Page 13 of Corrupted Queen

Once Harry sinks into a deep sleep, I sneak away to the living room with my laptop, intent on doing some more work. I check my emails and am tempted once more by the email Debbie sent me a few days ago. It contains a link to a video of a press conference where Gabriel announced the cutting in funding to Belluci Inc.’s rehabilitation program, and according to Debbie, once it reached the question period, it descended into madness.

I have been avoiding the video for reasons I don’t quite understand. Am I worried that it will make me miss Gabriel? Or that it’ll make me hate him even more? Or maybe I just fear that he’ll crawl through the screen like the little girl fromThe Ring.

I know that I’m being ridiculous. This conference is important, especially given his reaction. I don’t know the kinds of criminal enterprises Gabriel’s mafia engages in, and I do wonder if drug distribution could be part of it. But if he’s bringing the purple heroin into the city, why is he closing his rehab centers? What kind of asshole would do that?

Resolved, I set the laptop on the coffee table, hit play on the video, and settle back on the couch to watch.

I watch Gabriel climb the stage, lips pursing almost imperceptibly with pain. He was shot in both legs, as well as the shoulder, protecting me. Wounds like that take a long time to heal.

He faces the camera, and my heart skips a beat. His colossal form seems to fill the room, and I barely notice the slight, older redhead at his side.

Gabriel brushes a lock of wavy black hair back from his forehead and begins to address the crowd with a meticulously contrived, believably friendly expression. He seems relatable, affable. His lips carve gracefully around each of his carefully selected words. He makes closing down rehab centers amidst a drug crisis sound almost reasonable.

Only it’s not, and the assembled reporters are not easily swayed. Once the question period commences, they proceed to rip into him. Gabriel bats back the first question, eyes narrowing in an expression I know all too well, and for the first time, I can see how stressed he is.

One more question and he is at the limit of his self-control. Unable to maintain his sympathetic façade, he transforms right there on stage into the imposing mob leader who kissed me with bloodied knuckles and growled bone-melting threats to those who would hurt me.

Gabriel commands the entire room of reporters—a breed not generally known for their closed lips—to silence. And then, at his instruction, they sit. My mouth falls open in awe.

Watching him extend his dominating energy reminds me of all the times I was on the receiving end of it. I’ve always been strong and independent, but I’ve never known a sweeter release than the times I let Gabriel control me.

My skin flushes as the memories rush in. Gabriel tossing me over his shoulder and taking me to his office, where he directed me to keep my palms pressed against his desk while he teased me mercilessly. Waking up tied spread-eagled to the bed, where Gabriel used a knife to cut away my clothes and then dominated my helpless mouth.

The night we met—bass pulsing through the table in the VIP section, where he fucked me mercilessly until I saw stars.

Tingling heat gathers between my legs and I slam the laptop closed. I try not to wander into the darkest corners of my mind, and even tell myself that I will get up and make a cup of tea, but before I even know what I’m doing, I find myself lying back on the couch, a hand gliding under the hem of my sweatpants.

What could a little fantasy hurt?

My fingers slide over my sensitive mound, almost teasingly, stroking up and down my folds. Gabriel used to touch me like this. He would oscillate between gentle and rough, and I never quite knew what I was going to get.

What would I get if he showed up at Debbie’s door right now and discovered me in the living room touching myself? I set the scene in my mind.

He bursts through the door, the rage on his features soon rippling into desire as he spots me on the sofa, my hand between my legs.

It always seemed to me that Gabriel walked a fine line between lust and anger, as though his body knew only passion. I found that intoxicating, exhilarating. And now, as I watch his brawny frame cross the room toward me, I am pinned to the couch as surely as if I was welded to it.

“Did I tell you that you could touch yourself?” he says with eyes like burning cinders.

I play coy, of course, shooting him my best “Oh, me?” eyes, but I don’t stop moving my hand.

He rips my hand away, pinning both arms above my head. “You’re mine,” he growls.

And I am. I have screamed it in passion a hundred times, but does that mean I am going to fall into a pile at his feet? No. That wouldn’t be fun at all.

“I’m not yours,” I say, smiling coquettishly. “I left, don’t you remember?”

His eyes darken. I’m in for it now, and the thought thrills me.

My finger presses through my folds, centering on the sensitive nub of my clit and starting to rub across it. Electricity sparks up from my toes, all the way through my body. I squeeze my eyes closed and focus on the ribbons of fantasy that braid through my thoughts.

In a flurry of movement, Gabriel twists me onto my stomach and lifts my hips into the air, pressing my cheek against the cushion. He rips down my sweatpants and panties. The air is cold on my exposed skin, but the resulting shiver is from anticipation.

Gabriel leans over me. I feel his hard bulge press into the meat of my ass as his lips glide over my ear. “You left, but I caught you. You’re mine. And now I’m going to make sure you never forget that again.”

He leans back, and the next thing I feel is a flash of pain on my butt. The smack echoes through the room, followed soon by another, and then another. Each slap makes my belly flutter and a knot of heat tighten between my thighs.

My forehead prickles with sweat. I moan as the pleasure builds and builds with every swipe of my fingers. Tension pools in my core. I haven’t touched myself in so long, and I can tell the orgasm building inside of me is going to be Big Bang levels of explosive. But is that because of the abstinence, or the wicked fantasy brewing in my head?

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