell me what you need,” I murmur.
Her lips tremble. “I don’t know,” she whispers.
I nod. “That’s an answer.”
Her gaze drops to the pendant at her chest, my crest. Her fingers touch it lightly like she’s checking that it’s real. Then she whispers, “He said church.”
My jaw tightens. “I know.”
Her throat tightens. “Smile,” she whispers.
My voice goes cold. “He doesn’t get to decide your face.”
Her lips part like she wants to argue, but she doesn’t have words yet, so she says the only honest thing. “I don’t want everyone looking at me.”
“They already are,” I tell her quietly. “Today was proof.”
Her face tightens and I soften my voice by a fraction. “But you won’t be alone.”
She swallows. “Cassio doesn’t care. He’ll use me.”
I hold her gaze. “Cassio cares about power, so we make your presence power.”
Her brows knit. “How.”
I lift my hand slowly and rest my palm on her knee. Her skin is warm now, but her muscles are still tight under it. My voice stays low.
“First, you stop thinking of the church as a stage.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “it is.”
“It’s a trap,” I correct. “And traps can be turned.”
Her breath catches, and I keep going.
“Second, Romano doesn’t bring up your history again. If he tries, you do what you did today.”
Her throat works. “What I did today.”
“You said no,” I remind her.
“I was shaking,” she whispers.
I tighten my hand on her knee slightly. “And you still spoke. That’s what they remember.”
Frustration burns in her eyes. “I hate shaking.”
“Then shake,” I say quietly. “And make them scared of the shake.”
Her breath stutters, a small sound that could have been a laugh if her body wasn’t exhausted. Then she whispers, “I feel dirty.”
My stomach drops. “What kind of dirty.”
Her eyes flick away and her voice breaks. “Like they were in my room. Like they touched my pillow and now my skin remembers them touching me.”
My jaw locks. I don’t speak immediately, because if I speak wrong it becomes pity, and she doesn’t need pity. She needs control. I need to be careful with the next thing I offer her, because control in her past meant harm, and control in my hands has to mean safety.
I slide my hand from her knee to her hip, still gentle, and pause.
“Tell me yes,” I murmur.
She swallows. “…Yes.”
I look at her. “Then we wash it off.”
Her eyes snap back to mine. “Wash,” she whispers like the word has weight.
I nod. “Shower. Hot water, my hands on you. Your choice.”
Her breath catches. Heat flickers in her eyes and it scares her. It scares me too, because desire and fear live too close in her body, and I won’t let fear wear desire’s face and call it healing.
“Not to erase,” I add, keeping my voice steady. “To give you your power back.”
Her throat works. “And if I panic.”
“Then we stop,” I say immediately. “No punishment. Just stop.”
She stares like she’s not used to that sentence existing, like her brain is trying to decide if it’s a trap. I stand slowly and offer my hand.
She takes it. Her fingers are still cold.
* * *
I lead her to the bathroom. The room is bright, all tile and mirrors and hard edges. I dim the lights until it’s softer. Then I turn on the shower and let the steam build before she has to step in.
The water hits the tile in a loud, steady wall of sound. Savannah stands there with her arms crossed and her shoulders tense, like she’s holding herself together by force. I stay close but I don’ touch her. I wait.
“Tell me what you want,” I murmur.
She swallows hard. “I want quiet,” she whispers.
I nod. “Then no talking.”
She hesitates, then adds softer, “I want you here.”
My chest tightens. I nod once. “I’m here.”
She steps into the shower first. Hot water hits her skin and she flinches, then exhales slowly like her body remembered warmth.
I step in behind her, not crowding, just close enough that my presence blocks the world.
Steam curls around us. Water runs down her shoulders like it’s trying to rinse off more than dirt.
She stands under the stream with her eyes closed and her breathing is shaky. I reach for the soap, then pause.
“Is this okay,” I murmur.
Her lips part. “…Yes.”
I place my palm on her shoulder. She stiffens for a second, then relaxes just enough.
I wash her shoulder slowly, then her other shoulder.
I keep it clinical at first. Not sexual.
Soap, warm skin, slow circles. Her breath steadies and the noise of the water becomes a wall between us and everything else.
I move down her arm, rinse, then the other. When she shivers, I don’t assume. I watch her face. I listen to her breathing. I keep my hands where she can see them.
She turns to face me. Water runs down her face and her eyes lift to mine, raw. She steps closer and her hands slide to my chest. She looks down like she’s asking herself permission, then looks up again.
“Tell me how,” she whispers.
I keep my voice low. “You tell me what you want.”
Her lips tremble. She swallows hard, then her hands move, slowly, down my torso. Heat rises. She bites her lip.
“Do you like it,” she whispers.
I answer immediately. “Yes.”
Her eyes flicker. “I do too.”
She leans in and kisses me, slow, searching. I kiss her back gently, letting her set the pace. Her fingers tighten on my skin and her body presses closer, and I can feel it, her fear trying to crowd the moment, trying to make her disappear.
I pull back slightly. “Eyes,” I murmur.
She opens them. I hold her gaze.
“Here,” I say quietly. “With me.”
She nods, breath shaking. “Here,” she repeats.
She kisses me again, hotter this time. Her hands move with more confidence and her body starts to melt. Water runs down her back. My hands stay on her waist, waiting for her.
