Page 72 of Gabriel: Duke of Bencalor

“Gabriel, please! Now!” she begged.

He un­zipped his jeans and shoved down his briefs so his cock sprang free.

“Tell me you have a con­dom,” she said.

“Por supuesto.” He pulled a packet out of his pocket.

“Let me,” she said. He tore open the foil and handed it to her.

She wrapped one hand around his erec­tion, lov­ing the way it jumped at her touch, but she was in a hurry, so she stroked the con­dom down to the base. Then she opened her thighs wide so he could step be­tween them, the denim of his jeans de­li­ciously abrad­ing her bare skin. He bent to kiss her, but she dodged his lips. “In­side me, then kiss.” The aching hol­low needed to be filled.

“As you com­mand.” His voice was a low rasp.

He drove into her, and she arched back, brac­ing her­self on her hands, as he seated him­self deep in­side. But even with him stretch­ing and fill­ing her, the ache wasn’t sat­is­fied. She rocked her pelvis into him.

“Now we kiss, re­mem­ber?” He cra­dled her jaw again and swept his tongue into her mouth, but he also pulsed his hips to give her the fric­tion she craved against her clit.

She wrapped her legs around him to pull him closer still, feel­ing the pres­sure build­ing. He hooked his hands un­der her knees to hold them higher against his rib cage, an­gling her so that he could thrust and with­draw more force­fully. She let her head fall back as he drove her up to the edge and over with­out paus­ing, her mus­cles clamp­ing around him so hard it bor­dered on too much plea­sure. Her con­trac­tions trig­gered his or­gasm, and they shouted and arched and con­vulsed to­gether in an ex­plo­sion of mo­tion and sen­sa­tion.

As the af­ter­shocks quiv­ered through her, Quinn eased her­self back to lie flat on the coun­ter­top. Gabriel bent over her, his fore­head rest­ing be­tween her breasts as he au­di­bly sucked in air. Af­ter a few breaths, he lifted his head. “I love the flush on your skin af­ter you come,” he said. “It’s like see­ing your plea­sure.”

“Feel­ing it is even bet­ter, I prom­ise.” The warmth still ra­di­ated over her.

He leaned far­ther in to kiss her, the mo­tion cre­at­ing an­other lit­tle rip­ple of bliss as his semi­hard cock shifted in­side her.

“Ahh,” she breathed into his mouth. “Do that again.”

He obliged, and she con­tracted her mus­cles around him as a thank-you.

“No more,” he said with a sound be­tween a groan and a laugh.

She didn’t want to let him go. While they had sex, he be­came just a man, a sexy, pas­sion­ate man. Af­ter­ward, he was once again a duke.

Later, she lay be­side him in her bed, her body suf­fused with the glow of two more or­gasms. The mem­ory made her in­ter­nal mus­cles rip­ple even though they were thor­oughly ex­hausted.

Her goal had been to keep Gabriel from think­ing, but there were side ben­e­fits for her.

He pulled her against his side and kissed her. “You got very quiet.”

“My throat is hoarse from all the moan­ing I did.”

She pil­lowed her head on his shoul­der and feath­ered her fin­gers over the dragon tat­too’s ex­tended frill. Three bouts of love­mak­ing had re­laxed the ten­sion she had felt in his mus­cles ear­lier. He seemed less with­drawn as well.

“I would like to stay the night.” There was an un­char­ac­ter­is­tic ten­ta­tive­ness in his voice.

“I’d be pissed off if you didn’t,” she said.

He ac­tu­ally laughed. “Ay, car­iño mío, you al­ways say the right thing.”

“No one but you would think that.”

“You do not wrap me in cot­ton wool.” He ran a warm palm over her bare hip. “In fact, you chal­lenge me.”

This was mov­ing onto dan­ger­ous ground. She might be­gin to be­lieve that this pow­er­ful man needed her. Hav­ing him sprawled in her bed, his olive skin glow­ing against the cream sheets, made her want things she couldn’t have. If only he had been some strug­gling mu­si­cian she’d met while he was busk­ing on the Plaza de San­ti­ago.

No, she had to fall for a frickin’ royal duke.

Might as well tor­ture her­self. “Have you ever…had a re­la­tion­ship with a, um, com­moner be­fore?”

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