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I turn sharply, glaring at him. It’s a blatant lie. Even I, someone who knows so little about relationships, know that it’s a lie. “Are you lying to me on purpose, or are you just not aware of it?”
I’ve never talked to him like this before. It might be the intimacy of what we’ve shared with each other, still so recent—or it might be that after what Igor did, what he still might do, after going across an ocean to another country and having my life turned upside down more times than I can count, I just can’t bring myself to keep biting my tongue.
I wait for him to get angry, but he doesn’t. “I wasn’t jealous,” he repeats, and the words grate at me.
“Then why were you rude? You ignored him like he wasn’t even standing there. You didn’t introduce yourself. You just walked past him and ignored him until he walked away.” Even as I say the words, I don’t know why I’m arguing this so intensely. Maybe I want a fight, something to work out the tension and anxiety that feels like it’s coiling inside of me, tighter and tighter every day. Maybe I just want Gabriel to admit that he was jealous.
Maybe, even though it would only make things harder for us both, I want him to admit that he wants me.
“Do I need to talk to every stranger I pass? Or just the ones you flirt with?” His voice is sharp and cutting, and it whips over my skin, stinging as I look sharply towards him.
“I wasn’t flirting.”
Gabriel rolls his eyes, and I almost laugh. It’s the kind of gesture that I’m sure he would think was beneath him, if he were thinking straight. But he’s not, and his fiery reaction only makes my blood heat more, makes me want to fight back. Maybe this is what we both need.
“I know what flirting looks like, Bella. Don’t insult my intelligence.”
“So you were jealous.” I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest, and his gaze darkens. “Why won’t you just admit it?” I press, stepping closer to him. “Just admit you didn’t like me talking to another man, and then tell me?—”
Gabriel spins, so fast that I step back unsteadily and end up with my back pressed to one of the bookshelves. In any other circumstance, I’d be afraid—but even though he’s looming over me, his gaze dark and tense as he looks down at me, I’m not scared. The rush of my blood, the wild beat of my heart—it’s all for a different reason altogether.
“Fine,” he grits out between his teeth, one hand bracing against the shelf next to my head as he leans closer. “I was jealous. Are you happy?”
This is a different Gabriel, one that I’ve only ever barely glimpsed before, and never directed towards me. I can feel all of the barely restrained emotion trembling through him, and I’m suddenly overcome by a dark, twisted desire that I’ve never felt before.
I want to know what happens if I push. What would happen if all that restraint came unraveled, and Gabriel lost control with me. I want to know what he really feels. What he really wants. What’s behind all the careful words and touches, behind the gentlemanly way he always behaves with me.
I know I can trust him. I know he’d never hurt me. But now I want something else.
I want to know what else there is.
I tip my chin up, meeting his darkened green eyes. “I’m going to have a future with someone else, eventually. If you manage to keep me safe?—”
He flinches, and I realize that was a jab too deep, a prod against a bruise that still hasn’t healed. I’m not good at games like these, and it takes a little of the wind out of me. I look away, turning my face to one side.
“I should have known better,” I whisper, a feeling of defeat replacing the excited defiance that flooded me a moment ago. “I should have waited to find someone else that I could trust to be my first. Someone that it wouldn’t be as complicated with. Sleeping with you was always going to screw things up between us, and?—”
Gabriel’s fingers clutch my chin, making me gasp as he turns my face back towards his. He almost never touches me without asking first, never just grabs me. It doesn’t frighten me—it sends a flood of heat through me instead, my pulse once again fluttering in the hollow of my throat, my breath catching.
“Don’t ever say that,” he growls softly, and I can see those threads of restraint coming unraveled, feel them coming apart a little at a time as he looks down at me. He’s so close to me, an inch from pressing all of that hard, masculine body up against mine, and I want him to lean into me, to feel him again. I want him hard and hot and needy, the way we’ve been together before, and the craving is so intense that it leaves me breathless.
“I don’t want to think about anyone else having been your first,” he murmurs roughly, his thumb sweeping along just the edge of my lower lip. “I was your first.”
I nod, speechless. I couldn’t form a single word right now if my life depended on it. All I can think about is how close he is to me, the scent of spice and oranges and male arousal filling my senses, the feather-light touch on my lip driving me mad.
A little more of that restraint snaps, and he presses the pad of his thumb to my lip. “Your first kiss,” he murmurs, his darkened eyes falling to my mouth. “The first hands you wanted on your body.”
His hand touches my waist, skimming up the line of it, up to the curve of my breast. His palm cups the weight of it, his thumb brushing over the nipple, and I jerk under his touch, letting out a cry of pleasure as my mouth falls open.
He pushes the tip of my thumb into my open mouth, over my tongue, and my lips close around it reflexively. He groans, a low, deep, quiet sound that still seems to reverberate in the silence of the library.
His other hand brushes against the slit of my dress, his fingers skimming up the smooth skin of my thigh, and I hear myself whimper, arching into his touch.
“Your first orgasm.” His hand drags higher, between my legs, and I feel the tips of his fingers press against the front of my panties. I feel the shudder that goes through him when he realizes that just his closeness, just those few touches, have made me soak them all the way through. “The first one that you didn’t give yourself.”
A shudder of arousal washes over me, remembering a few nights ago, remembering touching myself in my room while I heard his footsteps just outside the door. My face heats, wondering if he heard me moan, if he lingered, wanting to hear more.
“Gabriel—” I whisper his name, my voice cracking with need, and he suddenly pulls his hand back, his other hand still gripping my chin as he surges forward, his mouth slanting over mine. His body presses into me, hard and hot, and I can feel the thick ridge of his cock through his jeans as he jerks my skirt to one side and pushes himself against me. The seam of his jeans, the hard line of his cock, grinds against me as he kisses me roughly, the wet lace of my panties rubbing against my swollen clit.
