Page 117 of Ruthless Enforcer

When he steps back, the painting transforms the room. The previously bare, impersonal space suddenly feels like ours—intimate and lived-in and real.

Gabriel stares at it for a long moment, his hands on his hips, his expression unreadable.

Then he turns to me.

"Take off your dress," he says quietly.

Heat floods through me. "Gabriel⁠—"

"Take it off, Clara. I want to see you."

My hands are shaking as I reach for the zipper at my side. It slides down my body and pools at my feet, leaving me standing in nothing but my heels and the diamond on my left hand.

Gabriel's eyes darken as he looks at me. He doesn't move. He just stands there, drinking me in like he's memorizing every inch of me.

"Come here," he says.

I cross the room slowly, my heart pounding, and stop in front of him.

He reaches out and cups my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over my cheekbones.

"I love you," he says, his voice rough and raw and completely sincere. "I'm in love with you, Clara. Not because of the adrenaline or the danger or the fact that you're standing here naked in my bedroom. I'm in love with you because you're brilliant and brave and stubborn as hell, and you make me want things I didn't think I was allowed to want."

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. "Gabriel⁠—"

"I meant everything I said to your uncle," he continues. "You are mine, and you always will be. I love you, Clara Reyes."

Taking his face in my hand, I say, “You’re mine too, and I love you. I’ve loved you for so long.”

He kisses me then—slow and deep and achingly tender. His hands slide down my back, pulling me against him, and I can feel the hard length of him pressing against my stomach through his suit pants.

"I want to fuck you while looking at the painting," he says against my mouth. "My wife and my painting at the same time."

Heat floods through me, sharp and electric. I step back and climb onto the bed, kneeling in the center of the mattress.

Gabriel strips off his jacket, his tie, his shirt. He's methodical about it, folding each piece and setting it aside, his eyes never leaving mine.

When he's down to just his boxer briefs, he pauses. "Nothing between us anymore, Clara. No rules, no barriers, no condoms." His voice drops lower, rougher. "Just you and me, the way it will always be."

The thought of having a family with him—of creating something permanent and real—makes my chest tighten with emotion so big I can barely breathe. I swallow hard. "Good."

He strips off the last piece of clothing and climbs onto the bed. But instead of coming to me, he lies on his back with his head near the foot of the bed, his cock hard and thick against his stomach.

"Ride me," he orders, his blue eyes dark with desire.

I move to straddle him, my hands braced on his chest as I position myself above him. He grips my hips, guiding me down slowly until the head of his cock presses against my entrance.

"That's it, Duchess," he murmurs. "Rub your sweet pussy on my cock."

Blushing but turned on, I sink down onto him inch by inch, and we both groan as he fills me completely. The sensation is overwhelming—no barrier between us, just skin and heat and the raw intimacy of being joined like this.

"Fuck," Gabriel breathes, his hands sliding up to cup my breasts. "You feel incredible. So tight and wet and perfect." His thumbs brush over my nipples, making me gasp. "This is what a real marriage feels like, Clara. You and me, nothing between us."

I start to move, rolling my hips in slow, deliberate circles. Gabriel's hands tighten on my breasts, his fingers plucking and pinching my nipples hard enough to make me whimper.

"Look at the painting," he says, his voice rough.

I turn my head and look up at the canvas behind me—the swirls of blue and gold, the tangled figures, the intimacy captured in abstract form.