Mine To Take (Nine Circles) (24 page)

Then again, she’d given him her trust downstairs on that table, so perhaps it was time he gave her a little piece of his.

Gabriel let the tie drop onto the floor. “No ties then. But keep the blindfold.” He could bear the brush of her hands, but he didn’t want to look into her eyes as well. “Lie back.”

A smile turned her mouth and that too made something painful catch inside him. Jesus, this woman was fucking trouble and part of him wanted to turn her over like he had before, so he couldn’t see her face. Couldn’t see that smile. Yet part of him didn’t. He wanted to see her come apart and scream his name.

Honor did as she was told. Lying there naked and blindfolded should have made her seem helpless. But bizarrely, he felt like he was the one who was vulnerable. Like she had the power over him and not the other way around.

And the worst part was that it was too late to stop or walk away. He wanted her too much.

Gabriel reached into the drawer of the nightstand and found himself a condom packet. Protected himself quickly. Then he got onto the bed, pushing apart her thighs. She was so wet and hot when he eased inside of her that he had to stop and take a breath, the pulse pounding in his head.

She groaned, arching her back. “Gabriel…”

He would never get enough of hearing her say his name, all hoarse and ragged and desperate. He leaned forward, shifting his hips, thrusting deeper, watching, fascinated as pleasure unfurled over her face. Wanting to give her more of it, wanting to see her break.

You don’t have to give her this.

No, he didn’t. But he wanted to. Like he had downstairs, he wanted to give her pleasure, and not for any reason other than because she’d been hurt and he wanted to make it better.

But he couldn’t have those kinds of thoughts. He wasn’t allowed to care.

Gabriel shut the thoughts down. And when her hands slid up his arms, gripping his shoulders, he closed his eyes and increased the rhythm, deep and hard until he felt her convulse around him, her pussy clamping down hard on his cock, her cry of release in his ears. Then he let himself go and found his own little piece of freedom.

*   *   *

Honor woke up and blinked at the ceiling, wondering where on earth she was. Because she wasn’t in her own apartment, with the big velvet comforter she liked to curl up underneath.

This room had a high ceiling with dark, wooden, exposed beams. Big curving windows with plain, heavy, white curtains that made the daylight glow behind them. The walls were mostly unpainted brick except for one which was mirrored and obviously a walk-in closet.

In the mirror she could see herself lying in a massive, heavy, wooden bed, in a tangle of white sheets. Apart from the nightstands on either side of the bed, it was the only furniture in the room.

A clean, bare, minimalist kind of room. Like a monk’s cell.

Except the man who slept here was no monk.

Pushing herself up in bed, Honor ran a hand through her hair. Perhaps she should feel worse about it than she did, because obviously spending the night with Gabriel had not been the best idea she’d ever had. Especially after all the shocks of the previous day. Which—sadly—she hadn’t forgotten about either.

But she couldn’t bring herself to feel bad about it. In fact, all things considered, she felt surprisingly … good. Like something binding her had been cut away. A very odd thing to think when she’d spent part of the previous night blindfolded.

A reflexive shiver went through her as she remembered. Gabriel’s hands, his mouth, touching her, tasting her. There wasn’t one inch of skin he hadn’t kissed or licked. Or bitten. And she’d just lain there and taken it. All of it.

She covered her face with her hands for a moment, a blush washing over her skin at the memories. Embarrassed and thrilled and shocked at herself all at the same time.

It had been amazing. An awakening in every sense of the word because unlike in Vermont, she’d finally let herself surrender to the sensations, given herself permission to enjoy it. Revel in it.

You can’t. You know where that leads.

Honor ignored the insidious thought. Last night, she’d chosen to embrace the passion and, God help her, she wanted that passion again.

Right after she’d had coffee though.

Sighing, Honor dropped her hands and slid out of the bed. There was a bathroom en suite near the closet and she padded in there, naked. The white-tiled shower was huge, the water hot, the pressure amazing, and she wanted to stand underneath it all day. But eventually caffeine cravings kicked in with a vengeance and she had to get out, wrapping herself in one of the big white towels on a heated rail. As she did so she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. There were bruises on her neck, breasts, and thighs. Red marks around her wrists. Oh hell, had he put those there?

The thought was dirty and erotic and wrong and she couldn’t stop looking at the marks. Liking that they were there. Reminders of him.

