CHAPTER 24

SHE LOOKED SO WANTON , sitting opposite him in the carriage. Her usually neat curls were a bit mussed, her lips plumped by their kisses, her breast seemed to strain against the bodice of her gown with every breath...

He didn't even trust himself to touch her the entire ride from the club to his townhome. If he did, he was very much afraid he would lose his tenuous hold on his self-control and would take her in the carriage.

He wanted better for their first time together. Damn it, he wanted a soft bed, and candlelight, and all the time in the world to explore and worship every inch of her body. But he was at his breaking point, his cockstand so painful he feared his member would break if he couldn't sink it in her glorious, tight—

Fuck.

Stop thinking about her pussy or you will come in your pants.

That would be quite embarrassing. Not to mention useless, given the purpose of their coming together. His jaw clenched at the reminder.

It didn't matter how he tried to distract himself by looking out the window at the passing scenery. The dark and damp London streets did not hold his interest. They could not compete with the lurid intensity of his thoughts. Of his memories of her. Her flavor, the noises she had made. Her eagerness. He had expected to have to coax her desire. Instead, she was primed and ready. Her over-enthusiastic response made him feel like one of those sex gods the Hindus worshiped. She was made for him. And he would die happily between her legs.

She remained silent in the seat opposite. Sometimes he felt her gaze on him in between pretending to watch the scenery pass through the window, just as he was doing. Did she understand he needed this time to regain his control? Was she aware of how profoundly she affected him?

The coach turned and slowed as it approached his home.

Thank fuck.

Steady now. Take your time. Do not jump on her the moment you cross the door.

Funny thing was, he knew he wouldn't. As desperate as he was, he valued her pleasure too much to be hasty. He wanted to make her come apart in his arms again. And to watch it this time. As marvelously naughty as bringing her pleasure in public while cocooned in the private haven of her skirts was, the one drawback it had was that he couldn't watch her reactions.

This time when she reached her climax, he wanted to see her eyes cloud, her cheeks flush, and her face contort when she screamed her pleasure. And scream she would. In the club she'd held back, he knew, for fear of being overheard. There was no one in his empty house who could overhear her. Even Thakur was not in tonight, having left in a huff when Gabriel announced his intention of attending Anjali's masquerade.

He was sorry to have upset Thakur but could not regret that the huge mansion would be empty. He wanted to hear her scream his name with abandon.

The coach rocked to a stop, and he jumped out before the groom had time to lower the step. Reaching in, he slid his hands around her legs and behind her shoulders to carry her out of the coach. Her delicate yelp of surprise was delightful, but her arms came around his neck to hold on to him with complete trust.

Climbing the few steps to his front door, he realized he would have to set her down to open the door. One disadvantage of not having servants.

Dropping a kiss on her perfect little nose, he lowered her to her feet. "Just for a moment. While I open the door," he reassured her.

"It's quite all right. I can walk, you know," she murmured, more amused than annoyed.

"I know. But I enjoy holding you in my arms."

Gabriel retrieved his key from his pocket and unlocked the front door, ushering her in before following her and locking the door behind them.

"Where's your butler?" she asked, looking around the empty foyer.

"I have no butler."

"Footmen? Maids?"

"No. I have no live-in servants in London."

Her eyes widened at this information. No doubt the situation was unthinkable to her, as used to aristocratic privilege as she was.

"But how do you manage?"

"I have a cook and a maid who come during the day," he said, stepping behind her. "Here, I'll take your cloak."

"But this enormous house—"

He interrupted her with an openmouthed kiss to her neck. He had absolutely no interest in the subject of his domestic affairs at the moment. Not when her creamy flesh presented such a delicious temptation, and her alluring perfume teased his nostrils. Her gasp of surprise mingled with desire was gratifying. At least he wasn't the only one going mad with desire.

His arms embraced her from behind as he unfastened her cloak with deft fingers and lifted it from her shoulders. He would have turned to hang it on a perch by the front door, but she leaned back against him, her soft form coming to rest against his hard and aroused body.

A grunt of satisfaction escaped him as his arms tightened around her. The cloak lay undone and forgotten between their bodies as his mouth skated over her neck, nibbling her ear. Her moan spurred him to take more liberties. His hands came up to cup her breasts. Damn her corset and all the layers of clothing that didn't let him feel the soft flesh underneath. Soon.

Soon he would peel away all the layers of clothing covering her until she lay naked on his bed. The image had his cock weeping with pre-cum.

Forgetting their outerwear, he lifted her in his arms again and marched to the staircase. If he didn't, he feared he would end up taking her in the entrance hall, and he hadn't refrained all this time to lose control at the last moment, when he finally had her in his home.

He strode through the darkened corridors he knew by heart. Thank goodness the door to his bedchamber didn't require a key. He shouldered his way in with her still securely in his arms and kicked the door shut behind him. His room was illuminated only by soft moonlight. And cold. Damn it, he would need to set her down to light the fire. Another disadvantage of not having servants.

He thought he had planned everything. He had the sheets changed and sprinkled with lavender water. Had ordered a vase of hothouse flowers to adorn the spartan masculinity of the room. Had even left a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket of ice for this moment. But a fire was too dangerous to leave burning. With a sigh of deep reluctance, he set her down on his bed.

"I'll just be a moment. Need to light the fire."

