Consent (The Loan Shark Duet 2)
He runs a finger around my asshole, making the muscle contract, and then he pulls my globes apart, his fingertips digging into my ass cheeks. Glancing over my shoulder, I see him standing on his knees, his cock rigid and thick. He points it at my pussy and spears my folds. My inner muscles shudder as he drives home, giving me all he’s got. Over and over, he takes me, all the while rubbing circles with his palm over my clit. He changes his angle and finds the sweet spot that sends me over the edge every time. It doesn’t take long for another orgasm to build. When it breaks, I clench down on his cock, squeezing him until he curses and jerks, but he doesn’t come. He thrusts into me, hard and unapologetic, taking because I asked him to. He fucks me bone and senseless, until I lose track of time and place. I’m hardly conscious of my body being used, because I’m drifting in a space of belonging and pure Gabriel. Pure, warped us. I only realize I collapsed flat on my stomach when the force of his fucking shifts me over the tiles. He carries on, pounding into my pussy and palming my breasts until his cock swells and twitches, and warm jets spurt into my channel.
“Fuck.” He falls over me, holding his weight on his arms. “Sweet Jesus.” Desperately, he pumps twice more, deeper, hitting the barrier of my cervix. “Valentina.” He kisses my neck and rests his forehead on my shoulder. “Fuck, Valentina.”
My body feels bruised and thoroughly loved in the most delicious way. A lethargic relaxation claims me, turning my muscles to jelly. My lover pulls out of me, causing warm semen to run down my thighs. If I had the strength, I would’ve pushed up on my arms to look at how he marked me, but I know he’s watching.
“Beautiful,” he mutters, running his hands through the stickiness gathered on my inner thighs.
Incapable of doing anything but lying on the cool floor, I focus on his hands as they rub over my ass, back, and shoulders. He covers me in gentle kisses and whispers words of praise for how good I’ve been. Then he gathers me in his arms and shifts me onto his lap, rocking me gently while he strokes my hair and keeps on showering me with compliments. We come down from our high in each other’s arms. The aftercare is as much part of Gabriel as the fucking, and I love him for showing me how much he cares. His approval seeps into my skin and past my defenses, making me feel safe and cherished in my own warped way.
When I’m sated on his lingering kisses and soft caresses, he carries me to the shower and washes my body and hair. Afterward, we lie naked on the recliner in the dark, listening to the sounds of our breathing and the crickets outside. The earlier peace is starting to slip, because I have to get back to Connor, soon.
When I stir in his arms, his hold tightens.
“I promised Kris I’d be home before midnight,” I say reluctantly, simultaneously eager to see my baby and wishing I could stay the night.
“Valentina…”
The way he says my name is a warning, and somewhere in that tone lies damnation. This is the moment where he either tells me the truth or chooses omission. If he sends me away with a goodbye instead of the truth, my battle of wooing my husband is lost. I shiver, feeling the weight of our future settle on my heart. It makes me feel cold. I turn to face him. I want to look into his eyes, his unreal green eyes, in our moment of truth.
His finger traces my jaw. “Valentina, I have something to tell you.”
Despite the gentleness of his touch, his body is tense, his muscles hard and stiff.
I wait silently for him to continue.
He hangs his head for a moment before meeting my eyes again. “I lied to you.” When I don’t reply, he says, “I deceived you in the most unforgivable way, and I don’t want to be that man any longer.”
I splay my hands over his hard chest. “Tell me.”
He winces, as if in pain. “Just know I acted in your best interest, even if it caused you pain.” He takes a deep breath and catches my fingers as if he’s afraid I’ll pull away. “There’s no easy way to say this, and I don’t want to hurt you more than you’ve already suffered.”
“Tell me,” I repeat.
His brow twists. “Promise me you’ll hear me out. Please.”
“I promise.”
He gives a tight nod. “Valentina, I…” He swallows, his eyes measuring my reaction. “I’m the man who robbed you of your life. I’m Gabriel.”
Gabriel
The naked woman in my arms isn’t an open book to read. I just told her I’m her dead husband, but her body language tells me nothing. I can deal with a slap, an insult, blame, and anger, but not the level, sober look she gives me. It leaves me defenseless, because I don’t know what words she needs next. Do I soothe her? Apologize? Beg? Explain?