Celia gripped the chair, her fingernails digging into the ornately carved wood. Shifting her gaze from the ceiling, she stared at the man kneeling before her. With her skirts bunched up around her stomach, she could only see the thick, russet-hued wealth of his hair and the vast width of his shoulders as he bent to her. But it was enough. Enough that she understood what he was doing to her and experienced a strange sense of willing helplessness. Enough that she comprehended just how deeply their lives were becoming hopelessly entwined. She should be afraid of him. Of his strength and how he controlled her so effortlessly. Her heart thumped painfully as she tried pushing away those memories from the past. She must focus on the pleasure Gabriel was giving her.

There was pleasure before, remember, you silly girl? Pleasure, then dark moments of terror.

Celia squeezed her eyes shut. Don’t think about that. Think about this. Here. Now.

Now.This moment in time when Gabriel was staking his claim with teeth and lips and tongue. There was no going back from this. This was something she would not be able to pretend never happened. This was something she could not shove into the deepest recesses of her mind.

Gabriel explored her with exacting thoroughness. The swipes of his tongue danced between full and lush and razor-like intensity. She relaxed in his hold, melting into the grip he maintained on her. It was as though he waited patiently for that moment of surrender. That moment when her mind accepted everything he demanded she accept.

When she began floating in a hazy dreamlike sea of pleasure, his methods abruptly changed.

She was wet from his ministrations. Fevered from the heightened state he’d driven her to. Swollen with lust. And too enthralled to protest when the intensity of his attentions rose to a crescendo.

Gabriel growled with satisfaction, the rumble tickling her most intimate place. The rough stubble shadowing his jaw and upper lip abraded her skin but Celia did not mind it. It only heightened every sensation, leaving her incredibly sensitive to every pass of his mouth.

“Your sweet quim tastes like fucking ambrosia,” he whispered. He lavished her folds with the flat of his tongue before spearing it into the warmth of her body.

Celia choked back a gasp at the coarseness of his muttered words, then moaned in appreciation when his tongue pressed harder on her clitoris. His thumbs spread her even wider, parting soft, dark curls and exposing her center.

There was no escaping what would follow. Celia knew it was useless to even attempt squirming away. She wanted everything he was doing in this moment and anything he planned on doing next.

Gabriel sucked the tiny knot of nerves gently between his teeth, holding it steady. His tongue began an unrelenting lashing of the sensitive tissue. Over and over. The speed, the tempo, none of it changed, not even when her hips rocked with greedy insistence up into his mouth, wanting more. It remained a constant assault. A persistent motion that carried her into the heart of a raging storm and refused to let her go.