Sliding one hand down over her stomach, he let his fingers push through the black curls between her thighs, pinching her nipple hard as he brushed his finger over her clit. She moaned, arching into his hand, and he could feel her wetness on his fingers. Evidence of how much she wanted him.
Fuck, that made him feel good. That beautiful, sophisticated, and smart Honor wanted him. Even though he was stained and broken and tainted underneath.
Gabriel turned his head into the black silk of her hair. “Why do you let me do this to you?” He didn’t even know why he asked her, why he wanted to know. But it felt important to understand. “Why do you trust me?”
A tremor went through her. “Because … no one’s ever given to me what you have.”
“I haven’t given anything to you. Not a fucking thing.”
“That’s not true. You give me pleasure.”
He gave a hoarse laugh. “You can get that from any guy.”
“No, I can’t. You’re the only one who’s ever managed to get me out of my head. Who’s ever made me feel.” She took a ragged-sounding breath. “You’re the first man who even paid attention enough to … push me. To help me figure out what I want. When I’m with you I feel like I’m the center of the world. And … no one’s ever made me feel that before. So, that’s why I trust you.”
His chest felt tight, a raw feeling he didn’t want sitting right in the center. “You shouldn’t. I wasn’t lying when I said I wasn’t a good man.”
“That’s the other reason. You’ve never lied to me. You’ve always been honest about yourself. And I like that, too.”
The tight sensation became painful. Yeah, he’d never lied to her, but he hadn’t been honest either. And now that felt wrong. Now that made him feel … guilty.
Jesus, what a time for his conscience—which he’d thought dead long ago—to wake up. Like fucking Lazarus.
He shut his eyes, pushed two fingers into her, feeling her pussy stretch around him, hot and wet and tight. She writhed, gasping. He pinched her nipple again, hard. A punishment for trusting him when she shouldn’t. A punishment for making him feel like he should be equal to that trust. For making him want to be equal to it when he knew he couldn’t. Not when he’d been using her to get to her stepfather.
“You shouldn’t trust me,” he whispered into her ear as he thrust his fingers into her again. “Remember that.”
Her only reply was a moan, the curve of her butt pressing against his groin, driving his own desire higher.
God, he needed to stop thinking about all this shit. Especially when she was in his arms, shaking and moaning. The feel of her pussy around his fingers. He wanted a taste of the kind of freedom she was experiencing now. Freedom from his fucking anger. To be aware of nothing but pleasure. No holding back.
He withdrew his hand, picked her up in his arms and carried her upstairs and into his bedroom, putting her down onto the bed. She angled her head toward him as he looked down at her.
“Can I take the blindfold off?”
“No.”
He crossed to his closet and pulled it open, finding what he wanted from the tie rack then coming back over to the bed. “Put your hands out.”
“To tie up? Again?”
“You don’t want it?”
“I didn’t say that. But … maybe the question should be why do you?”
He scowled. “I don’t need it.”
Again that angling of her head. “Don’t you?”
Uncomfortable awareness shifted inside him. Of her fingers on his stomach that morning in Vermont. A gentle touch that had made him feel … suffocated.
You don’t want her to touch you like that.
He stared at the length of silk in his hands. No, he didn’t. Because he wasn’t worthy of that kind of gentleness. He’d done bad things. There were deaths on his hands. Each one had been absolutely necessary in order to protect the people in his neighborhood. But he was a sinner. Destined for hell sure as fuck. And she was another sin to add to the list.
Then again, she’d given him her trust downstairs on that table, so perhaps it was time he gave her a little piece of his.
Gabriel let the tie drop onto the floor. “No ties then. But keep the blindfold.” He could bear the brush of her hands, but he didn’t want to look into her eyes as well. “Lie back.”
A smile turned her mouth and that too made something painful catch inside him. Jesus, this woman was fucking trouble and part of him wanted to turn her over like he had before, so he couldn’t see her face. Couldn’t see that smile. Yet part of him didn’t. He wanted to see her come apart and scream his name.