She didn't reply, but settled on her side, her elbow bent and her face resting on her hand. He felt her gaze on his back as he discarded his overcoat and set to light the fireplace. At least the fire had been laid out, so he only needed to set it ablaze, stoking it to a conflagration. The room wasn't freezing, but he suspected it was because of the desire burning between them that rivaled the flames of the fire. For what he intended, he needed the room to be comfortably warm, because soon neither one of them would wear a stitch of clothing.

HANNAH WATCHED GAbrIEL'S fluid movements with undisguised admiration. In the low light of the room, his shoulders and back were a sleek mass of hard muscles and elegant contours. The fire limned his figure with golden light, as if even the elements conspired to lovingly caress him.

He stood and turned to her. Backlit by the flames, his face was in shadows, but not for long. He went around the room, closing the drapes, lighting several lamps and candles. She realized they had been strategically positioned to provide a soft glow. To dispel the deepest shadows but not invade the room with harsh light. The illumination, as with everything else, evoked sensuality.

She didn't know whether to feel flattered or alarmed at his obvious experience with seduction, but the next second she stopped thinking altogether as he stood in front of the bed, looking straight at her. She shivered.

"Are you cold?" His brow furrowed.

She shook her head. She wasn't. Her shiver had another cause altogether. His nearness. The intensity of his gaze. Awareness of what they were about to do...

"The room should warm up soon," he reassured her, regardless. "Would you like something to drink? Champagne, wine, cognac?"

She shook her head again, sitting on the bed. "Only you."

His gaze sharpened, focused on her lips, while his mouth curved to one side. "Oh, you have me, love. All of me. Shall I undress?"

Her quick nod elicited a warm smile from him.

"Would you like to help?"

Well, that was an offer she could not refuse. She hurried to tuck her legs under her and knelt on the bed.

"Come closer." Her voice came as a raw whisper, and she had to clear her throat.

But he heard her and complied with her request. His thighs hit the side of the bed as he came to stand in front of her.

Her hands trembled with anticipation when she placed them on his chest, the heat of him burning through the fabric of his shirt. She slowly slid her hands up the hard planes of his chest to mold his shoulders and dislodge his dress coat. He let it fall to the ground, his gaze darkening as he focused on her.

Next, his neckcloth. The silk, warm from his body, slithered between her fingers. The shirt gaped when she removed the neckcloth, exposing the strong column of his neck. Of all the parts of his body that she yearned to see, she could not have predicted that the sight of his neck would inspire such longing that she had to lean forward and put her lips to it, inhaling his scent of soap, clean linen, and some faint, spicy shaving cream. It curled through her, demanding more.

Without thinking about it, her tongue darted out and licked him. His sharp inhale was followed by a hard swallow. His throat moved under her lips, but he otherwise remained immobile. She knew how much it cost him when his muscles tensed under her fingers as he forced himself to remain stoic under her ministrations. This effect she had on him was a heady aphrodisiac, and she loved him for allowing her to explore and take the lead.

But she didn't want to test his endurance. She could tell he was near his breaking point. If the bulge in his trousers was any indication, he was more than ready to have her. And she was just as desperate. Her womanly place clenched with anticipation at the thought of clamping over his hard, male flesh.

Her fingers danced over the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt. He reached back and pulled the shirt over his head, exposing the beauty of his wide, straight shoulders, muscular arms, and sculpted chest before her eyes. All the hard contours she had sensed under his clothes, but had never, until this moment, contemplated.

Her hands roved over his warm, smooth skin, feeling the ripples of his muscles as they reacted to her touch. They both held their breath as her hands fell on the waistband of his trousers, then hesitated. If his upper half affected her so, she was almost afraid to discover what having his full naked body in front of her might do to her senses.

His warm hands came to rest over hers as she hesitated at the fly of his trousers.

"Allow me." His voice was raspy. Strangled. A far cry from his smooth, modulated tones.

She suspected her own ability to talk was affected, so she simply nodded, removing her hands. He wasted no time. With efficient movements, he removed the rest of his garments, kicking off his shoes, peeling off his socks and then lowering his trousers and smalls in one fluid motion.

He stood bare and still in front of her, wearing only a small smile. Confident but not cocky, inviting her to look her fill. To feast her eyes on the beauty of his naked body. And feast she did. Her eyes roamed his body, climbing up strong thighs, horseman thighs, to focus on an equally impressive column that jutted up vertically to lay flush against his stomach.

His member stood proud, engorged and tumescent. Almost angry in its eagerness. The head glistened with the juices leaking from the slit on the top. She licked her lips, and a pained groan erupted from his chest.

"You are magnificent," she croaked through a throat strangled with desire.

"I'm glad to please you." There was no hint of a smile on his face now. It seemed carved from granite, all hard angles and intensity. "Touch me... yes." His last word dissolved in a groan as she reached out and her hand closed over that tantalizing column of flesh.

She squeezed, feeling the steely hardness beneath skin as soft as silk.

"Oh god," he choked, as he rocked into her fist once, twice, his eyes closed.

She marveled at the column of his neck as he threw his head back and groaned. He was mesmerizing to watch. Gorgeous in his ecstasy. She moved her hand to stroke him in rhythm with his thrusts, and suddenly he pulled back.

His fist closed over her wrist, and he extricated her hand from his rod. "Wait, Hannah. I'm at my limit." He was breathing hard. His eyes were dark, aroused, tormented. "If you continue to do that, I will come in your hand. And wouldn't that be a pointless waste?"

No, no, it wouldn't. How could bringing him a release as shattering as the one he had given her before be pointless? The reason she was doing this became less important.

Right here. Right now, it was all about pleasure: his, hers. All about this man.

Gabriel.