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It doesn’t take long before I hear footsteps in the kitchen. Oscar, who sleeps on my bed, twitches his ears, but he doesn’t move. Gabriel’s tall frame appears in the doorway. With the backlight from the scullery, his face is in the dark. I can’t make out his expression. He flicks on the light and enters the room with slow but purposeful steps. He’s a man who always knows what he’s doing and who always has a reason for his actions. His gaze slides over me from top to bottom, but there’s nothing of Tiny’s lustful need for a quick fix in his eyes. They’re filled with questions as he runs his fingertips down my arm from my shoulder to my hand. There’s a crazy moment when I almost trust him with my body, that I almost surrender my mind. It’s like being in a car with a good driver, knowing you’ll end up safely at your destination. I must be going nuts. It’s the endorphins my body releases when he touches me. Purely hormonal. Biological. Gabriel is a sadist, and he made me a whore. I can never trust him.
He slides a finger under the strap of the nightgown. “It looks good on you.”
“Thank you,” I say awkwardly. “You didn’t have to.”
“Yes, I did.” He lifts Oscar from the covers and puts him in his cat bed in the corner. “He doesn’t need to see this.”
I’m not sure if he’s joking or serious, but the insinuation behind his words makes my underwear damp. I don’t want this reaction, but I’m helpless to stop my body from wanting what he gives.
He drums his fingers on my wrist. Whatever is going through his mind, he’s giving it deep thought. Finally, he breaks the silence with a single command.
“Undress.”
I can fight and argue, cry and plead, but it won’t make a difference. It never does to men like him. Sitting up, I take the hem of the nightgown and pull it over my head. My underwear follows next. I don’t want to drag it out. The quicker we get this over with, the quicker I can go back to pretending I don’t want him to touch me like this.
Gabriel doesn’t hide his arousal from me. He’s comfortable with it, like he is with his body and clothes. His erection strains under the fabric of his pants, but he doesn’t touch it or go for his zipper. He tucks my hair over my shoulders with a gentle brush and continues with his orders.
“On your knees and open your legs.”
Heat creeps up my neck as I take the posture that opens me up for his gaze, but I lift my chin and face him squarely. I won’t surrender to my shame, not with him in the room. For a long moment, his eyes fix between my thighs, seemingly pleased that I obeyed his order to shave.
He tests the weight of my breasts, sending an uncontainable shiver over my skin. I can’t prevent my nipples from hardening.
“Shoulders back, tits forward.”
I give him what he wants and wait.
A rare smile tugs at his lips. “You’re so brave, Valentina.” Without warning, his hand slips between my legs. He cups a broad palm over my sex. “I love your cunt bare. Do you know what I want to do to you?”
He doesn’t wait for my answer, but flicks the forefinger of his free hand left and right over the tip of my breast. The movement is firm and fast, and it makes my already heavy breast turn even more swollen. While he’s toying with my nipple, he pushes his middle finger against the opening of my vagina. He doesn’t penetrate me, but runs the tip of his finger up and down my slit. The rasp of the rough skin of his pad feels more intense on my shaved skin. Strangely, his touch on my breast echoes in my clit. The nub between my folds swells and throbs with aching need. Wetness coats his finger. I can feel the moisture as he slickens the outer walls of my opening with my arousal. Determined not to give him a sound, I gasp nevertheless when he grips my nipple between his thumb and forefinger with a pinch.
Satisfaction bleeds into his expression. For some reason, he’s happy with my reaction. He’s happy that he has this effect on me. Another cry leaves my lips as he rolls my nipple.
“Valentina,” he says with a moan, “you’re everything I want.”
Alternating between pinching and rolling my nipple, he works my body into a state of desperate need. The bite of pain followed by the softer caress is too much to bear. No man has ever touched me like this. There’s so much wetness, his hand is covered. It takes everything I have not to grind into his palm. I don’t have to. He presses the pad of his thumb down on my clit, massaging in circular movements. His deft fingers abandon my tormented breast to start working on the other one. When he gives the curve a soft smack on the side, making it bounce, a gush of liquid heat spills from my body and coats his fingers.