She pulls back and whispers, “Touch me.”
My chest tightens. I move my hands slowly over her hips, then up her sides, soap slick and warm. Her breath breaks and she clutches my shoulders. I kiss her throat, then her jaw. She shudders. The steam is thick and the world is gone. There is only her breathing and my hands and the sound of water.
She whispers my name. “Gabriel.” I stop instantly. “Tell me what you need,” I murmur.
She swallows hard. “Don’t be gentle because you feel sorry.”
My jaw tightens. “I’m not sorry,” I say low. Her eyes widen, and I continue, my voice rougher. “I’m gentle because you asked me to be, and I can be anything you need.”
Her throat works. Heat flickers. Then she whispers, “Be mine.”
It hits me hard. My control slips for half a second. I kiss her deep and slow, then pull back and keep my forehead against hers.
“You’re mine too,” I whisper.
Her eyes squeeze shut. A sound leaves her that isn’t fear. Relief. Want. Hunger. For a few minutes, under hot water and steam, she isn’t thinking about notes or men or church. She’s thinking about her body.
When she starts to tense again, I slow. When she relaxes, I continue. When she drifts, I make her open her eyes.
My hands caress every part of her. My fingers brush against her clit and circle it. When she moans, I rub faster and faster. Her hands clutch my shoulders, nails digging into my skin, her breath loud and heavy against my ear.
I push on finger inside of her and she gasps as her body tightens and shivers. “ Thats it baby, take my finger.” I growl into her ear.
A guttural moan escapes her lips. Her hips arch against my hand, a silent plea for more. I oblige, adding a second finger, stretching her slowly. The heat of her against my skin is intoxicating, a fire that threatens to consume us both.
“Please,” she whispers, the word ragged, torn from the depths of her surrender. “I need…”
“You need what?” I tease, my thumb circling the sensitive bundle of nerves at her apex. I need to hear her say it. I need the words to fall from her lips. Her body is a taut bowstring, vibrating with a tension that’s almost painful to witness.
“Everything,” she finally manages, her voice cracking. “I need everything.”
A primal satisfaction roars through me. I curl my fingers inside her, finding that spot that makes her cry out. Her back bows off the wall, her fingers clutching my shoulders, nails digging into my skin. The sight is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I claim her mouth then, swallowing her cries as I build a relentless rhythm. My thumb presses, my fingers stroke, and I feast on her gasps and whimpers.
My body shudders at the feel of her breasts pressing against my chest.
I slide my finger slowly in and out of her as I rub her clit with my thumb.
She suddenly clenches down on my finger as a moan leaves her mouth.
I press her harder against the shower wall, my mouth against her neck, my teeth nibbling her skin. “Fuck,” I say. “So wet, you feel like silk .” I growl out as I line my cock up against her slick wet pussy. I slide in.
She gasps and whimpers in my ear “Baby, is this what you wanted?” I whisper in her ear. “My cock.”
She trembles in my arms as I wrap an arm around her ass, lifting her up to meet my thrusts.
Deep, hard. I thrust into her over and over again. My arm pulling her ass into me on every thrust. Each thrust I get deeper and deeper inside her.
I press her harder against the wall.
She whimpers, “It’s too much.”
“Just let go,” I growl.
Her pussy locks down on my cock so hard that it makes my teeth clench, but I keep moving, chasing my own release. Finally I slam into her and stay there. A deep groan leaves my chest as I cum deep inside her.
I press a soft kiss to her sweaty forehead as I set her down on wobbly legs. “You okay?” I ask as I look down at her.
“Yeah,” she whispers.
I run my fingers through her wet hair, pulling it out of her face. I grab the soap and wash her body for her, my hands moving gently over her skin. Her eyes are closed, her head tilted back against the tile. She looks completely at peace, and it makes my chest feel tight.
When she opens her eyes, they’re soft and unfocused. “I feel…boneless,” she murmurs, a small smile playing on her lips.
“Good.” I rinse the soap off both of us, then shut off the water. I wrap her in a fluffy towel, lifting her again. She comes willingly this time, her arms loose around my neck.
In the bedroom, I dry her off slowly, methodically, as if I’m memorizing every curve and plane of her body. I place her on the bed, pulling the covers over her.
I slide in beside her, my body still humming. She turns toward me immediately, her head finding my shoulder.
“I never knew,” she whispers into the darkness of the room.
“Never knew what?” My voice is rough, even to my own ears.
“That it could be like that.” Her fingers trace patterns on my chest. “That I could be like that.”
I don’t answer. I just pull her closer, my arm wrapping around her waist. The silence stretches, comfortable and warm, filled only by the sound of our breathing.
Her breathing evens out, and I realize she’s drifting off.
* * *
Outside the door, my phone buzzes once. I don’t answer, not yet, because right now she is finally drifting, and if the world wants my attention, it can wait until my wife gets her sleep back.
But I already know Romano won’t wait. He showed his hand today, which means he’s going to play next, and the church is the board he chose.
So I’ll let her sleep, and then I’ll go sharpen the knives, because when the church doors open they’ll all be watching her. Romano wants her to crack. Viktor wants to put his hands on her. They think they get to decide what happens to my wife. They’re wrong.