Page 94 of Gabriel

She stood slowly, every movement deliberate. Her hands went to the hem of her shirt. She paused, watching me like she was daring me to speak, to ruin it with a single wrong word.

I didn’t.

I just looked at her like she was something sacred.

She pulled the fabric over her head in one fluid motion, letting it fall to the floor. No shame. No performance. Just a woman making a choice.

And it undid me more than anything else could have.

My breath caught as I soaked in every inch of her skin, including the scar on her lower belly—a result of a transplant she needed as a child to survive. Thank God she did.

Her eyes followed mine, and she brought her hand to it as if to hide it.

“Don’t,” I hissed.

“It’s ugly.”

“It’s a reminder of what you endured to survive. Don’t ever hide it.” I wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to say, because she hadn’t moved. “You’re beautiful,” I continued softly, the truth of it ringing in my voice.

I swore I’d have fallen to my knees if I wasn’t cuffed.

She exhaled deeply, like maybe she needed to hear that, and her hand finally moved away, letting me admire her scar.

“Maybe you could lose your pants, panties, and bra,” I suggested gently. “If you feel comfortable, of course.”

She nodded, then shimmied her pants and panties down those stunning legs. Her bra slipped off next, adding to the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

My cock jumped eagerly.

She stood there, completely bare and utterly breathtaking. I genuinely worried my heart might give out before I even had the chance to bring her pleasure.

Then she climbed onto my lap, bare skin pressing to mine. Warm. Confident. In control.

Still her.

But she let me see her now—and that was the most intimate thing she’d ever done.

Her body was soft against mine in the way that only happened when someone truly let you see them. She settled over my hips, like she knew exactly what kind of power she held in this moment.

And she did.

Not because she was straddling me. Not because I was cuffed. But because I’d given myself over to her. Willingly.

Every inch of control, every breath.

“Touch me,” she said, voice low.

I pulled at the cuffs slightly, just enough for the chains to rattle. “Can’t,” I reminded her, and let a half-smile touch my lips. “But I can talk you through every damn thing I would do.”

She pouted and huffed an impatient sigh. “Then start talking.”

I breathed her in, her scent driving me wild.

“My hands would start here,” I said, turning my head just enough to brush my mouth over the curve of her shoulder. “I’d hold you like you were made for me.”

Her fingers curled in the fabric of my shirt, holding on like she needed the contact as much as the control.

“I’d run them down your back. Make you feel every inch of how much I want you.” She exhaled shakily, and her hips shifted slightly over my jeans-covered thighs. “And then I’d kiss you,” I murmured, “everywhere. Not just the places that make you moan, though I’d do that too. But the places you don’t let anyone touch because they remember pain.”