Mine To Take (Nine Circles)

by Jackie Ashenden

  She was small, fragile. And yet … There was such strength to her. A stubborn will he both admired and found intensely irritating in equal measure. And doing this to her, having this effect on her, made him feel good in a way that had nothing to do with money or power.

  He didn’t know why that was but he got off on it in a major way.

  Sliding one hand down over her stomach, he let his fingers push through the black curls between her thighs, pinching her nipple hard as he brushed his finger over her clit. She moaned, arching into his hand, and he could feel her wetness on his fingers. Evidence of how much she wanted him.

  Fuck, that made him feel good. That beautiful, sophisticated, and smart Honor wanted him. Even though he was stained and broken and tainted underneath.

  Gabriel turned his head into the black silk of her hair. “Why do you let me do this to you?” He didn’t even know why he asked her, why he wanted to know. But it felt important to understand. “Why do you trust me?”

  A tremor went through her. “Because … no one’s ever given to me what you have.”

  “I haven’t given anything to you. Not a fucking thing.”

  “That’s not true. You give me pleasure.”

  He gave a hoarse laugh. “You can get that from any guy.”

  “No, I can’t. You’re the only one who’s ever managed to get me out of my head. Who’s ever made me feel.” She took a ragged-sounding breath. “You’re the first man who even paid attention enough to … push me. To help me figure out what I want. When I’m with you I feel like I’m the center of the world. And … no one’s ever made me feel that before. So, that’s why I trust you.”

  His chest felt tight, a raw feeling he didn’t want sitting right in the center. “You shouldn’t. I wasn’t lying when I said I wasn’t a good man.”

  “That’s the other reason. You’ve never lied to me. You’ve always been honest about yourself. And I like that, too.”

  The tight sensation became painful. Yeah, he’d never lied to her, but he hadn’t been honest either. And now that felt wrong. Now that made him feel … guilty.

  Jesus, what a time for his conscience—which he’d thought dead long ago—to wake up. Like fucking Lazarus.

  He shut his eyes, pushed two fingers into her, feeling her pussy stretch around him, hot and wet and tight. She writhed, gasping. He pinched her nipple again, hard. A punishment for trusting him when she shouldn’t. A punishment for making him feel like he should be equal to that trust. For making him want to be equal to it when he knew he couldn’t. Not when he’d been using her to get to her stepfather.

  “You shouldn’t trust me,” he whispered into her ear as he thrust his fingers into her again. “Remember that.”

  Her only reply was a moan, the curve of her butt pressing against his groin, driving his own desire higher.

  God, he needed to stop thinking about all this shit. Especially when she was in his arms, shaking and moaning. The feel of her pussy around his fingers. He wanted a taste of the kind of freedom she was experiencing now. Freedom from his fucking anger. To be aware of nothing but pleasure. No holding back.

  He withdrew his hand, picked her up in his arms and carried her upstairs and into his bedroom, putting her down onto the bed. She angled her head toward him as he looked down at her.

  “Can I take the blindfold off?”

  “No.”

  He crossed to his closet and pulled it open, finding what he wanted from the tie rack then coming back over to the bed. “Put your hands out.”

  “To tie up? Again?”

  “You don’t want it?”

  “I didn’t say that. But … maybe the question should be why do you?”

  He scowled. “I don’t need it.”

  Again that angling of her head. “Don’t you?”

  Uncomfortable awareness shifted inside him. Of her fingers on his stomach that morning in Vermont. A gentle touch that had made him feel … suffocated.

  You don’t want her to touch you like that.

  He stared at the length of silk in his hands. No, he didn’t. Because he wasn’t worthy of that kind of gentleness. He’d done bad things. There were deaths on his hands. Each one had been absolutely necessary in order to protect the people in his neighborhood. But he was a sinner. Destined for hell sure as fuck. And she was another sin to add to the list.

  Then again, she’d given him her trust downstairs on that table, so perhaps it was time he gave her a little piece of his.

