Chapter 35 Savannah
Savannah
The lock clicks. It’s a small sound, but my body hears it like a promise.
Gabriel closes the bedroom door and turns back to me like the rest of the compound doesn’t exist. Like Cassio did not stand in the courtyard and try to pull me back with his eyes.
Like a man did not sob in a trunk because he thought my silence meant permission.
My throat tightens again, and my hands still feel cold, not from temperature, but from adrenaline, from being watched, from saying my sentence in front of men who wanted me quiet.
Gabriel steps close and presses his forehead to mine. His breath is warm against my mouth, steady, while mine breaks in the middle like my body forgot how to do something simple. “Breathe,” he murmurs.
I try. In. Out. My fingers clutch his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping me in the room.
He wraps his arms around me slowly, careful, like he is holding something that might shatter if he squeezes wrong. I hate that I still feel like that sometimes, shattered, and I hate how much I need the way he holds me. Not tight. Not claiming. Just present.
“I hate that Cassio did that,” I whisper.
“He wanted you to collapse,” Gabriel says, voice low.
“He wanted me to choose him,” I whisper.
Gabriel’s jaw tightens slightly. “He wanted you to doubt me.”
I swallow hard. “And I did,” I admit.
Gabriel doesn’t flinch. His hand slides up my back. “You doubted the world,” he says. “Not me.”
My eyes sting. “I doubt everything.”
“Then borrow my certainty,” he murmurs.
The word borrow hits my ribs. Like it can be returned when I am strong enough to hold my own again. My throat tightens. “I feel disgusting,” I whisper.
Gabriel goes still. “Why?”
My mouth opens and nothing comes out at first, because the answer is my silence feeling like guilt, because the answer is my body still bracing even when no one is hurting me. “Because I didn’t stop it,” I whisper.
“You did stop it,” he says, firm. “Today.”
“Today,” I repeat, like it’s not enough to erase everything.
Gabriel’s hand lifts slowly and cups the side of my neck. His thumb stays still. No stroking. No teasing. His eyes drop to my mouth and then return to my eyes. “I’m going to kiss you,” he says quietly. “Do you want it?”
He asks like my answer matters more than his need. I swallow. “…Yes.”
He leans in slowly, slow enough my body has time to panic and then time to realize it doesn’t need to.
His lips touch mine, gentle at first, just contact, just heat.
Then a little more pressure, and a little more.
My breath catches and a small sound slips out of me, need, and need makes me feel exposed.
Gabriel doesn’t deepen the kiss. He pulls back a fraction, watching my face. “Still yes?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
Then he kisses me again, deeper this time. My fingers grip his shirt harder. My body shivers. Heat slides through my stomach like a slow wave.
I flinch, just a fraction.
Gabriel stops immediately. He doesn’t push through it. He doesn’t pretend it did not happen. He pulls back, eyes locked on mine. “What was that,” he asks softly.
“Nothing,” I lie.
“No,” he says gently. “Tell me.”
My throat burns. “My body,” I whisper. “It remembers.”
He nods once, and just the understanding makes my eyes sting. He presses his forehead to mine again. “We go slow,” he murmurs.
“I don’t want to ruin it,” I whisper.
“It’s okay,” he says.
I swallow, and the truth shakes out of me anyway. “I want you.”
Gabriel stills. “Close, or more,” he asks.
My cheeks burn. “More,” I whisper. “Touch me.”
His jaw tightens once, then he nods.
My breath stutters as my hand slides down his chest, hesitant at first, then stopping at his belt like my body knows what it wants even when my mind is afraid to say it. His eyes follow my hand. Gabriel inhales slowly, then lifts my hand and presses it to his chest over his heart.
“Here first,” he says quietly. “You feel me. You stay here.”
That is the part that makes me want to cry. Not the sex. The patience. The fact that he wants me present, not performing.
I press my palm against him. His heart is steady, fast but steady. “You’re real,” I whisper.
His mouth brushes the corner of mine. “I’m real,” he murmurs. “And you’re safe.”
Safe is a word my body wants to reject, and a word my body also wants to collapse into.
Gabriel’s hands slide down my arms and return to my waist. He lifts my shirt slowly, pauses, looks at me.
