I rub a hand across my burning cheeks. “Surely, you don’t mean that.”
Coldness embraces Gabriel’s eyes, his words. “I assure you, I do.”
“I am here every day. And if I’m not here, I’m with Kassandra. Where would I have even had a chance to meet with Malachi?”
“I don’t know what you do all day. Besides, I’m not certain that you didn’t know him before.”
I cross my arms. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“You aren’t denying it.”
“Why should I? You don’t touch me. Don’t bed me. Yet, you’re jealous at the thought of another man kissing me.”
Gabriel’s eyes flash as he steps closer. “I am angry at the thought of another man touching what is mine.”
This time I scoff. “You haven’t had the stones to make me your proper wife.”
“Do you think I’m incapable?”
Incensed by his anger, his jealousy, his leading me through the crowd like a possession, I step against his body and meet the fury in his eyes. “I think you lack the stones.”
He grabs my shoulders and whirls me around until the front of my body is pinned against the wall. I exhale as he grabs my surcoat and hauls it to my waist. With a quick move, he pushes his thigh between my legs.
“There’s nothing wrong with my ability to bed you.”
I place my palms flat against the wall and speak in a surprisingly calm voice. “Then do it. Bed me, Gabriel.”
He breathes in quick, uneven breaths as he grips my hips and brings me back against his thigh. Molten heat surges through my veins at the pressure against my core.
The sky above! This was supposed to be about him. His jealousy. His vow to not bed me. Not this. Not him making me burn.
“G-gabriel.”
“I—” he rocks me against him again, this time harder, “—am the only one allowed to touch you.”
The sharp retort burning my tongue escapes me as he continues rocking me against him. I imagine more. His mouth against my neck, my breasts. To the area that burns the more he teases me.
I moan and thrust my head back the moment I near the pinnacle, the one that hovers far above everything, but offers a well of pleasure the moment it’s summited.
Then, he does the unthinkable. He releases me, removes his thigh and steps back, leaving me panting against the wall and aching for my summit.
“Lie to me again,” he says in an erringly composed voice, “and I will never teach you about real pleasure.”
I swallow and keep my position against the wall but lower my hands to my sides. “Don’t do this to me.”
“I have done nothing.”
“Gabriel.” I try to find my composure. Instead, I cannot think past that ache, that need, that urge to finish what he started. “Please.”
His footsteps echo against the floor and stop. Probably because he settled on the bed like he didn’t just rob me of my release.
“Turn around,” he says in a tone that leaves no room for objecting.
The Kyanite in me wants to stab him for his bossiness. The woman awakened obeys. Oh, how she obeys. I shift to face him, and as I thought, he sits on the bed, watching me.
He slides his eyes over me. “I always wondered what you might look like not quite sated. Now, I know.”
“You’re cruel.”
