Gabriel's Rapture by Reynard, Sylvain (best pdf reader for ebooks .TXT) 📗

Her voice interrupted his thoughts. “I want to please you.”

“You do. So much.”

She reached a hand behind her and lightly touched the top of his groin. “With my mouth. I feel badly that I haven’t been able to reciprocate. You’ve been so generous.”

His body reacted to her low whisper and hesitant hand. “Julianne, there’s no quid pro quo here. I do things with you because I want to.” His lips curled up into a half-smile. “But since you’re offering…”

“I know men prefer it.”

He shrugged. “Great sex will always be better. In comparison, everything else could only be an amuse bouche.” He winked at her wickedly, squeezing her hip for emphasis.

“Is this position okay? With you lying down or…?”

“It’s fine,” he whispered, his eyes suddenly alight.

“I suppose it’s better than me on my knees.” She watched his reaction from the corner of her eye.

“That’s right. I, on the other hand, am happy to kneel before my Princess in order to pleasure her. As I have already demonstrated.”

Julia laughed softly. Then her smile disappeared. “I need to tell you something.”

He gazed up at her expectantly.

“I have a gag reflex.”

A furrow appeared between his eyebrows. “I’d be worried if you didn’t.”

Julianne avoided his probing expression as her hand slipped lower. “Mine is kind of strong.”

His hand closed over hers.

“It won’t be an issue, darling. I promise.” He squeezed her hand.

She moved farther down, and he began to weave her hair around his fingers, tugging playfully.

Julia froze.

For an oblivious moment, he toyed with her long, silken hair. Then he realized that she wasn’t moving. “What’s wrong?”

“Please don’t hold my head down.”

“I wasn’t going to.” He sounded perturbed.

She remained perfectly still, waiting. For what, he didn’t know. He let go of her hair so he could lift her chin. “Sweetheart?”

“Um, it’s only because Idon’twanttothrowuponyou.”

“What was that?”

She ducked her head. “I’ve—thrown up—before.”

He stared at her incredulously. “What…after?”

“Um, no.”

Gabriel was silent for some time, then his eyes narrowed. “Were you sick because of a gag reflex, or because that bastard held you down?”

She cringed, her head moving in the slightest of nods.

Gabriel swore, his anger burning blue. He sat up swiftly, rubbing his face with his hands.

In the past, he hadn’t been tender with his sexual conquests, although he’d prided himself on maintaining some vestige of good manners. Less so when he was doing cocaine. Despite the Bacchanalia that he’d participated in, parties that had approximated the decadence of Rome on occasion, he’d never, ever held a girl’s head down until she vomited. Nobody did that. Not even the drug dealers and addicts he used to hang around with did that, and they had no boundaries or moral compunctions at all. Only an incredibly sick, twisted, misogynistic motherfucker would get his kicks from humiliating a woman that way.

To do such a thing to Julianne—with her gentle eyes and beautiful soul. A shy creature who was ashamed of having a gag reflex. The senator’s son was lucky he was hiding in his parents’ house in Georgetown under a suspended sentence and a restraining order, or Gabriel would have appeared on his doorstep in order to continue their previous altercation. And he would have ended their conversation with more than a few punches.

He shook the murderous thoughts from his head, lifting Julia to her feet and wrapping her in a blanket. “Let’s go upstairs.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t sit here after what you just told me.”

Julia’s cheeks reddened with shame, and her large eyes filled with tears.

“Hey.” Gabriel pressed his lips to her forehead. “It isn’t your fault. Do you understand? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She smiled thinly, but it was clear that she didn’t believe him.

He led her upstairs and through the bedroom to the en-suite, ushering her in before closing the door behind them.

“What are you doing?”

“Hopefully, something nice.” He traced the curve of her cheek with his thumb.

Gabriel turned on the shower, testing the temperature of the water until he was satisfied. He adjusted the flow until it was gently falling from the tropical rain showerhead. He slowly removed the blanket from her body and held the shower door open, waiting for her to step inside before he followed her.

She looked confused.

“I want to show you that I love you,” he whispered. “Without taking you to bed.”

“Take me to bed,” she pleaded. “Then our evening won’t be ruined.”

“Our evening isn’t ruined,” he said fiercely. “But I’ll be damned if anyone hurts you again.” He used both hands to caress her hair, parting and moving it so every strand grew wet.

“You think I’m dirty.”

“Far from it.” He took her hand and pressed it over the tattoo on his chest. “You’re the closest thing to an angel I’ll ever touch.” His eyes held hers without blinking. “But I think we both need to wash away the past.”

He moved her hair to one side, pressing a kiss to her neck. Stepping back, he poured some of her vanilla-scented shampoo into his palm. His fingers worked the liquid into her scalp, rubbing slowly, and eventually sliding down the locks to the ends. He was careful in his movements. If he ever had one moment, one act, to demonstrate that his love for her was much deeper than a sexual infatuation, now was that moment.

As Julia began to relax, she thought back to one of the few happy memories she had of her mother. She was a little girl and her mother washed her hair in the bathtub. She remembered the two of them laughing. She remembered her mother smiling.

Having Gabriel wash her hair was far better. It was a deeply affectionate, deeply intimate experience. She was naked before him, as he washed away her shame.

He was naked too, but was careful not to crowd her, or to allow his slightly embarrassed arousal to brush up against her. This was not about sex. This was about making her feel loved.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so emotional.” Her voice was quiet.

“Sex is supposed to be emotional. You don’t have to hide your feelings from