“D-does it matter?”
“It’s not going to change what I do now. Once I decide I’m going to take an offer, I fucking take it.” His thumbs moved agonizingly higher, almost grazing the underside of her sex. Almost but not quite. “But when I told you I wanted you to want me, I meant that, too. So if you’re doing this purely to get me to invest in Tremain then…”
Honor sunk her nails into the fabric of the chair, fighting to breathe through the thick desire that gathered in her throat. She looked into his dark eyes. “Then what?”
His hands stilled, his expression completely unreadable. “Then I might have to stop.”
No, he was not going to take the control away from her like that. She was the one calling the shots here, not him. She reached down, took one of his hands and placed it between her thighs so his palm rested directly over her sex. “Does that feel like I’m only doing it to get you to invest in Tremain?”
Something moved in Gabriel’s eyes. Changed. A dark fire burning brighter, hotter. “Say ‘yes,’ Honor. I want to hear you fucking say it.”
The word came out before she could think about it. “Yes…”
His fingers flexed, pushing gently against her, sending an electric bolt of sensation directly to her clit, making her draw in a sharp, harsh breath.
“Wet. Hot.” His fingers flexed again, his palm pressing down, the heat of it making it difficult to concentrate on anything else. “That’s some proof, baby. But tell me, if your stepfather’s business wasn’t on the line, would you be sitting there, letting me stroke your pussy like this?”
No.
Yes.
Honor trembled, desperate for more than the gentle movement of his fingers, wanting to ease the terrible ache inside her. But God, she had to think, had to concentrate. Had she made a mistake here? She’d counted on her control being better than his but that light, tantalizing movement was driving her crazy.
She took a silent, shaking breath. “My stepfather’s business is on the line, so I guess you’ll never know the answer to that, will you? Now, are you going to do something or are you going to sit there and talk all night long?”
His mouth turned up in a wicked half-smile that made the breath she’d just drawn in vanish again. “Oh, I’m going to do something all right. Keep still. Hold onto the back of the chair. And let me do all the work.”
Gabriel didn’t wait, hooking the fabric of her panties to one side, baring her. Then he slid his fingers over her slick folds, stroking gently before easing a finger inside her in a deep, slow glide.
She gave a strangled moan, her eyes closing, a lightning strike of pleasure bursting through her.
“You like that?” His voice was rough and soft, velvet stroked the wrong way. “You’re all hot and wet and tight. This is for me, isn’t it, baby? All for me? Answer.”
She didn’t even think about not obeying. “Y-yes. It’s for you.” She rocked her hips, moving instinctively, gasping as he added another finger, a delicate stretch.
“You’ve been thinking of me doing this, haven’t you? My fingers in your pussy, making you moan. Making you come.”
“Yes.” The hard leather stitching on the chair back bit into her palm as she tightened her grip, his fingers moving, sliding out of her then in again. Slow. Deep. “God … yes…”
“Tell me what else you’ve been thinking about. All your dirty fantasies, I want to hear them.”
A voice inside her head whispered a warning, but it was so hard to think clearly, pleasure gathering tighter and tighter as his fingers moved. She couldn’t think of the last time she’d had an orgasm that hadn’t been entirely self-administered.
Have you ever had one that wasn’t?
But no, she didn’t like to think about that either. Or about the things men had said to her, the nice, intellectual, respectful types she went for who never pushed her or challenged her. Never made her sit in their laps and whispered dirty things into her ears.
“Tell me, baby. You can’t come until you tell me.”
“You,” she said in a voice that she barely recognized as hers. “Screwing me on your bike. I’m in … your lap … like … like this and you’re inside me.”
Hot darkness glinted in his eyes, the movements of his fingers slowing, maddening her. “That seems … tame. I think you can do better than that.”
She didn’t know where the words came from but they came out all the same. “You’re holding my hands behind my b-back. So I can’t struggle. I can’t … fight. I can … can only…”
“Feel,” he finished softly. “Yes, that’s what you want, isn’t it? To not be in control for once. To not have your head telling you what to do all the time. Only to feel.”
Like she was feeling now, the tightness of pleasure, the ache. The restlessness. The burn. Too much. Too much.
She tore her gaze away, closed her eyes so she didn’t have to see what was in his, the rhythm of his fingers changing, becoming faster, making everything get even tighter, more intense.
“I don’t…” she panted, “I don’t … want…”
An arm curled around her waist, holding her still, the warmth of his body pressing against her front. His fingers moving, faster, faster. His thumb circling over her clit, sending a streak of white light through her whole body.
She opened her mouth, a strangled sob coming out of it, her body gathering itself into a tight, hard knot.
Too much. Way too much.
Yet she couldn’t stop it.
Another pass of his thumb and a column of pleasure shot straight up her spine, spreading out through her body. The sob became a cry she couldn’t keep inside, more ecstasy ripping through her, the raw energy of it laying waste like a force of nature.
She could feel herself shattering, breaking apart, and the feeling was so terrifying she tried to rip herself free of him but he only held her tighter, like he was holding her together.
Biting down on the sobs, she kept her eyes fiercely shut, riding out the intense aftershocks.
Oh, God, how had that happened? Usually she had to fake it because she could never let herself go enough to come, at least not when she wasn’t giving herself pleasure. But not with Gabriel. He’d given her an orgasm so quickly, undermining her control so easily.
Intense. Powerful. Addicting …
Fear clawed its way inside her. To be so exposed, so vulnerable to a man like him would be a fatal mistake.
Honor waited until she felt his arm loosen around her, until her legs felt less like jelly and more like they could actually carry her. Then she moved, sliding off his lap, pushing down her skirt. Turning and walking toward the door.
“Honor?”
She didn’t pause. It wasn’t backing down or running away, no, it definitely wasn’t. She only needed space, some time to get her armor back in place.
“Where the fuck are you going?”
She pulled open the door and went through it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Gabriel was out of the chair and halfway to the door before he caught himself. Because what the hell did he think he was going to do? Chase her down the hallway? Pin her up against the wall and demand an explanation? His cock might have no problems with that, but hell, he did. He didn’t run after women.
“Fuck,” he bit out under his breath, running a hand through his hair, pacing from the chair to the window and back again.
He was so hard he ached. He couldn’t get the feel of her tight, wet pussy around his fingers, the scent of her arousal, and the soft sob she’d made as she’d climaxed out of his head.
She’d been so unbelievably sexy, daring him, challenging him. And just as he’d known it would be, her final capitulation had been so fucking sweet. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her as he’d touched her, watching the color rise on her face, the blue of her eyes darken, thick black lashes falling on her cheeks.
He wanted her out of that prissy blouse and tight little skirt. He wanted her naked. White skin on white sheets, her legs spread, her back arching as he tasted her. Sobbing in his ear as he pushed inside her. He wanted her surrendering to him, letting go of that precious self-control of hers, giving in to pleasure and to him.
Jesus Christ, he’d thought she was into it. He’d thought she’d wanted it as badly as he did. And yet … she’d come apart in his arms then ran as if the hounds of hell were on her tail.
What the fuck was that all about?
He looked toward the open doorway. Had he fucked up yet again? And if so, how? All he’d done was given her an orgasm, a pretty intense one from the sounds she’d made.
He cursed, pacing over to the fireplace, looking moodily down into the leaping flames. Letting her go was what he should be doing because he never chased a woman who didn’t want to be chased.
But you still haven’t gotten anything about Tremain from her.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
He had two choices. Either he went after her to find out what was wrong or he stayed here and gave her some space. Normally, his gut instinct would tell him which choice to make but that gut instinct didn’t seem to be working too well around Honor St. James.
You know what you want to do.