  Gabriel let the tie drop onto the floor. “No ties then. But keep the blindfold.” He could bear the brush of her hands, but he didn’t want to look into her eyes as well. “Lie back.”

  A smile turned her mouth and that too made something painful catch inside him. Jesus, this woman was fucking trouble and part of him wanted to turn her over like he had before, so he couldn’t see her face. Couldn’t see that smile. Yet part of him didn’t. He wanted to see her come apart and scream his name.

  Honor did as she was told. Lying there naked and blindfolded should have made her seem helpless. But bizarrely, he felt like he was the one who was vulnerable. Like she had the power over him and not the other way around.

  And the worst part was that it was too late to stop or walk away. He wanted her too much.

  Gabriel reached into the drawer of the nightstand and found himself a condom packet. Protected himself quickly. Then he got onto the bed, pushing apart her thighs. She was so wet and hot when he eased inside of her that he had to stop and take a breath, the pulse pounding in his head.

  She groaned, arching her back. “Gabriel…”

  He would never get enough of hearing her say his name, all hoarse and ragged and desperate. He leaned forward, shifting his hips, thrusting deeper, watching, fascinated as pleasure unfurled over her face. Wanting to give her more of it, wanting to see her break.

  You don’t have to give her this.

  No, he didn’t. But he wanted to. Like he had downstairs, he wanted to give her pleasure, and not for any reason other than because she’d been hurt and he wanted to make it better.

  But he couldn’t have those kinds of thoughts. He wasn’t allowed to care.

  Gabriel shut the thoughts down. And when her hands slid up his arms, gripping his shoulders, he closed his eyes and increased the rhythm, deep and hard until he felt her convulse around him, her pussy clamping down hard on his cock, her cry of release in his ears. Then he let himself go and found his own little piece of freedom.

  * * *

  Honor woke up and blinked at the ceiling, wondering where on earth she was. Because she wasn’t in her own apartment, with the big velvet comforter she liked to curl up underneath.

  This room had a high ceiling with dark, wooden, exposed beams. Big curving windows with plain, heavy, white curtains that made the daylight glow behind them. The walls were mostly unpainted brick except for one which was mirrored and obviously a walk-in closet.

  In the mirror she could see herself lying in a massive, heavy, wooden bed, in a tangle of white sheets. Apart from the nightstands on either side of the bed, it was the only furniture in the room.

  A clean, bare, minimalist kind of room. Like a monk’s cell.

  Except the man who slept here was no monk.

  Pushing herself up in bed, Honor ran a hand through her hair. Perhaps she should feel worse about it than she did, because obviously spending the night with Gabriel had not been the best idea she’d ever had. Especially after all the shocks of the previous day. Which—sadly—she hadn’t forgotten about either.

  But she couldn’t bring herself to feel bad about it. In fact, all things considered, she felt surprisingly … good. Like something binding her had been cut away. A very odd thing to think when she’d spent part of the previous night blindfolded.

  A reflexive shiver went through her as she remembered. Gabriel’s hands, his mouth, touching her, tasting her. There wasn’t one inch of skin he hadn’t kissed or licked. Or bitten. And she’d just lain there and taken i
t. All of it.

  She covered her face with her hands for a moment, a blush washing over her skin at the memories. Embarrassed and thrilled and shocked at herself all at the same time.

  It had been amazing. An awakening in every sense of the word because unlike in Vermont, she’d finally let herself surrender to the sensations, given herself permission to enjoy it. Revel in it.

  You can’t. You know where that leads.

  Honor ignored the insidious thought. Last night, she’d chosen to embrace the passion and, God help her, she wanted that passion again.

  Right after she’d had coffee though.

  Sighing, Honor dropped her hands and slid out of the bed. There was a bathroom en suite near the closet and she padded in there, naked. The white-tiled shower was huge, the water hot, the pressure amazing, and she wanted to stand underneath it all day. But eventually caffeine cravings kicked in with a vengeance and she had to get out, wrapping herself in one of the big white towels on a heated rail. As she did so she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. There were bruises on her neck, breasts, and thighs. Red marks around her wrists. Oh hell, had he put those there?

