Page 99 of Angel Eyes

And then I saw it—the moment his restraint snapped. His eyes flooded with a downright primal look, and he gripped my knees, pinning them up by my shoulders. Before my next breath, he plunged into me with a force that made my toes curl.

“You’ve been torturing me all day,” he grunted. “Ever since you sat on my lap this morning. Knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you? Wriggling that sweet bottom around on my cock and pressing your thighs together like you were aching for it.” I writhed beneath him, my body already climbing again as he pulled out and slammed back in, his pelvis pressing down against my swollen clit.

“Did you enjoy it, Juliet? Did it make you wet thinking about how hard I was for you sitting on that train? The way you had my cock straining in my jeans, desperate to taste that temptation between your legs.”

I cried out as he pistoned his hips, the sound of our flesh slapping together my only anchor as pleasure zipped up my center.

Too quickly my core tightened again, and all my focus zeroed in on Gabriel sinking into me, hard and deep, thrusting against that sweet spot inside me that made me see stars.

Without warning, the trembling in my core turned into a full-on earthquake, and I careened over a cliff, squeezing and pulsing around his hard length as his feverish kisses swallowed my desperate cries.

“Come here, baby.” He lifted me, my body still impaled on his, and he locked my legs around his waist as he sank back onto his knees. “Tell me I’m the only man to have you like this,” he growled, bucking into me. “That there’ll never be anyone else for you. Tell me you’re mine, angel. That I wreck you the way you wreck me.”

“I’m yours,” I said as he reached forward to grip the headboard, bouncing me on his lap and driving me up and down his hard shaft.

“I’m yours too. From this moment until my last. You’re it for me.” His teeth found the curve of my neck just as a guttural sound ripped from his lips. “Oh, fuck yes, Juliet. Juliet.”

He dropped his face into the valley of my neck as he came with a tortured groan, his hips jerking as he poured himself into me. I placed a palm on his flushed cheek, and he pressed a kiss against it, his brow damp with sweat. Lowering us to the bed, he drew me into his heaving chest, and I clung to him, sleep clawing at my consciousness as soon as my head hit the pillow.

The last thing I knew as he pulled the sheets over our spent bodies was the sound of rain on the window and Gabriel whispering one word against my ear.

Mine.

Thirty-Four

Juliet

Aren’t you supposed to be working, Ms. Chandler?

I folded a smile between my teeth as I typed out a response to Gabriel’s text under the desk.

Already finished with Benoit’s lesson plans for the week, so I’ve got time to spare. Been doing some shopping …

I pressed Send on a photo of a sheer light blue lace bodysuit with halter straps, a silk ribbon across the open back, and a sexy high-cut leg that was certain to show off all my assets. Three dots appeared and disappeared twice before he finally responded.

I’ve never begged for anything in my life, but I’m begging now. Please tell me you’ll be wearing that when I see you later tonight.

Hmm, possibly. I might have paid for same-day shipping.

And there goes my focus for the rest of the afternoon …

My shoulders shook with silent laughter just as a shadow fell across my desk. The sound of Benoit clearing his throat drew my attention up past his tweed jacket to his eyes studying me behind wire frames.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” he said, arching an eyebrow.

“No, not at all.” I dropped my phone in my bag before catching sight of the papers in his hand, the red slashes of his handwriting visible on the front page. “What’s that?”

“Your short story for La Nouvelle Revue.”

“Ah,” I said lightly, even as my heart drummed in my ears. “So, um …”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “I’ve decided to submit it to the editor—with revisions,” he finished, his voice rising as I blurted out a squeal.

“Sorry, I can’t tell you what this means to me.”

He nodded, then glanced toward the stack of manila folders sitting on my desk, each labeled with colored tabs and organized by the day of the week. “Are those for me?”

“Yes. Trade you?” I gathered the folders in one hand, taking my story with the other.

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