Chapter 19

19

He'd portalled them to his apartment. And she'd missed it.

Leah's whole focus had been Gabriel as he'd made the decision in the space of two thudding heartbeats. His kiss was consuming, hands grasping her hips as he brought her up on her toes. Big hands. Strong, surprisingly capable hands.

When he'd walked her backward, she'd gone willingly, barely registering the strange juddering around her until her back hit the wall and it wasn't cold concrete.

When she opened her eyes, his expression was drawn, hints of pain within. Then she saw the last flickers of a portal closing behind him and realization hit her like a slap on the ass.

He didn't say anything, only watched her carefully.

Questions crowded her throat. What did it mean that he'd used such obvious magic? Should she comment on it? Was it possible he'd show her more? Could she ask questions about what kind of magic he had? Did this mean he trusted her?

That last question answered itself. He'd portalled her, a human. He trusted her. Gabriel Goodnight trusted her.

She untangled the hand in his hair, traced his forehead. "It hurts you, doesn't it?" The lines eased as she ran her fingers across them. He didn't confirm but she knew she was right.

All those times he'd helped her out with magic, looked after her.

And she knew she didn't need to ask anything else. Not now. All she needed was for him to kiss her again.

She threaded her hands through his hair, relishing the feel of the strands slipping through her fingers, and tugged.

She didn't need to ask twice. He bent to capture her mouth in another deep, drugging kiss. His hands skimmed up her sides, making her shiver.

"Bed," she mumbled, dragging her mouth free. "I want to feel you."

His eyes, already hot, went molten.

But he shook his head. "No."

" No? "

A hint of humor played around his face. "Not yet," he amended.

"What are you—"

"You talk too much."

"So, give me something to do with my mouth."

A muscle ticked in his jaw and his hands tightened on her hips. "You will not rush me."

"We only have one night," she reminded him. "Let's get to the good stuff."

He took her hand, turned her palm upward and brushed his lips over the pulse point in her wrist before gently biting down. Lust surged into her belly.

"Leah," he murmured. "You are the good stuff."

Romance flickered inside her. It made her feel weak. "You're too good at saying the right thing."

One eyebrow tilted. "I've never been accused of that before."

She had to laugh. She smoothed her free hand over his jaw, his cheek so she cupped it. "Maybe you don't show this side of you enough."

"This side?"

"Gabe."

He looked at her. "I'll never be just Gabe."

She knew what he was saying. "One night," she confirmed, pushing aside the sneaking want that craved more. "If you ever get on with it."

"You're impossible." With an intensity to his face, he pushed her so her spine hit the wall. Abruptly, her arms were above her head, locked together. And he wasn't touching her.

When her startled eyes flew to his, he only said, "Okay?"

Was he kidding? "More." It was breathless, a moan, and she squirmed in place. Reality intruded long enough for her to add, "But doesn't this hurt you?"

"It's worth it," he said, in a voice made for dark deeds done in dark rooms. His eyes roved over her. "This dress has tormented me all night. But not as much as this has."

He stepped in, nudged the pink fabric to the side and exposed her tattoo. An ampersand, smaller than her thumbprint and just below her left collarbone.

His finger traced the design. Everywhere he touched, fire spread. "What does it mean?"

She swallowed against the lust choking her throat. "It's a reminder that there's always a next. That nothing ever really ends, and to stay open to people, possibilities." Like him.

But this would end. She accepted it, didn't want to linger. Instead, she tilted back her head and gave him a sly smile. "It's not my only one."

His finger paused. "Where?"

"You'll have to find it yourself."

"Hmm." He put his mouth to her ampersand, nipped. She jumped.

"You ever consider getting inked?"

She didn't realize it was a dual-edged question until he frowned. She knew in the witch community, the main reason for tattoos was an engagement, for what they called "the Divining." Different traits would show up on their wrists in the weeks following the engagement, showing what each individual would bring to the marriage. Apparently, the majority of witch marriages were magically motivated, purely political.

Was there a political marriage in Gabriel's future? A wife who would ignore him until they had to show a united front to society? Who wouldn't tease him, make him play, make him talk? One who had strong magical bloodlines perfect for his legacy genes?

He hesitated. And she found she didn't want to hear his answer.

So, she didn't let him. "I think you'd look sexy." She wiggled her eyebrows. "All proper on the outside, a little edgy underneath."

"Sexy?"

He sounded like he'd never heard the word before.

"I could show you." She strained forward from where she was chained. Why did she find it so hot he was restraining her with magic?

