Evangeline

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Whatever control he had left vanishes as his hand moves with a mind of its own. He reaches for the small zipper at the back of my gown, dragging it down my spine with an agonizing slowness that's almost unbearable, exposing me inch by inch.

His hand pauses, fingers teasing along my skin, sending shivers through me. The gown parts easily, desperate to let him in, and when his hand slips inside, it is warm and possessive against my skin.

I arch back against him, feeling the unmistakable pressure of his cock against my ass, hardening as I apply more pressure. A low growl rumbles from his chest as he rubs against me, the heat of his body searing through the thin barrier of my gown. I lean even further, desperate to feel more, as a wet, hot pulsing begins to throb between my legs, begging for release.

His hands roam lower, fingers skimming over the curve of my hips, sliding down to grip my thighs with a possessive hunger. Every brush of his skin against mine is electric, leaving me trembling as his mouth finds my neck, closing over my hammering pulse.

I barely register as the rest of my dress slides down, Vera Wang's custom design pooling at my feet. Gabe's palms continue to glide over my skin as I hold my breath, now clad only in my lingerie, with the vast ocean stretching out before us.

In all my bathtub fantasies about him, nothing could have prepared me for this. Every touch, every brush of his fingers against my skin, sends shivers cascading through me, making my legs weak.

"Turn around," he orders softly, gathering my hair in his hand and pulling it away from my face. "I want to look at you when I fuck you, Piccola."

A sharp breath escapes my lungs as I slowly turn, the space between us shrinking until there's almost no room to move. I take a moment to gather some courage before I finally look up, meeting his dark, stubborn eyes. They're practically alight, filled with a hunger that sets my entire body ablaze.

His thumb brushes the hollow of my neck, tracing the rapid beat of my pulse, and the heat in his touch sends a jolt through me. There's an unspoken promise behind it, a vow to keep me safe, no matter what. And even though it's not in my nature to blindly trust such promises, I find myself believing him anyway.

"You are too beautiful, Principessa," he says, closing his eyes and pulling me closer. His lips find mine, soft yet commanding, and a second later, his tongue slips into my mouth, parting my mouth to make room for his. He kisses me like a man starved, like he can barely hold himself back.

This time feels different from any other time we've touched—more intimate, more intense. Until now, I've been teetering on the edge of lust and hate, right and wrong, but right now, I don't feel like I hate him. Instead, I'm enveloped by a strange sense of warmth, a deep longing that terrifies me. If this were just sex, just a meaningless fling, I could handle it, but there's nothing meaningless about this.

"Your turn," I whisper against his lips, desperate to equal the playing field. My hands fly to his shirt, fumbling with the buttons in a bid to feel more of him, nearly ripping the fabric. He smirks softly, watching me push the shirt right off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with my dress.

He's a work of art—all ripples and edges, muscles carved to perfection. I can't help but marvel at him, my fingers tracing the lines of his body, lingering on the roughened skin of his bullet scar. His eyebrows draw slightly as I gently run my fingers along it, amazed that he looks even better than in my most vivid fantasies.

But unlike in my fantasies, I want more than just sex. I want him—all of him. The man behind the disdainful looks, the one who's been trying so hard to protect me even when I make it impossible. I reach up, brushing my fingers along his jaw, and he leans into my touch, his eyes softening just for a moment.

I want the man he's trying to keep from me.

His hand trails down the side of my neck, and the touch sends a shiver through me so intense that he notices. A faint smile tugs at his lips as he bends down, pressing his mouth to mine. My eyelids flutter shut, my hands flying to his shoulders as fireworks explode in my stomach. If he can make me feel like this with just a kiss, I can't wait to experience the rest.

A distant rumble of thunder echoes through the night. Gabe drops his hands, closing them around my thighs and hoisting me up before carrying me into the bedroom. I cling my legs around him as he lowers me onto the bedroom desk. His eyes, dark as night, flick to mine with a punishing intensity that makes my breath catch.

His hand slides around the back of my head, pulling me closer. "You have no idea," he whispers, his voice barely audible, "the trouble you cause me, Piccola."

