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With a quiet moan, I undo my jeans and slide my fingers lower, pressing against my pussy’s entrance while the heel of my hand grinds against my clit. I can’t quite believe I’m actually doing this—touching myself in Ford’s family home while thinking about Gabriel—and the recklessness of it all only heightens how good it feels.
I’m starting to lose myself in the building sensation, my breaths turning ragged as I rock my hips forward and back, when I hear it.
A soft footstep on the thick bedroom carpet. Barely audible, yet somehow the loudest sound in the universe.
My eyes snap open and my head jerks up, my breath stopping in my chest.
Gabriel stands in the doorway, his tall frame filling the space, his amber-flecked eyes burning like coals. There’s something in his expression that I’ve never seen before—something hungry that makes my hand freeze between my legs even as my body screams in protest.
Heat floods my face in a rush of mortification… and something else.
My heart pounds so loud that I’m certain he can hear it from across the room. The rational part of my brain is telling me that I should move my hand, should cover myself, should somehow pretend this isn’t happening.
But I can’t move. I’m frozen under his gaze, caught between shame and a reckless desire so much bigger than my embarrassment.
The air between us seems to thicken, so loaded with tension that it makes goosebumps break out across my skin. His chest rises and falls with several deep breaths, and I can see the muscles in his jaw jump as he drinks in the sight of me.
23
GABRIEL
Her back is to me, but there’s no mistaking what she was doing when I walked into this room.
What I’m witnessing has obliterated every rational thought in my head. Maeve stands frozen at the marble counter, her hand still buried in her jeans, those stunning green eyes wide with shock and something far more dangerous—something that looks suspiciously like arousal.
My cock, which had finally started to cooperate after that torture session disguised as a sleigh ride, snaps back to painful attention with the force of a lightning strike. Blood rushes south so fast it leaves me dizzy, and I have to grip the doorframe to keep from staggering.
She looks devastating—cheeks flushed that perfect shade of rose, lips swollen from biting them, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths that make her breasts strain against her sweater. The bathroom’s warm lighting transforms her into something both angelic and sinful, and I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire life.
That whole damn sleigh ride was agony. Feeling her pressed against me, fighting to keep my hands respectful while every instinct screamed at me to touch her, taste her, claim her. When she shifted against my cock, I nearly lost control right there like some inexperienced teenager.
The scent of her arousal reaches me even from the doorway—sweet and musky and intoxicating. It mingles with the expensive vanilla bath products and something uniquely her, something that makes my mouth water and my hands itch to explore every inch of her skin.
I can see her pulse hammering frantically in the delicate column of her throat. Her skin is flushed all the way down her chest, disappearing beneath her sweater, and I find myself wondering how far that beautiful blush extends.
Does it cover her breasts? Her stomach? Lower?
“Well, well,” I murmur, my voice coming out rougher than intended. The sound seems to break her trance, and I watch her swallow hard, the movement of her throat making me want to trace it with my tongue. “What do we have here?”
Her gaze finds mine in the mirror, and the desire burning there hits me like a physical blow. She’s thinking about me—I can see it in the way her pupils have dilated, in how her hand remains pressed against her most intimate places despite being caught. The knowledge that I’ve been starring in her fantasies sends possessive satisfaction roaring through my chest.
Some part of me wonders if she’s been thinking about Ford or Hayden too. Surprisingly, that thought only makes my arousal spike higher. I’d give anything to see her face when she comes apart, regardless of who’s making it happen.
“Gabriel, I—”
Raising my hand, I stop her mid-sentence. “Don’t stop on my account, petit oiseau doux.”
I step into the bathroom, my movements deliberate despite the way blood is surging through my veins. The door closes behind me with a soft click.
“In fact,” I continue, my voice low, “I’m very curious about what you were thinking about just now. Did it maybe have something to do with our little sleigh ride?”
Her breathing becomes even more shallow, and I can see her hand trembling between her legs. The knowledge that she’s still touching herself, even with me watching, makes my blood burn even hotter.
This time, I have no intention of being respectful.
“You know exactly what I was thinking about,” she says, her voice breathless and slightly shaky.
“Do I?” I move closer, stopping just inside the doorway so I can memorize every detail of this moment. The way her free hand grips the counter like an anchor, knuckles white with tension. How her hips shift restlessly as if seeking more friction. The bitten red of her perfect lips. “Tell me.”