Had she given him any in return? She hoped so. And if not, perhaps she could give him a few today.

Pleased with the thought, she came back out into the bedroom, taking a quick look around for something to wear since her clothes were still downstairs near the dining table. There wasn’t anything except for his black T-shirt, the one she’d used as a blindfold the night before, now crumpled in a heap near one of the nightstands.

She bent and picked it up, shaking it out. Then she put it over her head and pulled it down. The cotton was soft and smelled of him, and even that had the power to make her nipples harden.

Damn, she was a lost cause.

She went to the doorway—which had no actual door—and out into a long, light hallway of exposed brick and skylights. There was a wide set of stairs at the end of it that led down into the open-plan lounge area she remembered from the day before.

Vaulted ceilings and crescent windows. More exposed brick and polished floors in a dark, pitted kind of wood. There wasn’t much in the way of furniture. A massive black sectional sofa, that rustic dining table where she’d lost her mind, a couple of other armchairs covered in worn, faded brown leather. There were no bookcases. No family photos. No knickknacks. Everything was as clean and spare as his bedroom.

Noises were coming from down one end of the huge space, where a wall bisected the area. She went toward it, past the dining table to what turned out to be another open doorway, and peered around the corner.

A kitchen lay behind it, sleek and industrial with lots of stainless steel. Gabriel stood at one of the benches with his back to her, cutting something up on a board.

Her mouth dried. He wore nothing but a pair of his usual jeans, worn low on his hips, the muscular, powerful lines of his back exposed. As was his tattoo, the one she’d only caught glimpses of the night before.

An angel with a flaming sword held aloft, wings outstretched, covered most of the upper part of his back, the words “Avenging Angels” scrolling beneath it. The motorcycle club he used to be a part of.

You shouldn’t trust me …

Honor swallowed. Too late for that now. She did trust him. Trusted him enough to let him blindfold her, tie her up. Do all those things to her. Give her what no one else ever had.

Freedom from control. From responsibility.

You could get used to that. You could get addicted …

“Are you going to come in or are you going to just stand there?” Gabriel said, not turning or pausing in what he was doing.

Honor shook away the snide voice in her head. “How did you know I was here?”

“I heard you.”

“Oh.”

“Come in. There’s coffee on the stove and I’m making breakfast.”

Honor moved over to the big stainless steel stove with an espresso maker on it, still steaming.

“Cups are in the cupboard above.” Still he didn’t turn around.

She found a cup and poured herself some coffee, adding some cream from the fridge. Holding the mug carefully in her hands, she turned and came over to the bench he was standing at, put her coffee down, and leaned a hip against it. He was cutting up mushrooms, his movements clean and precise, the knife held with almost professional confidence in his big hand.

“So, not only do you blindfold women, you cook them breakfast as well? I’m impressed.”

He flicked her a glance, brief and hot as he noted what she was wearing. “I like the T-shirt. It suits you. Keep it on.”

She smiled. “Since my clothes aren’t around anywhere, I’ll have to.”

“I had them taken to be dry-cleaned.” He looked back down at what he was doing. “They’ll come back in a couple of hours.”

“Oh…” Honor stared at him, nonplussed. “Thank you. That’s … thoughtful.”

“I also called your office. Told them you had an all-day meeting with me and wouldn’t be in.”

Oh, hell. Work. She’d totally forgotten.

Honor turned, her back against the bench, picking up her cup and taking a sip. The coffee was hot and strong, setting up a glow deep inside her. “Thank you for that, too, in that case. But I don’t think we’ll need all day.”

“We will,” he said with such certainty she felt almost duty bound to protest.

“Telling you about Dad, Guy, won’t take all day.”

“I’m not planning on hearing about him all day. There are a few other things I’d like to do, too.”

The glow inside became not so much about the hit of caffeine as of something far more primal. “You’re assuming I’m going to agree to those things,” she said, trying to sound calm. “Just because I was happy to stay last night doesn’t mean I want anything more.”

Gabriel finished cutting the mushrooms and put his knife down, looking at her. “I’m not offering you heroin, Honor. Only sex. Or do you genuinely not want to spend the day in my bed?”

She looked away, her heart thudding fast all of a sudden. So, he’d remembered what she’d told him back in Vermont.

“You were honest last night. Be honest now.”

