Page 93 of Gabriel

Her brows lifted, guarded curiosity sparking in her eyes.

“Let me guide you, Amara,” I said. “Just my voice—no hands—and you’ll stay in control. But we don’t have to end it with just kissing.” She was still watching me, cautious but captivated. “Let me talk you through it. If you don’t like it, we stop. If you want more, I’ll keep going.”

“You might get too attached,” she half teased.

“It’s a possibility.” Although I suspected that ship had already sailed. “Are you brave enough to explore this current between us?”

“Oh, I’m brave enough,” she scoffed. “But I need your assurance you won’t put too much emotion into us fooling around and you’ll stop it the moment I say so.”

“I promise,” I said. “But rest assured, you’ll be begging menotto stop.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was biting back a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” I murmured, “but I’m here. Still very much yours to command.”

She hesitated a moment longer, then gave me a small but decisive nod.

“Okay,” she said.

Heat stirred in my chest. It wasn’t just lust, but also a flicker of trust. The kind that mattered more than any chain.

I tilted my head, voice dropping to a murmur. “Good. Then let’s start simple. Close your eyes and let me tell you what I’d do to you if my hands were free.”

It wasn’t a command, but a choice. She hesitated, then obeyed.

“If I could use my hands right now, I’d start slow. Fingers at your waist. Just enough pressure to remind you I’m here. That you’re mine to touch.”

Her breath caught, sharp and subtle.

“I’d trace them up your sides, over your ribs, gently enough to make you shiver. Not just to tease you, but to learn you. Every breath. Every twitch. Every little sound you try to swallow.”

She opened her eyes at that, just for a second, gaze locked on mine like I’d pulled something honest out of her.

God, she was stunning like this. Her cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling as she took measured breaths, like she was trying to keep herself from coming apart.

And I watched her—really watched her.

The way her shirt clung to her skin, the hem slightly wrinkled. A sliver of skin peeked out where her top had shifted, just above the waistband of her loose-fitting pants. It wasn’t about what was exposed—it was about her. Her presence, her power, the way she held herself like she wasn’t sure if she should run or take the lead.

She hadn’t backed away. She was still here.

“Amara,” I said, voice low, barely more than a breath. “Will you take your clothes off for me?”

She blinked, surprised again. But this time, it didn’t seem to be about the request—more about how I said it.

Her silence stretched for a heartbeat, then another, her gaze never leaving mine.

“I’m not doing it for you,” she said, her voice edged with steel.

I smiled. “I know. You’re doing it for you. And I get to watch, if you’ll let me.”

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing, studying me like she couldn’t decide whether to be cautious or bold.

I waited for her to choose. My goal was to let her burn down the distance between us in her own time and her own way.

“I keep control,” she said.

“Always,” I murmured.