Page 85 of De-Witched

“What did you think about?”

“How you’d say my name.” He moved closer, pushing his body against hers so she was trapped between him and the wall. His lips hovered over hers, teasing. “How you’d taste.”

Her breathing was ragged. “Then kiss me.”

Holding her gaze, he shook his head in a deliberate negative. “Not here.”

And then he sank to the floor.

It took her a wild second to understand, and in that time, his hands were under her dress, smoothing up her legs. Lust tugged viciously at her insides.

“Gabe,” she said unsteadily. “My dress.”

“Very nice,” he agreed in his polite tone. “I apologize.”

“For wha—”

Fabric ripped. Between one second and the next, her dress had acquired a rough slit that hiked to her upper thigh.

Shock obliterated her words.

He didn’t even notice, tracing the tops of her stockings, where they hooked to her garter belt. “This...is also nice.” His voice was graveled. “Did you wear it for me?”

“Yes,” she managed.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Wicked humor danced in his eyes as he slid a look up at her. A fierce wave of desire pounded through her at the sight of Gabriel at her feet, tuxedo-clad, hair rumpled, with laughter in his gorgeous eyes. She bit her lip and squeezed her legs together.

He noticed. “That won’t do.”

He eased the ripped fabric aside, eased her legs apart with strong fingers. Those fingers left her thighs, trailed upward, over her panties. Her head fell back as he cupped her.

He made a noise, a dark one, as he nudged the panties aside and traced a finger against her, into her. A sound ripped free. Her hands spasmed where they were locked, as he began a slow rhythm, sinking deep, withdrawing, moving, curling.

Her eyes had closed, her fingers clenched on open air as she rode that finger, then the next, without shame, seeking more, always more. Teeth sank into her bottom lip. Hers, she was pretty sure, but who cared when all her attention was on him, his hands, his fingers, his thumb as it circled her clit, pressing hard with every thrust.

“Come for me,” he demanded in that haughty accent she loved before he pushed a third finger into her.

A broken noise fell from her mouth as she obeyed, as she flung herself into the dark void of pleasure. When she opened her eyes, he was still on his knees and he had his fingers in his mouth. He kept eye contact as he tasted her.

“Gabriel,” she breathed, pushing against the hold on her wrists. “I need to touch you.”

“You taste like sunshine.” He pushed to his feet, releasing her wrists. She sagged and he caught her, immediately capturing her mouth with his.

It was darker, deeper, and she was helpless to resist, didn’t want to. She clutched his shoulders, roamed over them, using his lapels to hold him tighter to her. She’d just come, but it had only whetted her appetite, a starter before the main course—and she’d been starving for him for what felt like forever.

She wrestled with his jacket until she finally tore her mouth from his on an annoyed sound. “Are you welded into this thing?”

“A well-tailored jacket is a necessity,” he told her, and she smiled despite herself.

“Not now it’s not.” She pulled on it, pleased when he helped her, even more so when he stood in front of her in his shirt and pants. She attacked his bow tie next, ripping it free, then started on his buttons. She pushed open the shirt like she was unveiling a spectacular view. And what a view.

She bent her head and pressed a kiss to one pec, trailing kisses to the other. Her hands pulled the shirt free and threw it blindly.

When she went to undo his zipper, his hand closed over hers. “Wait.”

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