Page 63 of Ruthless Enforcer

"Promises, promises."

He laughs—a low, dark sound that sends heat pooling between my legs—and then his mouth is on my throat, my collarbone, the curve of my breast. His teeth graze my nipple, and I gasp, arching into him.

"Fuck, you're responsive," he murmurs against my skin. "I'm going to have so much fun with you."

Before I can formulate a thought, his hand slides down my stomach, over my hip, between my thighs. His fingers find me wet, ready, and he groans like it's the best thing he's ever felt. "Jesus, Clara. You're soaked."

I arch at the electric jolt that shoots through me. "Your fault."

"Yeah?" He circles my clit with his thumb, slowly and firmly. "You been thinking about this?"

I bite back a moan. "Yes."

"For how long?"

"Years."

His hand stills. "Years?"

"Since the first time I saw you." I meet his gaze, refusing to look away. "In the society section of the paper. You were attending some gala and you were standing behind your brother, looking bored and dangerous. It was love at first sight," I say lightly, though it’s the truth.

"I guess we were meant to be." He slides one finger inside me, then another, and I gasp at the stretch of it.

He curls his fingers, finding a spot inside me that makes my vision blur. He works me slowly, methodically, his thumb circling my clit while his fingers stroke deep. I can feel the pressure building, coiling tight in my belly, and I grip his biceps hard enough to leave marks. I want more. I need it.

"That's it," he murmurs, his attention going back and forth between my eyes and where he’s touching me. "You’re going to come for me, aren’t you, Duchess?”

Oh. My. God. “More.”

He hums but continues with the same, not-quite-enough touch. “Tell me something.”

I can barely breathe. “What?”

His mouth curves, wicked and devastating. “Still think marrying me was a good idea?”

A laugh catches somewhere inside my moan. “Ask me tomorrow.”

“Wrong answer.”

“Gabriel—” I cry out as he lightly pinches my clit.

He chuckles darkly as he eases his fingers into me again. “Try again, wife.”

I try to move against his hand, try to get more, but he pins me to the bed with his other hand on my belly. “Tell me what you want,” he says, an order disguised in velvet.

“You,” I cry out, my eyes on him. “I want you, all of you.”

He growls. "Come for me, Duchess."

And I shatter.

The orgasm hits me so hard the world seems to fracture. For one suspended second, there’s nothing but sensation and Gabriel, my body arching instinctively toward him as his name tears from my throat.

This is nothing like doing it yourself.

There’s nowhere to hide from it. From him. He’s here for every shuddering breath, every helpless sound, every piece of me coming undone. And somehow that makes everything brighter, sharper, almost unbearably intimate.

By the time it passes, I’m trembling under him, stunned by the realization that I’ve never felt anything remotely like this. Maybe because I’ve never had anyone to fall apart with before.