My breath shakes. Then he pulls it over my head and kisses the side of my throat, soft.
My hands tremble, but heat rolls through me anyway.
My body wants him, even when my mind is afraid of wanting.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper.
Gabriel’s eyes lift to mine, then he doesn’t stop. His mouth moves slowly down my throat, my collarbone, my shoulder, like worship, like he is teaching my body a new memory to replace the old ones. My breath turns uneven and my knees weaken, and he catches my waist immediately.
He guides me backward toward the bed, He sits first and pulls me between his knees. He unhooks my bra slowly. My body tenses, then steadies. He slides it off and meets my eyes before leaning forward to kiss me again. When he pulls back, his voice is lower, rougher.
“Tell me what you want.”
My hands slide into his hair, gripping lightly. I whisper what I want, and he stills, eyes darkening, jaw tightening, “Are you sure?”
Heat and fear twist together, but my answer is clear. “Yes,” I whisper. “I want to.”
He nods once. “Then we do it slow,” he says. “And you tell me to stop if you need to.”
He watches my face the whole time as he undresses, moving with steady hands. When he steps closer, I kneel on the bed, hands shaking slightly, and he guides my chin up with two fingers.
“Look at me,” he says.
I do, and my fear steadies.
His fingers trace my jaw, my throat, my collarbone. “You’re beautiful.”
My hands go to his shoulders, nails digging in. “So are you.”
His smile is small, then fades to concentration as he leans in.
He kisses me slowly, one of his hands sliding down my back, over my hip, gripping my thigh, pulling me closer.
When he enters me, it’s slow, deliberate, and my breath catches.
A memory pushes in, but Gabriel’s hands tighten on me and he murmurs against my ear, “I have you.”
The memory fades.
He starts moving, slow at first, giving my body time to remember this can be good, that touch can be gentle.
I keep my hands on his shoulders, and I focus on the weight of him, the warmth of his skin, the quiet way he breathes, and the way he watches me, always watching, making sure I’m okay.
And I am okay. Heat builds, slow and deep, and my breath catches, and I start meeting his rhythm, my body learning pleasure again.
Gabriel’s breath grows rougher. I shift my hips and gasp, a sudden wave of pleasure rolling through me, and he pauses, watching my face.
I gasp and arch up into him. “More,” I beg
He doesn’t hold back, his hips snapping into me, driving deep, my vision blurs. “Is that better?” he asks.
“Don’t stop,” I gasp.
His teeth graze my neck, then he sinks them in, and pleasure shoots through me, sharp and bright. He keeps moving, hitting a new angle, and my whole body goes tight. My breath hitches, and my nails dig into his shoulders. “Gabriel—”
The pleasure crests and shatters, and my world goes white for a second.
When I come back, Gabriel is still moving, slower now, watching me.
He brushes a thumb over my cheek, and when he finishes, it’s with a low, quiet groan against my shoulder.
He stays there for a minute, breathing, then pulls back slowly.
He lays us both down, pulling me into his arms. His heartbeat is steady against my back. I’m shaking, but it’s okay.
“Alright?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah.” I shift closer. “I’m—yeah.”
Gabriel’s arm tightens around me, and he presses a kiss to the back of my neck.
After, when my body is trembling and my mind is quiet in the rarest way, Gabriel doesn’t leave me. He cleans me gently like I am something worth tending to, then climbs back into bed and pulls me against his chest. My ear rests over his heart. His hand settles over my pendant.
My body is tired in a way that is not fear.
For the first time in a long time, tired feels safe.
* * *
Then his phone vibrates on the nightstand. Once, then again, then again.
Gabriel goes still. The calm fractures. His hand tightens slightly around me as he reaches for the phone, eyes narrowing at the screen.
His voice turns cold. “Romano.”
My stomach drops, because if Romano is calling Gabriel directly at this hour, it means one thing.
* * *
Dear Diary,
The lock clicked, and my body heard a promise.
His hands on my skin felt like worship.
I wanted him, and I said it, and for a little while my body felt safe inside my own skin.
Then the phone lit up again and again,
And now he is coming.
To take something back.