I meet his gaze, feigning innocence. "Good." As I lift my hips, aligning him between my legs, I wonder if he can feel the heat and wetness through the fabric. One look at his face, the way his eyes darken with hunger, and I know he feels every drop.

His mouth descends on mine without another word, leaving no room for hesitation. His fingers work with a practiced urgency, unhooking my bra—the very one I had used to taunt him with back at the boutique—and tossing it aside as if he can't stand it. The cool air briefly grazes my bare skin before his mouth claims me, trailing heated kisses down my neck, across my breasts, and finally, my nipples. Each tug of his lips pulls a low, desperate moan from deep within me. My hands find his hair, tangling in the thick strands as I pull him closer, feeling ready to snap.

He's on the brink, too. I can feel it in the way his breath catches, in the tension coiled in his muscles as he fights to keep control. But the look in his eyes tells me everything—he's barely holding it together, aching to lose himself in me just as much as I want him to, to press his mouth against every inch of my skin, to bite, to devour. The thought sends a thrill down my spine.

I kiss his scar, softly at first, my lips just grazing the rough skin before pressing harder. "How many bullets would you take for me?" I tease softly, mostly as a joke, but the seriousness in his eyes when I look up surprises me. 

"All of them, Piccola." 

I can barely breathe as I graze my teeth along his bicep, my hands trailing down the hard lines of his back. His eyes stay trained on mine as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my panties, sliding them down over my thighs, past my knees, and down my calves before finally tossing them aside. His gaze darkens as he takes in just how wet I am for him.

A satisfied smirk tugs at his lips as he slips back into the space between my thighs, parting my legs like he's Moses. The heat in his gaze is almost too much to bear.

His thumb finds my clit, pressing down with just enough pressure to make me jolt beneath him. He does it again, and again, each slow, deliberate circle sending waves of pleasure through me. I shiver under his touch, my body betraying the last remnants of my resolve.

He wants to unravel me, thread by thread, leaving me open and exposed before him like a perfectly wrapped gift. He wants to make sure I understand that he's the one in control here, that he's the one calling the shots.

And the twisted part? I'm ready. Right now, there's nothing I want more than to feel him take control, to let him show me exactly what it means to be his.

I fall back against the desk with a soft moan as his hands grip my upper thighs, holding me open and immobile. He's not rushing, toying with me instead, his thumb teasing my wet folds before slipping inside me. I gasp, watching his body twitch in response to my reaction, the heat in my stomach unbearable.

No man has ever shown such reverence for my body. Kael only ever cared about his own pleasure, and before him, there was my high school boyfriend, Axel, who had no idea women could even orgasm, let alone how to give them one.

Another of Gabe's fingers dips inside of me, leaving me completely undone. I grind my hips against him, powerless against the intense pressure building through me.

"You're so fucking wet, Piccola." He withdraws his fingers, and before I can catch my breath, he brings them to my mouth, slipping them between my lips. I suck on them, tasting myself, and it only fuels the fire raging inside me. I can't stand it anymore—I'm aching, writhing, desperate to feel him.

His hand returns to between my legs. The pressure continues to build inside of me, a throbbing ache that I can't stop or control. My body jerks involuntarily, trying to escape the overwhelming feeling of Gabe's fingers inside me, but every time my thighs snap shut, he forces them open again.

"Gabe," I whimper, my voice shaky. The wicked gleam in his eyes tells me this is exactly what he wants—to make me beg. "Please."

"Please, what, Piccola?" His dark eyebrow arches, waiting for me to give him instructions. It's the illusion of control, I realize, without actually giving me any. "Tell me what you want."

The words are caught in my throat, but I know he won't give me anything until I say them. "I want you," I whisper, barely able to form the words as he stares down at me. "I want you to fuck me."

The restraint he's been clinging to slips away as he leans in, brushing his mouth against my throat. Heat flares between my thighs, spreading like wildfire as he unzips his trousers, letting his entire length spring free, the sight of him making my breath catch.

Oh my god.

