Reminded herself of all the horrible things he’d confessed.
Reminded herself she was supposed to be figuring out how to steal the beating heart from his chest.
Reminded herself he’d kidnapped her. Forced her to work for him. Ordered her around like his personal servant.
And still, her pussy ached for him.
Flipping over onto her back again, she glared up at the ceiling, catching sight of the tiny red light that told her the all-seeing eye was still filming her every move.
Ofcourseit was. Even if she’dwantedto take care of herself tonight, she couldn’t. Not without that cocky vampire watching her.
Watching her…
Wait. Nowtherewas a thought to ignite a fresh fire in her belly.
And in his…
With a wicked grin—and most certainly a gleam in her eyes to match—she got herself situated on top of the blankets. Closed her eyes. Let out a deep, satisfying sigh.
And unleashed her beautiful revenge.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Why the fuck had Gabriel spent so many centuries despising witchcraft? A beautiful woman with a devious mind was infinitely more powerful than the darkest of hexes. Even stripped of her grimoires,thisone—this wicked little temptress—had corrupted him like no magic could.
He sat at the desk in his study, laptop open, utterly transfixed at the images splashed across the screen.
The witch he detested more with each passing second now lie on the bed, unwrapping her bathrobe as if she were opening a gift, all for him.
With trembling hands, Gabriel sipped his bourbon. The sharp scent of the alcohol reminded him of the spilled wine in the cellar where he’d left her standing in the broken glass. Where he’d left her aching. Left her wound up and flushed and flustered beyond all hope of deliverance.
Yet as he’d turned his back and walked up the cellar stairs, Gabriel was the one who burned inside, blazing with guilt and desire both. The next time he saw Jacinda, she was flirting with some demon at the bar—one of Chernikov’s leftovers who’d surrendered to Rogozin.
The sight had stirred in him another kind of fire. A murderous kind.
A dozen times he thought to apologize in earnest—for leaving her in such a state, for the wretched things he said, for punishing her with coldness and cruelty all for the grievous sin of saying thank you—and a dozen times he talked himself out of it.
In the end, he’d only been punishing himself. Forcing himself to watch her work the bar for the remainder of the evening as every demon in the place eye-fucked her, flirted with her, touched her as if she belonged to them instead.
Fuck his brother’s diplomatic efforts. If one more demon laid so much as a passingglanceon his witch, Gabriel was officially barring any hellspawn from the premises and obliterating any who dared to enter.
He took another sip of bourbon, desperately trying to steady himself.
Fucking pointless.
On the screen before him, he watched as Jacinda slid her arms from the robe. She wore nothing beneath it. Nothing but soft, beautiful bare skin. No corset, no stockings, no thong.
The sheer, unobstructed sight of her nakedness made Gabriel’s balls ache.
One hand wrapped around his glass, he slid his other to his waistband, unbuckling his belt, unzipping. Deftly freeing his cock. Fisting it.
Fuck,it was a pale imitation to the heat of her touch. Another exercise in futility that only served to further enrage him.
With delicate fingers, Jacinda traced the contours of one breast, then the other, nipples rising at her gentle touch, bringing him right back to those heated moments in the wine cellar. The taste of her skin filled his mouth. The memory of sucking those pert nipples made his fangs burn.
She palmed her breast, just like he’d done, teasing and tugging. Her other hand trailed down to her belly, drawing slow, lazy patterns, and though he couldn’t hear her, he imagined a breathy moan tickling his ear.
Moonlight spilled across the bedroom, painting her skin in all the places he wanted to touch her. To kiss her. The witch’s own touch followed, drawing invisible lines he longed to retrace with his tongue.
