“Hey.” He nuzzled a kiss to the side of her face. “Gabriel, that’s who’s holding you right now. Say it.”
“G—” She swallowed. “Gabriel.” A deep inhale, a slow exhale. “Gabriel.”
CHARLOTTE HAD NEVER FELT so scared and so good at the same time. Gabriel was an impenetrable wall of protection around her. He was also trapping her.
When he leaned forward, his chest pressing along her back, her muscles threatened to tense regardless of her attempt otherwise, but then she caught his scent and it was raw and hot and Gabriel. “Come closer,” she murmured. “I want to smell you.”
A chuckle rippled through him, but he shifted his arms closer and bent so that his breath brushed her temple. “What do I smell like?”
His voice made her sense of safety deepen. “Good.”
“Look,” Gabriel said, “there’s the office.”
She followed the line of his arm, got distracted by the muscular strength of it. Turning to brace her back against the railing, she ran her hands up his chest. Big and gorgeous and hers, he’d made her an addict. When she undid a couple of buttons on the work shirt he hadn’t yet changed out of, he stayed in position, head lowered to watch her.
Breasts swelling against her bra, she rose on her toes to press a kiss to the triangle of skin she’d bared. He shifted his arms closer but didn’t otherwise move. Charlotte undid a couple more buttons, nuzzled at him, his scent making her drunk. “We should go inside.”
“Not into public displays of affection?” His voice was rough with arousal.
Charlotte licked at him, nuzzled again. “My best friend ended up splashed across the tabloids making out with her guy. I don’t think anyone has a zoom lens on us, but you are a rugby god, so you never know.” It was pure luck the gossip magazines hadn’t caught on to their relationship—her position as his PA added to his notoriously intense work habits had helped explain away the times they were seen together.
That wouldn’t work if she was caught kissing the boss.
Gabriel shifted back, ran a finger down her throat. It made her shiver.
“Come on then, Ms. Baird. Let me suck on you in private.”
She tripped as she stepped forward, but he caught her wrist, tumbled her against his chest before tugging her into the bedroom. “Stay.” It was an order.
Charlotte stayed. She really had no reason to disobey—not when she wanted Gabriel so very badly. Her heart kicked at hearing him shut the balcony doors and flick the switch to close the blinds. This time when he stepped behind her it was a little easier.
Her pulse still went into overdrive, her spine still locked, but she knew it was Gabriel behind her, was no longer so blinded by terror that she didn’t see or hear or smell anything but the horror of the past. A rustle of sound and when he slipped his arms around her, he wasn’t wearing his shirt. She turned her face deliberately into his arm, breathed him in as her skin brushed his.
Running his hands up her body, Gabriel shaped her hips, her ribs, her breasts. He squeezed, and it made her moan, try to get closer to him. His breath kissed her throat, his mouth wet as he sucked. Shivering , she reached back for him, touched the hard bulk of his thighs.
“I like your hands on me.”
The rumble of his voice was another caress.
“I like your hands on me too,” she said. “And your mouth.”
That got her more suckling kisses on her neck before he lifted one of his hands from her breasts to gently collar her throat. “Yes?”
Her lungs strained, though he wasn’t restricting her airway. Gabriel, this is Gabriel with his hand around my throat. Oh, God, she was starting to hyperventilate. If she did, he’d back off, and she didn’t want him to back off. She wanted him exactly where he was. “Gabriel,” she managed to get out, the sound thin but audible.
Kisses along her shoulder, her throat. “That’s it, sweetheart. Stay with me.”
Chest heaving, she dug her nails into his thighs. “Don’t stop.” Her heart beat so hard it felt as if it would punch out of her ribcage. When she tried to say more, it was to find her throat had closed up.
No, no, no.
Her body wouldn’t obey her mind, panic a trapped bird inside her skull.
“I think,” Gabriel said, his voice rough, “this’ll work better.”
Charlotte was still trying to process the words when he shifted them both. He was still behind her, but she now faced the other side of the room and the full-length, freestanding mirror that stood beside the vanity. In that mirror was an image of a blond woman who had a big male hand at her throat, another on her breast; those hands with their blunt tips and square nails were hands she knew, the eyes that held hers a familiar steel gray.
“Gabriel,” she said on a rush of air.
“I like my name on your lips.” He moved his hand in a petting motion but didn’t take it off her throat. With his other one, he continued to mold and shape her breast, tugging at the nipple that pushed at her dress through the lace of her bra. “My pretty Charlotte,” he said, each word spaced out with a kiss on her jaw, her cheek, her throat. “You have no idea the ways in which I want to fuck you.”
She jerked at the harsh word, but her thighs clenched at the same time.
“I used to dream about bending you over my desk, shoving up those ugly skirts you used to wear, pulling down your panties, and using my hand to push you to orgasm before I drove my cock into you.”