Like I belong to him. But also that he belongs to me.
The distinction shouldn’t matter. But it does.
“Gabriel—”
He sweeps the room with his gaze, taking one last look over everything and everyone.
“I’ve made enough of an appearance,” he says. “It’s time to go.
“Are you sure? We’ve only been here an hour.”
“I don’t care.” His voice drops, low and edged. “I need you at home. Now. All to myself.”
No one is blatantly looking our way. I get the sense that just about everyone is too scared of Gabriel to do something that obvious. But I can feel dozens of pairs of eyes flitting in my direction, landing on me for a breath of a moment before looking away.
And why wouldn’t they look? The way Gabriel’s talking to me, the way he’s touching me… it draws attention. People are going to leave this place knowing what I am to him.
Part of me hates that I love that so much.
“We can’t just leave,” I say. “People will talk.” It’s a ridiculous thing to say—people arealreadytalking.
“Let them.” His hand slides lower, resting on the outer side of my thigh. My pussy clenches, and I practically moan at his touch. “I brought you here to make a statement. Mission accomplished. Now I’m taking you home before I do something very inappropriate in a public place.”
“Like what?” I can’t help but ask the question.
He smirks. “Like reminding you exactly who you belong to. In detail. Repeatedly.”
My knees go weak.
I should say no, tell him this is too much, too fast, that I can’t keep doing this—letting him touch me, claim me, make me feel things that I have no business feeling for a man whobought me.
But I don’t. Because the awful truth is that… all of this? I want it. I wanthim. And I don’t know how to stop.
I take a breath.
“Okay.”
“Okaywhat?”
“Take me home.”
Possession, hunger, passion flashes in his eyes. Then he takes my hand and leads me through the crowd, moving with purpose, ignoring the well-dressed men and women trying to catch his attention.
I spot Maria near the exit, her eyes wide. I give her a small wave and an awkward smile. She waves back, slacked-jawed in surprise.
The town car is waiting for us when we exit the Belvedere. Gabriel opens the door, then slides in beside me. The privacy screen is already up.
His mouth is on mine in seconds.
The kiss is hard, needy. He tastes like whiskey. I clutch his jacket, pulling him closer, the last week of tension and longing pouring out as our mouths crash together.
“Dio,” he groans against my lips. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me tonight? Watching every man in that room look at you and knowing they can’t have you?”
“Gabriel—”
“You’re mine, Thea.Mine.” His hand slides up my thigh, bunching the burgundy fabric. “Say it.”
My stomach tenses. I’ve had so much inner back-and-forth about this single, small word.