“I told you,” she said. “You make me feel too good. And I don’t … want to want you like this.”

“But you do.”

Honor took a silent breath and met his gaze. ““Yes,” she said, unable to lie, “I do.”

There was no satisfaction on his face at that, only a look in his dark eyes she couldn’t interpret. “Good,” he said. “Then that’s settled.”

It wasn’t, but she couldn’t find the will to protest. She was halfway down that slope already. Might as well fall all the way.

Picking up the board he’d been cutting on, Gabriel turned and went to the stove, sweeping the mushrooms into a frying pan sitting on top of it. They began to sizzle. “Tell me about your father and Tremain,” he said, his gaze on the frying pan. “Tell me everything.”

Honor stared at his broad, powerful back. At the tattoo on it. Avenging Angels. Another shiver went through her. “You … won’t hurt him, will you?” She hated the uncertainty in her voice but although she knew he wouldn’t hurt her, she had no such reassurance about her stepfather. “I mean, I know you probably wouldn’t but—”

“Don’t make any assumptions about me, Honor,” he said, his voice flat. “Not when you don’t have any idea about the things I’ve done.”

She clutched her mug. The hot ceramic burned her fingers but she held it tightly anyway. “And what have you done?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Maybe I do. I know the rumors about the drugs. About—”

“The rumors are true.”

Despite the heat of the coffee mug and the warmth of the central heating, a spike of ice went through her. Because it wasn’t only the rumors of drug selling she’d heard about. There had been murder, too. Reprisals ordered. People killed. God, had he…?

She didn’t want to ask, wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

You knew he wasn’t a good guy. He told you. A man like him, with his background, is never going to be pure as the driven snow.

But she wasn’t a coward. And she didn’t want more secrets coming out of the woodwork. So she made herself ask, “Even the ones about how you had people murdered?”

Gabriel shifted, muscles rippling over his naked back, somehow making the angel’s sword look even more menacing. “I was called Church in the MC. Not because I was good, but because I used to go to St. Sebastian’s a lot to meet my mom. There was a pimp who used to hang out around there, abusing his girls. Hurting them.” His voice deepened, became cold. “Men like that don’t deserve mercy and God’s justice didn’t extend that far. So, first chance I got, I took that motherfucker out. I was sixteen.” He paused and she couldn’t help shivering. “Those guys weren’t people, Honor. They were animals. Drug dealers and pimps, hurting my neighborhood. It was my duty to protect my patch and I did. Besides, they knew what they were getting into when they tried to take a cut of the Angels’ territory. They went into it with their eyes wide open, so don’t make the mistake of thinking they were innocents.”

There was detachment in his voice but underneath, she could hear a note of something else, something he hadn’t quite managed to hide. Anger.

She shouldn’t be relieved to hear that. Murder was murder however you looked at it. And yet … Did it make it better that he’d done it protecting people? That the people who’d died were criminals?

She took another sip of her coffee, her hands shaking a little. “Did you … always do it yourself?”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. “Yes. I wouldn’t get someone else to do something I didn’t have the balls for. But it wasn’t murder, it was an execution.”

“Gabriel,” she said hoarsely. “That’s—”

“Semantics. They killed my people. They hurt them. It was justice.”

The silence in the kitchen was thick with tension, the sizzle of the cooking food a strange, domestic counterpoint.

Honor gripped her mug like it was a life preserver. She didn’t know what to say, ice moving slowly down her spine.

“I don’t regret what I did,” he said after a pause. “And I don’t expect forgiveness for it. I did what I had to do to protect people the only way I knew how. What I regret is that I even had to do it in the first place.” A note of weariness had crept into his cold, dark voice. A bleakness that made her eyes prick with strange tears. “I was seven when I was first given a package by one of the men in the club to take to some guy on a corner,” he went on. “I got money for it, a lot of money. My mother found it hard holding down a job so I kept doing it. Who would say no to that much money? It wasn’t until I was ten that I figured out what was in those packages. I kept doing it though because we needed to eat.” He raised the spatula he was holding, moved the food around in the frying pan. “The old man who gave me the packages, he looked out for me. Taught me things. I didn’t have a dad so he was kind of like one to me.” Gabriel paused. “And when I was old enough, he asked if I wanted to be part of his club. I said yes. He was the president, you see.”