  The thought was dirty and erotic and wrong and she couldn’t stop looking at the marks. Liking that they were there. Reminders of him.

  Had she given him any in return? She hoped so. And if not, perhaps she could give him a few today.

  Pleased with the thought, she came back out into the bedroom, taking a quick look around for something to wear since her clothes were still downstairs near the dining table. There wasn’t anything except for his black T-shirt, the one she’d used as a blindfold the night before, now crumpled in a heap near one of the nightstands.

  She bent and picked it up, shaking it out. Then she put it over her head and pulled it down. The cotton was soft and smelled of him, and even that had the power to make her nipples harden.

  Damn, she was a lost cause.

  She went to the doorway—which had no actual door—and out into a long, light hallway of exposed brick and skylights. There was a wide set of stairs at the end of it that led down into the open-plan lounge area she remembered from the day before.

  Vaulted ceilings and crescent windows. More exposed brick and polished floors in a dark, pitted kind of wood. There wasn’t much in the way of furniture. A massive black sectional sofa, that rustic dining table where she’d lost her mind, a couple of other armchairs covered in worn, faded brown leather. There were no bookcases. No family photos. No knickknacks. Everything was as clean and spare as his bedroom.

  Noises were coming from down one end of the huge space, where a wall bisected the area. She went toward it, past the dining table to what turned out to be another open doorway, and peered around the corner.

  A kitchen lay behind it, sleek and industrial with lots of stainless steel. Gabriel stood at one of the benches with his back to her, cutting something up on a board.

  Her mouth dried. He wore nothing but a pair of his usual jeans, worn low on his hips, the muscular, powerful lines of his back exposed. As was his tattoo, the one she’d only caught glimpses of the night before.

  An angel with a flaming sword held aloft, wings outstretched, covered most of the upper part of his back, the words “Avenging Angels” scrolling beneath it. The motorcycle club he used to be a part of.

  You shouldn’t trust me …

  Honor swallowed. Too late for that now. She did trust him. Trusted him enough to let him blindfold her, tie her up. Do all those things to her. Give her what no one else ever had.

  Freedom from control. From responsibility.

  You could get used to that. You could get addicted …

  “Are you going to come in or are you going to just stand there?” Gabriel said, not turning or pausing in what he was doing.

  Honor shook away the snide voice in her head. “How did you know I was here?”

  “I heard you.”

  “Oh.”

  “Come in. There’s coffee on the stove and I’m making breakfast.”

  Honor moved over to the big stainless steel stove with an espresso maker on it, still steaming.

  “Cups are in the cupboard above.” Still he didn’t turn around.

  She found a cup and poured herself some coffee, adding some cream from the fridge. Holding the mug carefully in her hands, she turned and came over to the bench he was standing at, put her coffee down, and leaned a hip against it. He was cutting up mushrooms, his movements clean and precise, the knife held with almost professional confidence in his big hand.

  “So, not only do you blindfold women, you cook them breakfast as well? I’m impressed.”

  He flicked her a glance, brief and hot as he noted what she was wearing. “I like the T-shirt. It suits you. Keep it on.”

  She smiled. “Since my clothes aren’t around anywhere, I’ll have to.”

  “I had them taken to be dry-cleaned.” He looked back down at what he was doing. “They’ll come back in a couple of hours.”

  “Oh…” Honor stared at him, nonplussed. “Thank you. That’s … thoughtful.”

  “I also called your office. Told them you had an all-day meeting with me and wouldn’t be in.”

  Oh, hell. Work. She’d totally forgotten.

  Honor turned, her back against the bench, picking up her cup and taking a sip. The coffee was hot and strong, setting up a glow deep inside her. “Thank you for that, too, in that case. But I don’t think we’ll need all day.”

  “We will,” he said with such certainty she felt almost duty bound to protest.

