Page 151 of Gabriel

That was all it took.

His grip tightened, fingers sliding up my sides, thumbs grazing the bare skin beneath the shirt and brushing against my bare breasts. His touch was exploratory, as if he was learning me one inch at a time.

Then he reached the buttons, working them open easily. It didn’t feel like he was just undressing me. It felt like he was claiming the moment, claimingme.

His mouth followed the path of his fingers, soft kisses pressing into my sternum and down to my ribs. Every graze of his lips was a vow. A promise.

I wasn’t sure if it was my heart pounding so hard or his, but the air around us thickened, charged and electric.

“You feel like fire,” he murmured against my skin. “God, Amara…”

I curled my fingers into his shirt, fumbling with the buttons. “Take it off.”

He did—swiftly, without flourish—tossing the fabric to the floor with zero regard for the designer label. My hands splayed across his chest, tracing the muscle, the heat, the heartbeat that thundered beneath my palms. He was solid and warm and real. The scar along his shoulder caught my fingertips, and he shivered under my touch.

His sight may have gone, but his instincts hadn’t dulled. He touched me like he could still see me and knew exactly how to make my breath hitch.

“You’re still you,” I said quietly, pressing my forehead to his. “Just with a different view.”

He chuckled softly, but it turned into a groan as I rolled my hips over his.

“Careful,” he warned, though the way his fingers dug into my waist said otherwise. “I’m already hanging on by a thread.”

I smiled. “Don’t hang on. Let go.”

And he did.

He leaned forward, kissing me hard, fast, like the wait was over and the pretense was no longer necessary. We were alive. We were in love. And we were together.

My shirt hit the floor next, followed by whispered curses in Spanish that curled like smoke between kisses.

The city behind us blurred into a mess of light and shadow, but all I saw was him—taut muscles, trembling breath, the heat radiating off his skin.

Hungry for him, I reached for the leather belt at his waist, fingers trembling as I unfastened it. The soft click echoed in the hush of the darkened penthouse, followed by the whispering slide of his zipper. I sank to my knees before him and slipped his pants past his hips, letting them pool around his ankles.

I pressed a kiss just above his waistband, tasting the tension thrumming through him. His hand found the back of my neck, not to guide but to anchor.

“Tell me what you want,” I whispered against his skin.

He shuddered, and the night held its breath with us as I reached for his hard, warm length.

He was heavy, and the way he looked down at me, eyes dark and full of something deeper than lust, made my chest ache.

“You like this?” I asked. His cock was big, veins pulsing with the need I felt between my thighs.

“Yes, this,” he whispered, voice rough with restraint.

I leaned forward and kissed the tip of his cock, then opened my lips and took him deeper, savoring the way he groaned, like the sound had been dragged from his soul.

His fingers tightened in my hair, not forceful, just desperate to hold on.

The warm and salty taste of him made me moan as I glided my tongue, licking his cum while humming with approval.

His hips jerked and he thrust deeper in my mouth, gliding in and out with dominance, but I was the one holding all the power.

He fucked my mouth fast and hard, his nostrils flaring each time I moaned, hummed, and gagged. Oh, God, this was the sex I’d been dreaming of and waiting for.

He looked down, unseeing, breath ragged, eyes dark with want, but underneath it, something softer flickered. Something tender.