As soon as the admission left her lips, she regretted it. What was it about him that made her reveal any part of things better left hidden? She had trained herself to do better than this, but every time he asked a question, she felt driven to answer. She did not want him to know any of her secrets. Not a one. And yet, here she was offering them up without even the slightest consideration, as though a part of her wanted to tell him all.
There
was a sure route to danger.
“I did not like to go in, either,” he mused, “for much the same reason.”
She blinked, startled that he revealed anything private and personal. It went completely against his nature. She knew enough of him by now to be certain of that. It made his admission something of a gift.
Was it payment in kind? She offered a glimpse of her secret soul, and he did the same? An exchange. A connection. The possibility both thrilled her and made her uneasy.
“Then why did you?” she asked, studying him, noticing a single cobweb woven in the spun gold of his hair. Without thought, she reached up and stroked it away, her fingers lingering at the gently curled ends, so silky and soft.
He stiffened, but did not pull away.
“Because I had no way to know who lurked in this hallway, watching, listening.” He offered a tight smile. “I prefer to catch my enemy unawares.”
She stared at him, nonplussed, her fingers still twined in his hair. He had known someone was here, listening. How? She was certain she had not made a sound.
“You must have extremely acute senses,” she observed, drawing her fingers through his hair.
“Extremely.” He looked at her strangely, and it was then she realized what she did: petted and stroked him as though she had a right. Mortified, she pulled her hand away and dropped it to her side.
“You said you like to catch your enemy unawares…Am I your enemy?” she whispered.
“The answer to that question resides entirely with you.” One corner of his mouth curved in a lazy smile, his eyes darkest amber, his head tipped close, his breath soft on her cheek. “I would prefer that you are not.”
Then it was not just his breath on her cheek, but his lips, gliding along her skin to the corner of her mouth. His fingers were warm as they closed on her wrists, and he drew her hands behind his back so she was pulled close against the length of him. Hard muscle beneath perfectly tailored cloth.
She lost her breath, lost her thoughts.
“Why—” She gasped as his tongue traced the edge of her mouth, and turned her face away. Heart pounding, she thought she ought to step away. Run away. But she did not. Instead, she remained exactly where she was. “Why is this tunnel here?” she managed at last.
He shifted his mouth to her ear. “A servants’ tunnel. There is a maze of them behind the walls.”
With a gentle tug, he drew her closer still, his thighs pressed to hers, and she was drowning in him, the enthralling, faintly citrus scent of his skin, the feel of his body, the way his hands circled her wrists, holding her in place, binding her to him, though he had positioned her so that she was the one whose arms held him close, circling about his lower back.
And why did she not pull away?
Even as he loosed his hold on her wrists and brought one hand to her throat so his thumb stroked her pulse, and the other to her nape, she made no move to break free, but held her arms in an easy loop about his body. Holding him.
Slowly, he tipped his head down, his lips soft on hers, the sweetest caress. She hated him for that, for his gentleness, and for the hard, sharp kick of yearning that even that near-innocent brush of his lips on hers drew from deep inside her.
His mouth was slightly open, his breath warm, mingling with her own, but he did not taste her, did not push his tongue inside her. And she wanted that, ached for it. Oh, how desperately she wanted the taste of him in her mouth.
A whimper tore free, and she arched up, drowning, her lungs and veins and limbs filled only with sharp heat.
Breathless. Hungry.
And then she understood.
…because you are breathless and I am air…
His mouth played on hers as he
wooed
her, tantalized her, made her breathless so he could be all she craved. She pulsed with the need to press herself tighter against him so that there was no space between them, not even air.
He used only his lips, leaving her imagination to conjure and crave the thrust of his tongue. She wanted him to put his hands on her breasts, and his mouth. His teeth. She wanted him to press her down, here, on the floor, to feel his full weight, heavy and heavenly.
With a nearly chaste kiss he stole her will, her reason, and she had no more breath. He was her air.
She bit his lower lip, lightly, then harder, then soothed the place she had nipped with her tongue.
Abruptly, he pulled away, her name—
Catherine
—no more than a whisper.