"Later. I have plans. A list."

"A list ?"

"I've wanted to touch you for weeks, Leah." His lips curved, small but edged with sin. "I'm a man who thinks everything through. I've thought this through a lot."

"What did you think about?"

"How you'd say my name." He moved closer, pushing his body against hers so she was trapped between him and the wall. His lips hovered over hers, teasing. "How you'd taste."

Her breathing was ragged. "Then kiss me."

Holding her gaze, he shook his head in a deliberate negative. "Not here."

And then he sank to the floor.

It took her a wild second to understand, and in that time, his hands were under her dress, smoothing up her legs. Lust tugged viciously at her insides.

"Gabe," she said unsteadily. "My dress."

"Very nice," he agreed in his polite tone. "I apologize."

"For wha—"

Fabric ripped. Between one second and the next, her dress had acquired a rough slit that hiked to her upper thigh.

Shock obliterated her words.

He didn't even notice, tracing the tops of her stockings, where they hooked to her garter belt. "This...is also nice." His voice was graveled. "Did you wear it for me?"

"Yes," she managed.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Wicked humor danced in his eyes as he slid a look up at her. A fierce wave of desire pounded through her at the sight of Gabriel at her feet, tuxedo-clad, hair rumpled, with laughter in his gorgeous eyes. She bit her lip and squeezed her legs together.

He noticed. "That won't do."

He eased the ripped fabric aside, eased her legs apart with strong fingers. Those fingers left her thighs, trailed upward, over her panties. Her head fell back as he cupped her.

He made a noise, a dark one, as he nudged the panties aside and traced a finger against her, into her. A sound ripped free. Her hands spasmed where they were locked, as he began a slow rhythm, sinking deep, withdrawing, moving, curling.

Her eyes had closed, her fingers clenched on open air as she rode that finger, then the next, without shame, seeking more, always more. Teeth sank into her bottom lip. Hers, she was pretty sure, but who cared when all her attention was on him, his hands, his fingers, his thumb as it circled her clit, pressing hard with every thrust.

"Come for me," he demanded in that haughty accent she loved before he pushed a third finger into her.

A broken noise fell from her mouth as she obeyed, as she flung herself into the dark void of pleasure. When she opened her eyes, he was still on his knees and he had his fingers in his mouth. He kept eye contact as he tasted her.

"Gabriel," she breathed, pushing against the hold on her wrists. "I need to touch you."

"You taste like sunshine." He pushed to his feet, releasing her wrists. She sagged and he caught her, immediately capturing her mouth with his.

It was darker, deeper, and she was helpless to resist, didn't want to. She clutched his shoulders, roamed over them, using his lapels to hold him tighter to her. She'd just come, but it had only whetted her appetite, a starter before the main course—and she'd been starving for him for what felt like forever.

She wrestled with his jacket until she finally tore her mouth from his on an annoyed sound. "Are you welded into this thing?"

"A well-tailored jacket is a necessity," he told her, and she smiled despite herself.

"Not now it's not." She pulled on it, pleased when he helped her, even more so when he stood in front of her in his shirt and pants. She attacked his bow tie next, ripping it free, then started on his buttons. She pushed open the shirt like she was unveiling a spectacular view. And what a view.

She bent her head and pressed a kiss to one pec, trailing kisses to the other. Her hands pulled the shirt free and threw it blindly.

When she went to undo his zipper, his hand closed over hers. "Wait."

Frustrated, she blew a loosened curl out of her face. "Why?"

"Because. It's my turn."

He spun her around, her back to his front, surprising her into a super sexy squawk. It melted into a breathy catch as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "How does this come off?" His hand slid down her hip, inching the material up. "Or shall I solve the issue the same way as last time?"

She really liked this dress. But she wasn't an idiot. "Rip it."

He must have used magic because the words had barely cleared her mouth before there was a loud tearing sound and from top to bottom, the fabric of her dress was in two halves. It dropped to the ground, puddling there, leaving her in her silver heels and underwear.

His hands skimmed her body as though committing it to memory. When she tried to turn, he held her in place.

"I dreamt of you." The words whispered into her throat. "Like this. Here. With me."

She arched against him. "With you," she agreed, hissing as one of his hands covered her breast. "Only with you. Gabe."

He molded her, squeezing gently, skimming a thumb over the tight nipple, making delicate sensations shoot between her thighs. She went up on tiptoe as he rolled the bud between his fingers.

"I'm going to lick you here."