The corner of his mouth curls as he reaches into his pocket, retrieving his wallet. I watch as he pulls out the condom I found when snooping, sliding it on with practiced ease. He wraps his hand around his length, stroking back and forth for a moment as I wait for him to touch me.

When he's ready, he presses the tip very gently to my clit, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through my body. His eyes find mine, and with his free hand, he resumes his hold on the back of my head, pulling me closer until his lips press a rough, tender kiss to my forehead.

"Tell me to stop," he whispers, tangling his fist in my hair. 

My heart pounds in my chest, my legs trembling with anticipation. But the truth is, I don't want him to stop. I want this, need this, more than anything. "Do me a favor," I say, my voice sounding breathless as I drag him closer, my hands gripping his shoulders for support. "Don't stop."

That's all he needs. Eyes dark, he wraps an arm around my thigh, lifting me slightly as he positions himself at my entrance. Slowly, achingly slowly, he begins to ease into me, each inch taking another slice of my control. I bite back a soft whimper, my fingers digging into his shoulders as he presses deeper, suddenly met by resistance.

"Fuck," he rasps, closing his eyes. "You feel so fucking good, Piccola."

I cling to him as he stills inside of me, letting me adjust. His breath is ragged against my neck, his hands gripping me tightly as he struggles to hold back, to give me a moment before he loses himself completely.

"Keep going," I breathe, throwing my head back. "Please."

He sinks another inch inside of me.

A hiss of air escapes my lips as pleasurable pain shoots through me.

I let myself look at him, surprised by how unraveled he is. His jaw is tight, eyes dark and hooded, like he's holding himself back from giving in, from taking me in every way he knows how. But he won't let himself—at least, not yet.

Instead, he eases in another inch, giving me time to adjust to his size. His nose brushes along my jaw, his lips trailing soft kisses until he reaches my ear. "Tell me when you're ready for more, Piccola."

I close my eyes, trying to be patient, but patience has never been my strong suit. "I want more," I finally breathe out.

The corner of his mouth curls, but he doesn't hesitate, cupping my face as he sinks deeper inside me, inch by inch until he's filling me completely, making me feel like I'm on the verge of bursting. I wrap my legs tighter around him, lifting my hips to meet his as he pulls out and then slowly thrusts back in.

And again.

And again.

A breathless moan escapes me as my manicured nails drag down his back with each thrust, torn between begging for mercy and begging for more. He's too big, too deep, but somehow, I've never felt better.

He keeps going, thrusting into me with a steady rhythm, still holding back, careful not to lose control, because even now, I'm the only thing he cares about. The heat between my thighs builds rapidly, threatening to consume me, and Gabe's strained expression tells me he's struggling to hold on, too. I grab his shoulders, pulling him closer with a desperation that's completely new to me.

I've never felt this out of control. The heat between my thighs intensifies, transforming into a fire that threatens to set me alight. My hands roam over his back, feeling every flexed muscle beneath my fingertips, but it's still not enough. I need more of him.

All of him.

It feels like hours but can only be minutes as my body writhes, a moan slipping past my lips. Gabe's mouth captures mine, swallowing the sound as if afraid someone might hear.

"Fuck," he groans against my neck, thrusting again. I cling to him tighter, each thrust hitting my G-spot like another step closer to the edge. He's gasping into my neck, filling me over and over, like he can't—and will never—get enough of me.

The overwhelming sensation builds, my nails clawing at his back, fingers gripping the edge of the desk, doing anything I can to hold on. But the faster he goes, the more intense the pressure becomes, every nerve in my body winding tighter.

Another wave of pleasure crashes through me, and I'm teetering on the edge of control. My hands grip the back of Gabe's neck, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away. But he decides for me, kissing me hard as he thrusts again, his pace quickening.

I'm not sure what sets it off—the low growl rumbling in his throat or that final, deep thrust—but suddenly, my body tenses, every muscle shattering at once, leaving me in a million pieces. Gabe keeps moving, his face twisted with the effort of holding back, and all I can do is clench around him, trying to keep it together. He pants against my ear, his breath hot, and then he's releasing inside me, shattering right along with me.