No. Do not leave me
. She reached for him, her hand pale in the shadows, hovering between them, outstretched.
“Tell me,” Gabriel demanded, holding himself beyond her touch.
Catherine snatched back her hand and pressed it to the hollow of her throat, though she ached with the need to play her fingers across his lips, to stroke his hair, to curl her hands into smooth cloth overlying steely muscle.
She had never yearned, never ached, the way she did in this moment. And he wanted her to say it, to lay herself bare to him, to trust him with full knowledge of her wanting and need.
No, not full knowledge. He had that already. She saw it in the hard glitter of his gaze and the tight line of his jaw. He wanted her
admission
, freely given. He wanted to be water for her thirst, food for her hunger. That night in her chamber he had clearly laid out his terms.
“My bed is down this corridor and up a single flight.” His lips curved in a smile dark with promise. “Say it, Catherine. Tell me what you want.”
“Please,” she breathed, wanting it to be enough. Needing it to be enough. The hated word, offered in supplication.
“No.” He frowned and shook his head. “I have no wish to hear you plead. I know it holds dark memories for you.”
He knew that? How?
“I am a keen observer,” he said, faintly sardonic, answering the questions she had never asked. He caught her hand—the one she had held out to him earlier and now clutched against her throat—and brought her fingers to his lips. His tongue tasted the tips, and then his teeth. She swallowed the moan that begged for escape.
“Say only that you want me. That you hunger.”
That I am water and you are parched
, he did not say, but she heard it nonetheless.
“Only that?” she managed with a strangled laugh.
“For now.” He stroked the backs of his fingers across her cheek, and she was so sensitized to his touch, so raw, that she had to sink her teeth into her lip to keep from crying out.
Shaking her head from side to side, she backed up a step and then another, poised to flee. He made no move to stop her. Not by expression or action did he alter her course.
Her choice
. With him, it would always be her choice. He had no desire to bend her or break her to his will. She understood that with sudden blinding clarity.
She could give herself to Gabriel without sacrificing who she had become.
Her heart beat, wild and terrible, in her breast. Fear. Lust. Raw, aching need. And then she said it, forced the words through bloodless lips.
“I do. I do want you. I ache for you. I dream of you. I fight it and chain it and lock it behind any boundary I can conjure, and still the wanting steals free.” She lowered her head and stared at the tips of his boots, shiny black, catching the paltry light. Her breath came hard and fast, as though she had run for miles. “What have you done to me?”
“Nothing. Not yet. But soon.” He yanked her hard against him, his mouth open as he tasted her, his tongue sliding the length of hers, his teeth nipping, gently, then harder, enough to make her gasp. Make her moan. He fed on her, claimed her, his kiss sinking through her to leave fire in its wake.
Lifting her in his arms, he cradled her against his chest, bending his head to nip the skin of her throat. Her breathing was uneven and quick, as was his. He strode along the hallway, then took a flight of stairs with rapid, sure steps, and she clung to him and breathed his scent and buried her face in his neck so she could lick his skin.
He tasted of salt. He tasted like heaven.
Hunger such as she had never known pounded through her.
He kicked open a door, then kicked it shut behind them, and she turned her head to see a massive bed canopied in striped silk, blue on blue, a vast room with rich curtains and a hearth that danced with fire. Something made her notice that—the extravagance of fire in a room no one was expected to use at this hour of the day. The strangeness made her ask, “Why do you keep the hearth burning at this time of the day?”
“I dislike being cold.” The words had a sardonic edge. “I keep a fire here and in the library and in any room I expect to spend even a handful of moments.” He paused as though grappling with himself and then continued. “I spent too many years shivering, cold to the marrow of my bones.”
She sucked in a sharp breath at the naked pain in his tone. Such revelation, from Gabriel? She had no idea how to reply other than to tighten her arms about his neck and kiss his throat, then strain up to reach his mouth and kiss him there.
Delight strummed her senses. The taste of him, like chocolate, like wine, left her dizzy and breathless.
