My heart slams against my ribs.
"I'm here," I tell her.
I strip out of my clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. I turn off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.
I climb into bed beside her.
For the first time in thirteen years, I don't stay on my side.
I slide toward the center and pull her back against my chest. I wrap my arm around her waist, my hand resting flat over her stomach.
Mine.
She settles against me, her breathing syncing with mine.
Tomorrow, she’s going to wake up and realize she’s trapped. She’s going to realize she can’t go home. She’s going to realize the game she thought she was playing has rules she never agreed to.
She might scream. She might fight.
Let her.
Every door she tries to open will lead her right back to me.
The first thingI notice is the heat. And the wetness.
My brain is still swimming in the thick, soupy haze of sleep, but my body is already wide awake, responding to the wicked things happening between my legs. It feels like a dream. Ithasto be a dream, because in my real life, I wake up to the sound of garbage trucks backing up in the alley and the smell of my neighbor’s burnt toast.
I definitely don’t wake up to a tongue—skilled, relentless, and devastating—lapping at me with a rhythm that makes my hips buck off the mattress before I can even open my eyes.
A low, vibrating hum against my inner thigh tells me this isn’t a dream.
I gasp, my hands flying down to tangle in thick hair. "Gabriel?"
He doesn't answer. He doesn't stop. If anything, saying his name seems to encourage him. He presses my thighs wider, anchoring me exactly where he wants me.
The question of what the hell he thinks he's doing waking me up like this gets lost somewhere between my brain and my mouth. His thumb finds that bundle of nerves he tortured lastnight, and all that comes out is a ragged moan as he shows it no mercy.
"W-wait," I stammer, though I’m lifting my hips, silently begging for the exact opposite.
He ignores me. He’s not asking for permission. He’s taking what he apparently decided is his while I was unconscious.
Just as the pressure builds, just as I feel that coil in my belly start to wind tight enough to snap, he stops.
The loss is a cold splash of water.
"Don't stop," I whine, the words slipping out before my pride can catch them.
The mattress shifts. The heavy weight of him moves up my body, a wall of muscle and heat in the darkness. He looms over me, a shadow darker than the room.
"Never," he growls, his voice rough with sleep and lust. He settles between my legs and drives inside me in one long, smooth stroke that steals the air right out of my lungs.
It’s not frantic like last night in the club. It’s heavy. Lazy. Possessive. It’s the kind of sex that saysI have all the time in the world, and you aren’t going anywhere.
He fills me completely, stretching me out, and I wrap my legs around him on instinct.
"This wet already," he growls against my throat, stubble burning my skin. "And I've barely touched you."
"I wassleeping," I choke out, nails digging into his shoulders as he begins to move.
