Page 65 of De-Witched

And he was done.

15

Gabriel’s fingers dug into the door at Leah’s back as his mouth moved over hers. When he’d let himself imagine kissing her, it was a slow seduction, a display of skill that leisurely built desire in shimmering waves.

In reality, he fell on her like a man half-starved.

Their mouths clashed, hungered. His body pulsed with need as Leah’s lips parted and her tongue swept to his, gliding against him again, and again, until a desperate groan rumbled in his throat. He crowded her, stopping just before their bodies touched.

Hold back, he told himself, even as he dove for another taste, as addicted as a magic siphon. He may as well have been leeching power; his skin felt tight, fit to burst at the sensations carving through him.

Wood from the door dug under his fingernails as magic sought to escape, adding a slice of pain to the pleasure. Even that didn’t stop him.

Her moan as he changed the angle of the kiss shot to his head, to his cock. He wanted to move against her, into her, trap her with his weight and taste her everywhere. Dizzy, he trembled against the barrage of need.

It was Leah who stopped, who gentled the storm. Her eyes were electric blue as she reached up, nipped his chin. The graze of teeth shot pleasure to his groin.

“Do you want to come in?” she panted against his skin, the words a spell of their own.

For one second, two, three, he was ready to forget the obstacles and just lose himself in her. With her.

But three seconds passed to four, then five. And he started thinking again.

“I can’t.” The words hurt his throat. “I can’t.” And for the first time in his life, he hated that he was a warlock. That he was a Goodnight with responsibilities. But he was.

She drew back, eyes big and questioning. And vulnerable.

He couldn’t stand it.

“If I were not Gabriel Goodnight,” he rasped, wishing he could tunnel a hand through her curls, knowing he was too close to the edge. “I would touch you. Taste you. Take you. Until we were both ruined for anyone else.”

Her mouth, still damp from his kisses, parted. Her cheeks flushed.

He took in a shuddering breath. “But I am. And so, I cannot.”

“Why?” The question was soft. Stupid.

“You know why.”

The unsaid truth sat between them.

Leah got the stubborn pinch between her eyes. “Okay. Yes. I know why.”

Internal alarms flicked on, blaring red, sirens wailing.

“I know that you’re a—”

He acted quickly, dropping his head and pressing a firm kiss to her mouth to stop the words, to keep them from the air, the wind. Fear, and yes, it was fear, plucked at his heart. Someone could be listening. Could take her away.

She was not allowed to be hurt.

She kissed him back, a sumptuous meeting of mouths. He allowed himself one last taste, then another, mustering all his control so he could pull away. This time, he leaned his forehead against hers, closed his eyes. “Don’t,” he murmured. “Some words cannot be taken back.”

They were quiet for a long moment, and then he gradually stepped away, until he no longer had the scent of coconut in his lungs.

She remained against the door, lips damp, eyes dark. Temptation in its purest form, an angel lured to sin.

Physically aching, he swallowed hard and dipped a shallow bow, reverting to his upbringing while his mind whirled. “Good night, Leah.”

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