"Naomi," he says, his voice carrying that tone of authority I've learned to recognize.
"I told you what my father did to her!I tried to call her after everything happened, but she doesn't want to talk to me ever again, and I don't blame her."
"And what did you do when your father threatened your best friend?"Gabriel asks, his question cutting straight to the heart of my guilt like a surgical knife.
"What?"I sputter, not understanding where he's going with this line of questioning.
"What role did you play in allowing your father to use your best friend as leverage to force you home?"
The question hits me like a physical blow, and I feel my carefully constructed defenses crumble."I couldn't do anything to help her!I can't even help myself—I was forced to marry you today, wasn't I?"
The words come out harsher than I intended, but Gabriel doesn't even flinch.He just continues watching me with those dark, perceptive eyes that seem to see straight through to my soul.
"Is that what you've been telling yourself these past few months, Naomi?That you couldn't do anything to help her?"
"Why are you doing this to me?"I demand, suddenly feeling exposed in more ways than just physical nakedness."Two minutes ago we were about to make love, and now you're making me feel like shit about how I handled a situation I had no control over."
I look around for something to cover myself with, needing some kind of barrier between us.The conversation has shifted from intimate to confrontational, and I feel vulnerable in every possible way.
"There's a robe in the closet," Gabriel says, reading my discomfort with unsettling accuracy.
I start toward the closet, but he's faster, retrieving the plush white terrycloth robe and helping me into it with gentle hands.The gesture is caring, protective, which makes his pointed questions even more confusing.
"I want you to know that you've just completely ruined any chance of getting some ass from me on your wedding night,” I huff, tying the robe closed with more force than necessary.
Gabriel actually chuckles at that, the sound rich and warm in the quiet room."I'll survive."
"Well, maybe you won't get any ever again.This can be a marriage of convenience for real, you know."
"We should have had this conversation before our wedding day, and that's my fault," Gabriel admits, his voice serious now as he runs a hand through his dark hair."But before you ran from me today, I wasn't sure if I would ever tell you how I really felt.Having you believe this was just an arrangement would have been easier for both of us, safer emotionally, but that's not what I want."
"Well, what the hell is it that you want?Because I'm thoroughly confused, LaRoche."
Gabriel is quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully."I know you don't love me yet, Naomi.There's no way you could, given everything you've believed about my family all these years.But I need you to try to trust me, just like I want to be able to trust you completely.Because if we can do that—if we can really be partners—we can work together to give each other exactly what we want."
"Which is?"
"You don't want to be trapped in a loveless marriage, pushing out kids and hosting bullshit dinner parties for my father's business associates.You want a career of your own, something that belongs to you and only you, something that gives your life meaning beyond being someone's wife or daughter.I respect that, and I would support it completely."
"And what do you want?"
Gabriel's eyes burn with ambition and something deeper, more primal."I want to own this city."
The words hang between us, heavy with implication and promise."That would mean a direct challenge to my father."
He stares at me head-on, unflinching in the face of what that could mean for both of us."Yes, it would."
That might be the sexiest thing he's said to me all night.The idea of Gabriel taking on my father, of refusing to bow down to the man who's controlled both our lives for so long—it's terrifying and thrilling at the same time.
Fuck it.I'm in.
"What do you want me to do?"I ask him.
Gabriel's expression shifts from serious to predatory, and suddenly the air in the room changes, becomes charged with sexual tension that makes my skin feel too tight.
"Well, first, Mrs.LaRoche, you're going to get on your knees and take my dick in your mouth to apologize for threatening me with no sex on our wedding night."
The crude command sends heat straight to my core, making the walls of my pussy throb with want.There's something about the way he says it—matter-of-fact but filthy, dominant but somehow respectful—that makes me instantly wet.