Breaking the kiss, he tossed her in the air. She squealed and landed in a billow of skirt, the mattress dipping as she bounced and bounced again. He dropped down beside her with a laugh, the sound wonderful and startling, a rarity. A gift. She closed her eyes and let it pour over her. Then he kissed her once more, demanding, possessing, and she was lost in a tumult of sensation and need.
Deft fingers worked her gown, her undergarments, yanking aside her half-unbuttoned bodice to bare her breasts. Her nipples hardened in the cool air and she arched, aching, wanting his mouth on her as she had never wanted anything before. His lips closed over her, a gentle swirl of his tongue and then a hard, sucking pull that took her to a place between pain and pleasure. She clenched the covers in her fists and cried out, liquid need pouring through her so powerful and quick she was undone by it, left panting and thrashing.
Tracing his tongue along the dip between her breasts, he freed more buttons, tearing delicate cloth in his haste. His mouth took her other nipple in a sharp tug that made her thrust her hands in his hair to pull him away…to drag him closer still. Then he kissed her breast sweetly, his tongue swirling round and round, leaving her wanting—
“Harder,” she whispered.
He closed his teeth on her and she felt it clear to her belly, an erotic kick that made her gasp.
Somehow, she found herself naked while he was yet clothed, the situation both embarrassing and arousing, the scrape of his wool coat on her skin and the press of cold metal buttons only serving to layer sensation upon sensation.
She wanted to touch him, to know him, every masculine line and hard angle. She reached for him and he caught her wrists, braceleting them with one hand, stroking the other up her stocking-clad thigh until his palm met bare skin above her garters. He dragged her hands above her head, held them there, and kissed her once more, tongue and teeth, deep. Wet. As he drew back, she followed him, her lips clinging to his.
“Patience, love. We have all the time in the world, and I intend to savor you.” To prove his point, he brushed his lips lightly over her own. Not enough. Not nearly enough.
She was not patient. She was greedy and eager.
Through his trousers, the hard length of his arousal pressed against her thigh, powerful, thick, promising to stretch her and fill her. There was nothing subtle or sweet in the way he touched her now, his hands cupping and kneading her breasts, her buttocks. He took. He marked. He drew moans and sighs as he rolled her nipple between his fingers, then dipped his head to suck and bite. She cried out, the pleasure keener than she could bear, her legs scissoring against cool silk.
He rose above her, dragging her hands to the intricately carved headboard, curling her fingers around sections of wood.
“Hold tight to this,” he whispered against her ear, “and do not move unless I give you leave.” He let a heartbeat pass. “Or I could bind you.”
Her breath left her in a rush, the image of that both incredibly erotic and frightening all at once. No. She could not. To trust him with this, to give him leave to do this…she could not. She jerked her hands from the headboard and pushed against his chest.
He let her. She knew that. As his weight lifted and he took it on his outstretched arms, she knew he
let
her push him away.
Then he caught her right wrist and dragged her hand back to the headboard, curling her fingers around the wood once more. Now it was she who let him do this, trembling, panting, wanting him and afraid of what he asked, so many emotions swirling through her she knew not which one swam strongest. He took her other hand, and drew it up the same way, his voice guttural as he repeated his command against her ear.
“Do what I say, Catherine. I will not have him in my bed. Not today, or any other. I will not have you haunted by the dark memories he spawned. There will be only me in your thoughts as I come into your body. Only me there with you.” He buried his face in her neck, inhaling against her skin, his weight resting on one hand while the other held hers trapped against the headboard. “Trust me.”
She had no reason to. She had
every
reason to.
He would have her no other way. If she denied him, he would leave her here, aching and empty. She knew it with all she was. He would have all or nothing. Of course. Had she not secretly known exactly that all along? Was that not part of what she wanted from him, his perfect, wretched control?
Tightening her grip on the wood, she held fast, and he laughed, a low, sensual slither of sound that wound around her and through her.
“What—” Her question died in a gasp as he kissed his way down her breasts, her belly, clenching his fingers into her thighs to lift her and open her, his tongue tracing the curve of her hip bone, and Gabriel smiled, secretly, darkly pleased.
