Page 99 of Gabriel

His jaw was taut, eyes half-lidded, the muscles in his neck flexing. He wasn’t speaking, but his body was loud in its silence. Still, something in his expression told me he was holding back.

“Are you okay?”

“Don’t stop,preciosa,” he rasped, pressing the words like a command that stirred something wild inside me.

I wrapped my hand around him, steadying myself. I began to pump him, feeling the heat and tension coil tighter with every movement. His hips lifted instinctively, pressing harder into my palm, seeking more contact, more relief. The pulse of his desire beneath my touch only worked to spur me on.

I slowed slightly, wanting to savor the moment, to drink in every flicker of expression that crossed his face.

Precum glistened at the top of his shaft, making my mouth water. I leaned in and drew my tongue out, licking the tip of him.

His breath hitched sharply, an intake that vibrated through his chest. His eyes locked on to mine, dark and wild, full of need.

I licked him again, all the way from the base to the tip, and a guttural groan slipped past his lips.

“Suck,” he rasped, his hips thrusting up until his cock hit the back of my throat.

I hated being bossed around, but right now, with Gabriel, it only sent a hum of satisfaction up my throat. So I obeyed, running my tongue around the head as if he were a lollipop before I sucked him into my mouth.

“Carajo,” he groaned, his head falling back against the pillows and I knew this—him at my mercy—would be my addiction.

My hands came to his muscular thighs and I carved my nails into him, all the while bobbing my head up and down.

My nipples brushed against his thighs and sparks of pleasure fluttered through me, my pussy clenching for more.

I sucked him harder, wanting to reciprocate the same pleasure he gave me.

I took more of him in my mouth, letting his cock glide in and out and knock against the back of my throat. He thrust his hips into my mouth, and if my mind had been clear, I’d marvel at the way he’d taken control of my body without ever touching me.

My body hummed while heat bloomed in my stomach, moving lower, wishing he were deep inside me. I had to squeeze my thighs together to ease the dull ache.

“Look at me,preciosa,” he ordered roughly, and my gaze instantly flicked to him. “My Amara. You look so fucking good with my cock down your throat.”

He pushed himself deeper and I gagged but refused to let go, relaxing my muscles and letting him fuck my mouth.

Dark whispers of devotion, laced with aching desire and a hunger I could neither name nor deny, curled through me, settling deep in the marrow of my being.

“Can I come in your mouth?” he asked and I hummed my agreement.

A heartbeat later, a deep, primal groan rumbled from the depths of his chest as he came hard, his cum shooting inside my mouth. I stayed with him, swallowing every drop, savoring the way he surrendered so completely.

His cock slid out of my mouth with a soft pop.

Our breathing came in ragged, uneven bursts—loud in the quiet room, though not nearly as loud as the pounding of my pulse in my ears. I rose slowly onto my knees, settling between his parted, powerful thighs, my gaze locked on his. The air between us crackled with something raw and wordless.

His fingers brushed my chin with a gentleness that contradicted the heat still radiating from his body. He wiped away the lingering cum, then brought those same fingers to my lips. I parted them without hesitation, tasting him again as he watched me with dark, possessive intensity.

He’d given me all the control, handed it over like an offering, but somehow, I still felt like I was the one unraveling. Like he’d had me all along.

Amara

Moonlight spilled through the cabin window in slow, silken streaks, stretching across polished wood and pooling on the floor like liquid gold.

I remembered the first time Gabriel approached me, the glint of amusement in his eyes that matched the teasing curve of his smile.

The library wasn’t built for enigmatic men like Gabriel Santos. This place smelled of scholars. This man didn’t strike me as one, and yet, somehow, he fit.

He stood beneath a soaring stone archway, one shoulder against a column etched with faded Latin. Behind him, the tall window looked out toward a courtyard fountain, the afternoon sun filtering through the canopy of trees above in fractured beams. Dappled light fell across his face, catching in his lashes and softening the angles of his cheeks and jaw.