“Let me go,” I say again, but it comes out breathless.
“No.”
He kisses me, and my body stiffens. I let out a muffled cry against his lips, struggling.
Then his tongue finds mine, and I stop fighting.
My posture loosens, and I find myself melting into his touch, his kiss. My muffled cry turns into a moan when he wraps his arms around me, pulling me against his solid body. I breathe in deeply when the kiss breaks, his stubble grazing against my cheek, his big hands holding me in place by my hips.
I should tell him to stop. I should pull back, break free from his grip, slap him hard across the face. Tell him to never touch me like that again.
But I don’t.
Because I don’t want to.
The kiss continues. He reaches under the hem of my dress, his touch rising up my thigh and making me break out in goosebumps.
His fingers find the edge of my panties.
I should stop him. I should stop him.
I could scream for Oscar or whoever else might hear me in this massive house, but instead, I arch into his touch.
It’s totally involuntary, a betrayal of every rational thought left in my head, but my body doesn’t care about rationality, not when his hand slides beneath the lace, not when his fingers trace my lips with devastating slowness.
“Fuck,” he breathes, the raw hunger in his voice sending a shock of heat straight to my core. “You’re so wet for me.”
“I’m not—” The lie in progress dies with a gasp as he circles my clit with his thumb, my knees buckling.
He catches me with his other arm and pulls me against him, his breath hot at my ear.
“Don’t lie to me, Thea,” he murmurs. “Your body’s telling me everything I need to know.”
He pulls me away from the door and walks me backward, until my shoulders hit the wall. Then his hand slides lower, teasing my entrance, causing me to make a needy, desperate sound.
“Please—”
“Please what?” His fingers dip inside, just barely, and I bite down on my lip to keep from begging. “Tell me what you want.”
I can’t. I won’t. But when he pulls his hand away, the loss is so intense that I whimper.
He smiles against my throat. “That’s what I thought.”
Then he’s moving again, guiding me down the hallway and up the stairs. By the time we reach my room, I’m trembling, my breathing ragged.
He kicks the door shut behind us and backs me toward the bed.
“Gabriel—” His name falls from my lips before I can stop it. Something dark and satisfied flashes in his eyes.
“Say it again.”
“I—”
“Say. It. Again.”
“Gabriel.” It comes out like a plea.
He pushes me down on the bed, and I fall back against the pillows, my thighs parting instinctively as he follows me down. His hand slides up my leg, pushing my dress up to my waist.