Page 140 of Gabriel

“Fuck, that feels good,” she panted, her mouth latching on to my neck. She rolled her hips, my cock sliding in and out of her, our bodies slick with sweat, flesh smacking against flesh in an erotic dance. Her breasts smashed against my chest, her moans and my grunts bouncing off the walls of the hospital room.

My pelvis ground against her clit, and with each thrust, her moans got louder.

“Oh, God… Oh, God… I’m gonna…”

Her body shuddered and I slammed into her harder and faster, relishing in her noises. It didn’t take long for her to cry out as I hit her sweet spot. She rolled her hips, riding me while I continued fucking her through her orgasm in deep and long strokes, both of our bodies even slicker now.

“Fuck,” I growled, plunging into her with one last punishing thrust and finishing inside of her with a shudder.

Our heavy breaths filled the silence, our mouths finding each other.

“I love you,” I murmured against her mouth. “I’ve been yours for years, Amara.”

She took my left hand and interlocked our fingers. “And I’m yours, Gabriel. Forever, no matter what.”

Amara

Afull two weeks had slipped by since the explosion, weeks that felt strange and uneven, like time had decided to limp along instead of walk.

Gabriel was being released today.

His sight still hadn’t returned, but his strength had. And if you asked him, he was more than ready to get out of the hospital. He was already making plans that scared the hell out of me because they didn’t include “wait” or “heal” or “take it easy.” Instead, his goal was to go full steam ahead.

The doctors were in his hospital room now, walking him through post-discharge instructions. They spoke loudly, in broken English, and would adjust their pace when addressing Gabriel, almost like he didn’t understand English or basic human anatomy.

In the meantime, I paced the hallway.

The hospital smelled like anxiety and bleach, even with the cracked windows letting in a cool breeze. The overhead lights buzzed faintly, and the floor tiles squeaked beneath my boots as I turned on my heel for the seventh time.

Just breathe, I told myself. In. Out.

I moved to the doorway and hovered there, hand resting on the frame, my heart in my throat. He was getting discharged. He was coming home. This was good. This was progress. We’d start planning the wedding. Seal the alliance.

So why did I feel like I was about to be sick?

Then I heard footsteps and I knew—just knew—my parents were here.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered under my breath, the words barely audible.

“Amara!” My mother’s smooth, commanding voice rang down the corridor.

I turned just in time to see the full parade approaching.

“Oh my gosh, Killian, it’s Amara. She’s fine.” My mother beamed, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“Just like Kian told us,” my father deadpanned. He appeared tense but composed, giving me a quick once-over. His eyes narrowed slightly, like he could sense the emotional war playing out in my chest.

He was dressed in his usual black-on-black suit with an expression carved in stone.

And behind them was Mother Liana.

Click. Click. Click.

The unmistakable staccato of her five-inch designer heels on the tile echoed off the walls. She wore a blazer over her cream-colored dress, her long hair immaculately pinned and sunglasses perched on her head.

She smiled like she was walking into a gala.

“Look at you,” she said as she reached me. Her eyes glittered with too much pride and just enough mischief to make me nervous. “Pacing like an expectant father. How romantic.”