Page 75 of Ruthless Enforcer

Gabriel's bathroom is lush in a way that surprises me—all dark slate tile, warm wood accents, and soft lighting that makes everything look like a spa instead of a little house by the sea. The steam shower takes up half the space, with a built-in bench along one wall and rainfall heads on three sides.

He's already naked by the time I walk in.

My mouth goes dry. I will never get used to the sight of him. Broad shoulders. Lean, muscled torso. The ink that wraps around his ribs and disappears down his hip. Scars that tell stories he hasn't shared yet. And his cock, already hard, thick and heavy between his thighs.

I’ve barely touched it, and I haven’t gone down on him yet, but I’m going to change that tonight.

He catches me staring and grins. "See something you like?"

"You know I do."

"Good." He steps into the shower and adjusts the knobs until steam starts to rise. "Get in here."

I let his dress shirt fall and follow him in, closing the door behind me. The heat hits me immediately, wrapping around my skin like a blanket. Gabriel pulls me against him, his hands sliding down my back, and I let myself melt into him.

"I missed you while you were painting," he murmurs against my hair.

My heart skips a beat, and my fourteen-year-old self sighs. "You could have come in."

“I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You wouldn't have bothered me.”

He kisses my temple. “I would have bothered the hell out of you.”

I laugh. “Probably.”

“Definitely.” He kisses my temple, my cheek, the corner of my mouth.

Then he sits down on the bench and pulls me onto his lap so I straddle him. The position is intimate, unhurried, and impossibly close. His hands settle on my butt, holding me steady, and I brace my palms on his shoulders.

His smile turns soft. Private. “Hi.”

Something about the way he says it makes my chest ache. “Hi.”

He drops a soft, barely there kiss on my lips. “You good, Duchess?”

“Yeah.” I run my fingers through his wet hair. “You?”

“Better now.” He slides one hand up my spine and cups the back of my neck. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“You’ve mentioned that.”

“And you keep looking surprised.”

“Maybe I’m not used to hearing it.”

His smile disappears. “You’d better get used to me saying it.”

He kisses me then—slow, deep, thorough—and I lose track of time. The water pounds down around us, steam curling through the air, and all I can feel is him: his mouth, his hands, the solid heat of his body beneath mine.

When he finally pulls back, I'm breathless and aching.

"I need to ask you something," he says, his voice rough.

"Okay."

"Do you ride?"