Page 45 of The Knight (Endgame 2)
“They probably figured you’d find out what happened at the house.”
“But the motel would have been so much easier to break into.” I draw in a sharp breath. “You had security there too, didn’t you?”
“Not as much as I wanted, but some. And I made it known that you were under my protection. No one would have gotten into your room, that was for damn sure.”
It clicks, then. “Will. You put him there.”
“We had an understanding.”
Questions flood my mind. Did Will tell him everything that had happened, including Justin spending part of the night? Did he call Gabriel the night we got high? Is that why he came to check on me? Maybe another girl would have found that kind of watchfulness unnerving, but right now I find comfort in it. In a world where men would control me, Gabriel protects me.
It’s not the same thing as freedom.
My mother settled for safety, too. Maybe that can be enough.Chapter Twenty-SixI wake up with moonlight across my face. I’m wearing a T-shirt and panties, the sheet tangled around my legs. I thought he would send me to my room, like before, but instead he carried me to his bed. Exhausted, worn down, I fell asleep.
Gabriel lies next to me, his powerful body in rare repose. He doesn’t look young in sleep, only softer. Without the strict control he maintains while awake.
Lashes against his cheeks, incongruous fragility on a body compact with muscle. A shadow darkens his jaw. My legs move restlessly as I remember the burn of his bristle between them.
A sprinkling of wiry hair covers his chest and narrows, angling down. The sheet crosses his abs, and I use two careful fingers to move it aside. Cotton briefs mold to his body, revealing narrow hips and the shape of his cock against his thigh, large even in sleep. I still remember the taste of him, the salt and musk. Beneath the sheet his legs almost reach the base of the bed, making even the oversize frame look miniature.
“Enjoying yourself,” comes his husky voice.
My gaze snaps to his. Embarrassment wipes all the words from my brain.
He laughs, his lids low with sleep. “Don’t stop, little virgin. I think I can come from you looking at me.”
Of course I can’t bear to look at him now—can’t look at his body, can’t even meet his eyes. “You’re mocking me.”
“God, you have no idea what you do to me.” He takes my hand, guiding it over his briefs.
Hot. Hard. Throbbing. “Oh,” comes out as a squeak.
His voice roughens. “Stroke it.”
I run my fingers lightly over his length, feeling him through the fabric. A damp spot stains the tip, and I press my forefinger there, making him grunt. A small smile touches my lips. He’s right that there’s power here, power in making him shift on the bed, his body so strong, made vulnerable by my touch.
“You like this,” I say softly, shyly.
His voice leaves no doubt. “I crave it.”
My gaze trails back over his body, snagging on the nightstand.
And there’s the pawn piece, the dark trophy that I had feared. My breath catches. I look away, not wanting him to see my pain. This is the bed where he took my virginity. These are the sheets that had been stained with my blood—bleached white now.
“Hey.” He grasps my chin and turns me to face him. “Talk to me.”
“The pawn.”
He follows my gaze, understanding hitting his light brown eyes. “I won’t hurt you again. The first time—”
“It wasn’t painful like that.” I close my eyes tight. “Well, it was, but that’s not what hurt the most. It was how you pushed me away after, like that’s all I’m good for.”
His eyes go dark, more bronze now. “You think I only want you for sex?”
“You paid for me, Gabriel. That’s not something a man does if he wants a relationship.”
“I don’t want a relationship,” he says roughly. “I want to own you.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Your family has dark secrets. Well, this is mine. That my father owned women—not just because it made him money. Not just so he could fuck them. He bought and sold them because that’s what he wanted to do, that was the only thing that got him off.”
My chest constricts. “And that’s what you want to do—sell me?”
“Never.” A cold laugh. “I’m too fucking possessive for that. No one else gets to touch you.”
“What if you get tired of me?”
“I tried, little virgin. I sent you away. I tried to forget you, but I get hard just looking at a chess piece. I can’t seem to let you go.” A rough sound. “A lifetime of discipline and now I’m a fucking addict.”
I bite my lip. “What if I get tired of you?”
He growls, flipping me over in a whirl of male strength. I’m face-first against the bed, his body framing mine. He nuzzles the base of my neck, a primal show of possession. “Mine,” he whispers.