No one had kissed her here before. The wriggling of her hips and her startled, panting breaths told him that as clearly as if she screamed it aloud, or pushed him away, or leaped from the bed in dismay. No one had kissed her mons or her lovely, swollen folds.
Not yet.
“Do not move,” he rasped, imperative. He would have this of her, the taste of her—warm and wet and female—on his tongue. He breathed in the scent of her, aroused to the point of pain.
“Gabriel.” A soft, plaintive cry.
He held her hips and dipped his head, his tongue stroking her between the folds of her sex, finding moisture and warmth, salt and heaven. His mouth closed over the hot, sensitive core of her. She jerked as though struck.
“No! You—” Her denial died sharply as he nipped her, then licked her. The sounds she made, the way she thrashed, the fact that she held tight to the headboard because he had asked her to and because she chose to accede to his will, gifting him with her trust—all combined to build his own passion, to feed the flame of it. He licked her again, and when she jerked and gasped, he felt the kick of her pleasure low in his own gut.
He took his time with her, stroking her to the razor’s edge, pushing one finger, then two, deep inside her. Tight. She was so tight and wet.
Lost in her, he played and stroked, and she gave herself up to him. His to take as he would.
Soft cries tore from her lips, and her hips rose and fell in a primitive rhythm. Then her whole body went rigid, quivering, frozen in time as her release took her over the edge. The only sounds she made then were a soft catch in her throat, and a series of sighs that could be nothing other than his name.
His name
.
A dark smile curved his lips as he raised his head and saw she yet held fast to the bed, her fingers curled so tight her knuckles were white. He crawled up her lush body, kissing her belly, her full, round breasts, her throat, her lips. She made an inarticulate sound and tried to turn away, but he caught her chin in his fingers, a gentle grasp, and kissed her full on the mouth. She tensed, then melted, opening to him with a sensual little moan. He supposed that tasting herself on his tongue was not as horrid as she had expected. In fact, the way she tipped her head and sucked on his tongue, his lips, offering sighs of pleasure, made him certain she had forgotten whatever qualms had assailed her.
This was how he wanted her. Wet and ready and pliable. This was how he wanted their joining. Earthy and messy. Nothing forbidden. Nothing taboo.
She wore only her stockings and as he reared back and looked down at her, he was certain that even one more moment would be a moment too long. Because she was lush and beautiful and there before him, offering herself like a gift.
Her fingers bit into the wooden headboard, and Catherine stared up at Gabriel feeling sultry and sated and aroused all at once. She was fully nude. He was fully clothed. The sensation of being bare and open to him was incredibly erotic.
She had never imagined a man could kiss a woman there. She had never imagined the bliss to be found in that.
“I want—” She broke off, pressed her lips together, wondering how to ask.
“What do you want? Tell me.”
“I”—she shook her head, thrust aside her embarrassment—“I want to taste you. Suck you. Feel you hard and hot in my mouth.” She did. The thought of it put into words made her yearn all the more.
“Your wish. My command.” He moved so that his knees were on either side of her shoulders. Reaching down, he undid his trousers and the long, thick length of his cock sprang free.
Her heart raced. Her belly twisted with lust, and she opened her mouth, taking him inside, and all the while she held her hands where he had placed them, the unenforced captivity only adding an edge to her arousal. She licked the length of him, then sucked him deep. Deeper. And still she did not have the whole of him.
Hot, smooth skin over steel. He impaled her, pumping only deep enough for her comfort and no deeper. She wanted to swallow him, to fill her mouth, her throat with him, and she moaned, arching her back and lifting her head to take more.
With a shaky laugh, he pulled away. “Keep at it, love, and you’ll taste more than skin.”
Dipping his head, he kissed her, sucking on her lips, nipping them, thrusting his tongue into her mouth to dance with her own as he slid down her body. The rasp of his superfine coat against her naked nipples made her gasp and wriggle.
The heat of his erection pressed against the inside of her thigh. He was so hard, so big, the smooth head stretching her as he pushed at her opening, then withdrew, again and again, a little deeper each time. She gasped, wanting him to press in…in…