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“Could you step outside for a minute while I get undressed?” I’m barely able to believe I’m saying the words aloud.
“Whatever you say, Sadie,” he replies. He uses magic to disappear, inevitably. The sight disconcerts me more than it should.
I kick off my sandals, shivering as my feet touch the cold stone floor and dashing for the soft warmth of one of the many rugs, then lift my dress over my head. I hadn’t bothered with a bra, and for now, I leave my skimpy knickers on. I test the bracelets, but they’re too tight to remove. I crawl into the bed, pulling the covers around me.What the hell am I doing? I should leave, or I should embrace this. But there’s no reasoning with my mind.
“You can come in now,” I call.
Goodness knows where he is. There’s no way he should be able to hear me, even if he’s just in the corridor, but we’ve both always played fast and loose with the laws of physics.
Sure enough, he appears by the bed in seconds. Wherever he’s been, he’s stripped down to his boxer shorts and a ring on a chain around his neck. I suck in my breath at the sight. I’ve seen plenty of half-naked men before, and they’ve never had quite this effect on me.
Against my will, my brain starts to play a greatest hits montage of every masturbatory fantasy starring Gabriel-fucking-Thornber I’ve ever experienced. The gentle and the vicious. Which am I going to get? Which do I want? I told myself I was in control, but neither my brain nor my body wants to play ball. I’d never admit it to him, but I’m utterly in his thrall.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks, surprising me. “I’ve lifted the lien. I want this more than almost anything, but you’re free.”
I have no idea what I truly want. It’s crazy to sleep with him. But I long for it with a force I can’t understand.
“I want to do this,” I reply, oddly formal, like I’m swearing an oath.
He slips into the four-poster bed beside me without further preamble. I gasp again, even though he’s not touching me. I’m an absolute wreck.
“Turn onto your front then,” he whispers.
I don’t know what he intends, quite where we are on the spectrum of my fantasies, but I tell myself I’m all in. If I’m doing this, I need to disengage my conscious brain. I need to forget it’s Gabriel. I need to live in the moment and go with what he says. I get my mind to obey me to the extent that I’m able to roll over.
Gabriel strokes my back. “Your muscles are so tense,” he whispers, right by my ear.
The next moment, there’s sandalwood and eucalyptus scented oil everywhere. Magic is good for the little details as well as the big picture. Lying on his side while I lay on my back, he rests his head on my shoulder and digs into my muscles. He has a point. Between all the exercise I do and all the stress I’ve been under, my muscles are wrecked.
Thanks to the bracelets and my utter discomposure, it’s hard to tell what’s magic and what’s skill as he works out all the knots in my back. It hovers on the boundary between pleasure and pain, like all of my interactions with him.
“What is this?” I demand. “If you’re going to take me, just do it.”
“If we’re doing this, we’re doing this my way,” he replies. “And my way involves making this as pleasurable for you as physically possible.”
His ministrations move downwards, working through the knots in my thighs. Little sighs escape my lips every time he soothes a sore spot. He’s good, I’ll grant him that. Good at healing the individual muscles he touches, good at setting my whole body aflame. His hands haven’t strayed close to anywhere remotely sensitive, but I’m dripping wet already.
Slowly, his hands work their way back higher, focusing on the top of my thighs. With his right hand, he turns my head towards him and clamps his lips on mine. For a moment, I tense, and then I kiss him back, careless of the consequences, as his hands continue their exploration of my body.
Slowly, slowly, as though it’s the natural and inevitable consequence of everything that’s happened so far, his right arm closes around me, holding me closer to him, and his left hand slips between my thighs and inside my underwear. I gasp unashamedly as his middle fingers work their way around the outside of my pubic area.
“Please,” I whimper. And unlike in my fantasies, my meaning is entirely unambiguous.
“Whatever you say,” he replies, his own voice heavy with want. And then his fingers begin to stroke.
I have a last remnant of logical thought.How is this happening? How have I let him through my defences?
And then I give in entirely to the moment, to the sensation, to Gabriel.
Heedless of the rights and wrongs and complications of the situation, I’m outright moaning within moments. His fingers stay in place, alternating between fast and slow, straight lines and circles, while his head moves between kissing me on the lips then draping kisses all over my shoulders and back. I’m not sure quite what I anticipated when I resolved to do this. Perhaps something pleasant that I could enjoy and then forget. Perhaps something awful that I could grit my teeth through and then move on from. But nothing this all-consuming. Every time he moves near enough, I kiss him back.
His finger slides inside me, meeting no resistance, just a fresh round of gasps. I need to come, need to get this over with, but he’s not going to make this easy for me. I know from our previous interactions that he likes to play things his own way. Seemingly, sex is no different.
“Turn over,” he whispers, punctuating his words with another kiss on my forehead.
The moment I comply, he slides down between my legs and starts to lick. It’s just like the sweeter end of the scenes in my imagination, except much, much better.
“Gabriel!” I’m screaming out his name before I can help myself. I can almost feel him smiling at the sound.