  “Telling you about Dad, Guy, won’t take all day.”

  “I’m not planning on hearing about him all day. There are a few other things I’d like to do, too.”

  The glow inside became not so much about the hit of caffeine as of something far more primal. “You’re assuming I’m going to agree to those things,” she said, trying to sound calm. “Just because I was happy to stay last night doesn’t mean I want anything more.”

  Gabriel finished cutting the mushrooms and put his knife down, looking at her. “I’m not offering you heroin, Honor. Only sex. Or do you genuinely not want to spend the day in my bed?”

  She looked away, her heart thudding fast all of a sudden. So, he’d remembered what she’d told him back in Vermont.

  “You were honest last night. Be honest now.”

  “I told you,” she said. “You make me feel too good. And I don’t … want to want you like this.”

  “But you do.”

  Honor took a silent breath and met his gaze. ““Yes,” she said, unable to lie, “I do.”

  There was no satisfaction on his face at that, only a look in his dark eyes she couldn’t interpret. “Good,” he said. “Then that’s settled.”

  It wasn’t, but she couldn’t find the will to protest. She was halfway down that slope already. Might as well fall all the way.

  Picking up the board he’d been cutting on, Gabriel turned and went to the stove, sweeping the mushrooms into a frying pan sitting on top of it. They began to sizzle. “Tell me about your father and Tremain,” he said, his gaze on the frying pan. “Tell me everything.”

  Honor stared at his broad, powerful back. At the tattoo on it. Avenging Angels. Another shiver went through her. “You … won’t hurt him, will you?” She hated the uncertainty in her voice but although she knew he wouldn’t hurt her, she had no such reassurance about her stepfather. “I mean, I know you probably wouldn’t but—”

  “Don’t make any assumptions about me, Honor,” he said, his voice flat. “Not when you don’t have any idea about the things I’ve done.”

  She clutched her mug. The hot ceramic burned her fingers but she held it tightly anyway. “And what have you done?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Maybe I do. I know the rumors about the drugs. About—”

  “The rumors are true.”

  Despite the heat of the coffee mug and the warmth of the central heating, a spike
of ice went through her. Because it wasn’t only the rumors of drug selling she’d heard about. There had been murder, too. Reprisals ordered. People killed. God, had he…?

  She didn’t want to ask, wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  You knew he wasn’t a good guy. He told you. A man like him, with his background, is never going to be pure as the driven snow.

  But she wasn’t a coward. And she didn’t want more secrets coming out of the woodwork. So she made herself ask, “Even the ones about how you had people murdered?”

  Gabriel shifted, muscles rippling over his naked back, somehow making the angel’s sword look even more menacing. “I was called Church in the MC. Not because I was good, but because I used to go to St. Sebastian’s a lot to meet my mom. There was a pimp who used to hang out around there, abusing his girls. Hurting them.” His voice deepened, became cold. “Men like that don’t deserve mercy and God’s justice didn’t extend that far. So, first chance I got, I took that motherfucker out. I was sixteen.” He paused and she couldn’t help shivering. “Those guys weren’t people, Honor. They were animals. Drug dealers and pimps, hurting my neighborhood. It was my duty to protect my patch and I did. Besides, they knew what they were getting into when they tried to take a cut of the Angels’ territory. They went into it with their eyes wide open, so don’t make the mistake of thinking they were innocents.”

  There was detachment in his voice but underneath, she could hear a note of something else, something he hadn’t quite managed to hide. Anger.

  She shouldn’t be relieved to hear that. Murder was murder however you looked at it. And yet … Did it make it better that he’d done it protecting people? That the people who’d died were criminals?

  She took another sip of her coffee, her hands shaking a little. “Did you … always do it yourself?”

  He didn’t say anything for a long moment. “Yes. I wouldn’t get someone else to do something I didn’t have the balls for. But it wasn’t murder, it was an execution.”

  “Gabriel,” she said hoarsely. “That’s—”

  “Semantics. They killed my people. They hurt them. It was justice.”