Honor did as she was told. Lying there naked and blindfolded should have made her seem helpless. But bizarrely, he felt like he was the one who was vulnerable. Like she had the power over him and not the other way around.
And the worst part was that it was too late to stop or walk away. He wanted her too much.
Gabriel reached into the drawer of the nightstand and found himself a condom packet. Protected himself quickly. Then he got onto the bed, pushing apart her thighs. She was so wet and hot when he eased inside of her that he had to stop and take a breath, the pulse pounding in his head.
She groaned, arching her back. “Gabriel…”
He would never get enough of hearing her say his name, all hoarse and ragged and desperate. He leaned forward, shifting his hips, thrusting deeper, watching, fascinated as pleasure unfurled over her face. Wanting to give her more of it, wanting to see her break.
You don’t have to give her this.
No, he didn’t. But he wanted to. Like he had downstairs, he wanted to give her pleasure, and not for any reason other than because she’d been hurt and he wanted to make it better.
But he couldn’t have those kinds of thoughts. He wasn’t allowed to care.
Gabriel shut the thoughts down. And when her hands slid up his arms, gripping his shoulders, he closed his eyes and increased the rhythm, deep and hard until he felt her convulse around him, her pussy clamping down hard on his cock, her cry of release in his ears. Then he let himself go and found his own little piece of freedom.
* * *
Honor woke up and blinked at the ceiling, wondering where on earth she was. Because she wasn’t in her own apartment, with the big velvet comforter she liked to curl up underneath.
This room had a high ceiling with dark, wooden, exposed beams. Big curving windows with plain, heavy, white curtains that made the daylight glow behind them. The walls were mostly unpainted brick except for one which was mirrored and obviously a walk-in closet.
In the mirror she could see herself lying in a massive, heavy, wooden bed, in a tangle of white sheets. Apart from the nightstands on either side of the bed, it was the only furniture in the room.
A clean, bare, minimalist kind of room. Like a monk’s cell.
Except the man who slept here was no monk.
Pushing herself up in bed, Honor ran a hand through her hair. Perhaps she should feel worse about it than she did, because obviously spending the night with Gabriel had not been the best idea she’d ever had. Especially after all the shocks of the previous day. Which—sadly—she hadn’t forgotten about either.
But she couldn’t bring herself to feel bad about it. In fact, all things considered, she felt surprisingly … good. Like something binding her had been cut away. A very odd thing to think when she’d spent part of the previous night blindfolded.
A reflexive shiver went through her as she remembered. Gabriel’s hands, his mouth, touching her, tasting her. There wasn’t one inch of skin he hadn’t kissed or licked. Or bitten. And she’d just lain there and taken it. All of it.
She covered her face with her hands for a moment, a blush washing over her skin at the memories. Embarrassed and thrilled and shocked at herself all at the same time.
It had been amazing. An awakening in every sense of the word because unlike in Vermont, she’d finally let herself surrender to the sensations, given herself permission to enjoy it. Revel in it.
You can’t. You know where that leads.
Honor ignored the insidious thought. Last night, she’d chosen to embrace the passion and, God help her, she wanted that passion again.
Right after she’d had coffee though.
Sighing, Honor dropped her hands and slid out of the bed. There was a bathroom en suite near the closet and she padded in there, naked. The white-tiled shower was huge, the water hot, the pressure amazing, and she wanted to stand underneath it all day. But eventually caffeine cravings kicked in with a vengeance and she had to get out, wrapping herself in one of the big white towels on a heated rail. As she did so she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. There were bruises on her neck, breasts, and thighs. Red marks around her wrists. Oh hell, had he put those there?
The thought was dirty and erotic and wrong and she couldn’t stop looking at the marks. Liking that they were there. Reminders of him.
Had she given him any in return? She hoped so. And if not, perhaps she could give him a few today.
Pleased with the thought, she came back out into the bedroom, taking a quick look around for something to wear since her clothes were still downstairs near the dining table. There wasn’t anything except for his black T-shirt, the one she’d used as a blindfold the night before, now crumpled in a heap near one of the nightstands.