Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
"Don't stop," I whisper.
His smile is darkly sensual, a promise of things to come. "As you wish."
His fingers trace along the elastic of my underwear, teasing rather than taking. The anticipation builds, a delicious tension coiling tighter with each passing moment.
"Gabriele," I breathe, his name a plea I don't fully understand.
"I know," he soothes. "I know what you need."
His hand slips lower, cupping me through the fabric of my underwear. Even that slight pressure is enough to make me gasp, my hips lifting instinctively to meet his touch.
"Sensitive," he observes, pleasure evident in his voice. "Responsive."
He continues to touch me through the fabric, building a rhythm that has me panting, chasing a sensation I've never felt before. It's good—so good—but somehow not enough.
"Please," I whisper, not even sure what I'm asking for.
He understands. His fingers hook into the waistband of my underwear, drawing them slowly down my legs. Now I'm completely naked before him, vulnerable in a way I've never been with anyone.
But I don't feel afraid. Not with Gabriele looking at me like I'm precious, like I'm beautiful, like I'm worthy of the care he's taking.
"You're exquisite," he whispers, his hand returning to my thigh, tracing patterns on the sensitive skin there. "A work of art."
His touch moves higher, and I find myself parting my legs without being asked, an instinctive response to the pleasure he's building in me. When his fingers find their target, I cry out, shocked by the intensity of sensation.
"Too much?"
I shake my head, restlessly. "N-No. It's...more."
Gabriele smiles, understanding what I can barely articulate. "More it is."
His fingers begin to move again, more deliberately now, finding a rhythm that has me writhing against his hand. He watches my face the entire time, gauging my responses, adjusting his touch to maximize my pleasure.
"That's it," my husband growls as my breath comes faster, as tension builds low in my belly. "Let go for me, Kleah. Let me see you."
I don't fully understand what he's asking, but my body does. The tension builds and builds, a coiling pressure that seems impossible to contain. And then suddenly it breaks, pleasure washing over me in waves so intense I cry out, my back arching off the bed, my hand clutching at his arm.
Gabriele doesn't stop, his fingers continuing their gentle movements, drawing out my pleasure until I'm trembling, oversensitive, gasping for him to stop.
Only then does he withdraw his hand, bringing it to his lips in a gesture so erotic it makes me blush despite everything we've just done.
"Beautiful," Gabriele croons. "So beautiful."
I lie there, dazed, my body humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. I've never felt anything like it—this boneless satisfaction, this profound release.
My dazed eyes meet his, and I have this sudden need to make him feel the same. To reciprocate. But when I try reaching for him, Gabriele catches my hand and brings it instead to his lips for a gentle kiss.
"Not tonight," he says, his voice gentle but firm. "Tonight was for you."
"But I want—"
"I know." His smile is tender despite the hunger still evident in his eyes. "And I want that, too. But not yet. Not until you're sure."
GABRIELE
She sleeps in my arms, trusting and vulnerable, her breathing deep and even. Her naked body curves against mine, skin like silk beneath my fingers, hair spilling across my chest.
I didn't expect this. Didn't plan for it. Didn't even allow myself to think it might happen.
Yet here she is, my unlikely wife, sleeping in my bed after I've shown her pleasure for the first time.
The knowledge that I'm the first to touch her like this—the only one—awakens something primal and possessive in me. Something I've never felt for any other woman, in any other circumstance.
Mine to protect. Mine to pleasure. Mine to cherish.
These thoughts are dangerous, a complication I can't afford. This marriage is strategic, practical—a measure to ensure her safety, to honor my debt to Viktor. It should not involve this tangle of emotion, this fierce tenderness that's taken root inside me.
And yet here we are.
She stirs slightly in her sleep, her hand curling against my chest. Even unconscious, she seeks contact, connection. It's remarkable, given her history, given the violation she suffered. That she can trust anyone, let alone me, with her body, with her pleasure...
It humbles me in a way I didn't expect.
I look down at her sleeping face, peaceful in repose, lips slightly parted, lashes dark against her cheeks. She's lovely—not in the calculated, artificial way of women I've known before, but in a genuine, unguarded way that's far more compelling.
And she's mine. At least for now, at least while the danger persists.
What happens after? When the threat is neutralized, when she no longer needs my protection? Will she stay? Would I want her to?
Questions without answers, complications I didn't foresee. Best not to dwell on them now, not when they might distract me from the immediate goal: keeping her safe.