She swallowed.

"Then here." His hand moved to her other breast, flicking the nipple so more lightning struck. "Everywhere. I want you to cry out my name."

She'd had enough. Without warning, she reached behind her and palmed him, shaping, squeezing.

His grip tightened as he sucked a breath in through his teeth. " Leah. "

"I never thought I'd say this," she said, voice raw. "But the time for talking is over."

And suddenly it was.

She wasn't sure if she'd spun or if he'd turned her, but they were face-to-face. He pushed her so she backed up, suddenly dropping onto the couch. That lovely, long, soft couch.

As she reclined, his eyes roamed her, hot, intense. His hands dropped to his pants, unzipping. The sound reverberated through her, clenching in all sorts of places. He pushed both his pants and boxer briefs down his long legs, stepped out of them.

She was unable to take her eyes off the length of him. She shifted, even that friction amping up her frustration as she ached, desperate for him to be inside her.

A condom packet appeared in his hand. He tossed it onto the coffee table, barely pausing before he braced a hand against her chest and nudged her to lie flat. She registered he'd lost his socks and shoes at some point, before her attention diverted back as he came down over her.

Now , she thought, trembling ridiculously. Her hands stroked over his arms, sculpting the muscles that bunched under her fingers.

But he wasn't done with her, and with every teasing touch, deft stroke, nibble, kiss, lick, he drove her slowly into a fever where even the cool brush of air against her sensitized skin had her quivering. Nothing escaped his attention: her breasts, her stomach, her hips, her thighs, between them. He was a master of control, patiently guiding her to the edge before pulling her back, again and again and again until she reared up and bit his bicep in revenge.

As though his control had slipped, green sparks burst around them, dozens of tiny iridescent lights. One hit her skin and buzzed, a hot vibration that arrowed to her thighs, making her hiss.

His mouth descended, first on hers, stoking the fire that raged, before sliding down her throat, across her collarbones to the tattoo. He'd found her other one, a small arrow in a bow on her left hip, meant to be a positive reminder that when life holds you back, it's about to propel you forward. She felt like that arrow, poised to fly, tense and waiting.

When his knuckles brushed her damp center, she cried out his name.

It was like he'd been waiting for it. Suddenly the condom packet was in his hand and he tore it open. He sheathed himself, fisting tightly as he looked at her spread out beneath him. He'd left her garter belt and stockings, but the panties had been lost some time ago.

"Now," she said, pleaded.

He let go, braced his arms on either side of her. She felt the nudge of him, hard to her soft, and spasmed.

"Now." As he said it, he drove forward.

She lost her breath. Her hands flew up, clutched at his arms. Her nails dug in as he sank in all the way.

Their eyes met. Passion tightened his features, hair disheveled from sweat. Gabriel undone.

She contracted around him and he sucked in a breath.

Holding her gaze, he gradually pulled back before sinking in again. Sweat slicked along her skin as she tried to breathe, pleasure shaking her in its teeth.

She met his next thrust, canting up her hips so he nudged that place inside that made fireworks dance in her core. His hand held her hips up as he reared back and plunged again. Harder, but not faster.

Her breathing was jagged, matching his, but on and on his slow, deliberate thrusts continued. The couch creaked as he rocked his hips, as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He bent, kissed her hard as they climbed, those sparks glittering around them, some landing and sending shock waves across her flesh.

Desperate for more, crazed, she sank her nails into his ass, tried to grind her hips against his, but he resisted on a low groan. He nipped her lip in reprimand.

Her inner muscles squeezed, one step from free fall.

He cursed as he felt it, and finally, finally, his hips pistoned, faster, harder. He let her drop to the couch, followed her. Now he wasn't holding her hips up, he used his free hand to stroke her.

"Leah," he demanded, raw. She wasn't sure what he was demanding but knew he could have whatever he wanted in that moment.

She arched, gasping as he rolled his hips, squeezed, and she shot off the edge, unseeing, unfeeling as she cried out.

He snarled. His hips were almost punishing for the next few strokes but she welcomed it, gloried in it. When he pressed his face into her throat, groaned her name as he shuddered in pleasure, it felt like victory.

Little aftershocks made her tremor as she wrapped her arms around him. His chest moved unevenly against hers. Sweat slicked them both.

She felt used, drained, energized. She felt everything, nothing. As her heart regained a somewhat normal rhythm, she let out a deep, smug sigh. "You're welcome."

And then squeaked as he nudged her ticklish spot.