Page 61 of Gabriel (Legacy of Heathens #4)

Amara

G abriel deepened the kiss, his tongue turning demanding.

He slid his hand from my cheek into my hair, fingers tangling gently in the strands as his lips moved with a patience that was almost maddening.

He kissed me like he had all the time in the world.

Like he wasn’t in a rush to conquer anything, because I was already his.

I ground myself against his hard length and he stilled for a breath, his hands hovering at my hips.

“Tell me what you’re wearing,” he grunted against my lips.

“One of your shirts,” I murmured, pressing soft kisses along his jaw and neck. “And nothing else.”

A low groan rumbled in his chest. “I wish I could see you.”

I found his hands in the dark and guided them beneath the fabric, pressing his palms to my skin. “You can. Your hands see me better than anyone ever has.”

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, claiming me .

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.

“I want all of you,” he said, voice rough. “Every second. Every breath. Come up and ride me, preciosa .”

My heart stuttered at the need in his tone, the vulnerability stitched between the hunger.

I rose slowly, letting my body graze his on the way up, my bare skin brushing over his taut muscles. His hands found my waist again, thumbs stroking my hips and drawing small circles into my skin that made my clit ache.

I hovered right above him, my hot, throbbing entrance brushing against his length. I rocked my hips once, twice, both of us grunting and moaning at the sensation.

And then his fingers curled into my hips and he thrust up, filling me to the hilt.

“Santo Dios,” he grunted.

“Oh… God, Gabriel,” I moaned.

“Start fucking me, Amara,” he hissed, his voice teetering on the edge of reason. He was worried about losing control, but I was already there.

I rocked my hips, his big cock pulsing inside me as I moved. My fingernails curled into his muscles, holding myself as I bounced on him, flesh against flesh and moan against grunts.

I gasped as he slid his hand into my hair and yanked my head back, pressing a rough kiss on my neck and sucking. Marking me.

His lips found my nipple and took it inside their wet heat, nipping and sucking, and white light shot behind my eyelids.

We moved with purpose, each one of his thrusts sending sparks dancing along my spine, each whispered word a thread pulling me closer. My clit ground against his pelvis as I bounced against him, making me shudder and see stars.

“I love you so goddamn much,” he rasped.

I closed my eyes and relished all the sensations. The couch creaked, the outside world faded into static, and his hands were everywhere. In my hair. On my hips. On my breasts. He was deep inside me, his lips burning everywhere they landed.

“ Oh, God… Oh… my… Gabriel …”

I shattered into a million pieces as I came, only aware of him inside me.

My body tightened and my pussy clenched around him, a pulse of heat, and he shattered, our rhythm lost to the storm we’d created. His movement turned ragged and desperate until he surrendered and a groan tore from his chest with one final thrust.

“My Amara,” he rasped.

Then he spilled inside me, warm, thick, and wet, while we both floated somewhere between earth and space. Or maybe it was somewhere between the ocean and land.

My head came to rest against his forehead as a shaky breath escaped me. There was nothing that mattered but his warmth against my skin. My name on his tongue. The way my body and heart belonged to him.

This wasn’t just sex. This was love. This was our forever.

A claim of us and the years we’d wasted. But we’d have many more ahead of us.

Nothing would stand in our way.