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Holy shit, this man could talk dirty—on top of knowing exactly how to get me off—multiple times. I’d been putty in his hands. And he knew exactly what to do with me.
Everything except fucking me. Why didn’t he fuck me?
I turned my eyes to him.
Gabe was sprawled next to me, sleeping, as well.
I watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, strangely fascinated by him.
He looked younger while sleeping, the harsh lines of his face softened, and with his usual intensity missing, he looked almost approachable.
Harmless. Nice.
I could see the man he might have been if he hadn’t grown up in the Mafia. If kidnapping, extortion, and violence weren’t part of his normal life from day one.
Almost against my will, I reached out to trace the tattoo on his chest.
His eyelids fluttered open, and he grasped my wrist in a bruising grip.
I froze, heart pounding.
For a long moment, Gabe just stared at me, eyes narrowed. Then he released my hand and raked his hand through his hair with a sigh.
“You just can’t stay out of trouble, can you?” His tone was almost fond but still hoarse from sleep.
I scowled and replaced my unease with righteous annoyance. It wasn’t as if I’d willingly gotten myself into this fucked-up situation. He was the one who’d brought me here and made me fall for him. “If you didn’t want trouble, you shouldn’t have kidnapped me.”
His lips quirked. “Touché.” He sat up, the sheet pooling around his waist, and I flushed as I recalled what was beneath. Not that he let me touch his cock.
Not yet.
Or really fucked me with it.
Not yet.
He looked at his watch “Fuck. It’s almost time for dinner. Time to get up. We can’t stay in bed all day.”
“We can’t?” I stretched and didn’t bother hiding my utter contentment. I had no intention of getting out of bed anytime soon.
Gabe seemed to find my defiance amusing.
He leaned down to drop a surprisingly sweet kiss on my nose. “Aren’t you hungry, Sophia?”
I cocked my head to the side, looked down at the outline of his cock beneath the sheet, then smiled until he hung his head and groaned. “I’ve created a monster.”
But when his hand slipped underneath the sheet, slid between my thighs, and his fingers brushed my aching center, every single rational thought fled my head. “Yes,” I gasped, rocking into his touch. “But only for you. I want this. I want you.”
A low sound rumbled in his chest. “Good girl.” He circled my clit once, then slipped inside me, first one finger, then a second.
I cried out at the sensation and clutched his shoulder.
He went down on his elbow, his hand cupping the back of my head. “You’re so wet for me already,” he purred, his lips against my ear. “So eager and willing and mine.”
I closed my eyes and nodded.
He began to move his fingers, stroking then pushing them inside in a rhythm that quickly shattered what was left of my control.
I rode his hand shamelessly, chasing my pleasure and his praise until the coil of heat in my belly snapped, and I came with a sob, pulsing around his fingers.
