Page 118 of Ruthless Enforcer

"That's us," Gabriel murmurs, his hands sliding down to grip my hips again. "That's what we look like when we're together. That's what you gave me."

I pick up the pace, riding him harder, faster, chasing the pleasure building in my core. Gabriel's grip tightens, guiding my movements, his hips thrusting up to meet me.

"You're so fucking beautiful like this," he groans. "Taking me bare, riding me like you own me. You do, Clara. You own every part of me."

"Gabriel—"

"I've got you," he murmurs. "I've got you, Duchess."

One of his hands slides between us, his thumb finding my clit and circling it with just the right pressure. The sensation pushes me closer to the edge, my thighs trembling as I move faster.

"Look at me," he orders.

I turn my head and meet his eyes, and the intensity in his gaze nearly undoes me.

"I love you," he says, his voice rough and raw. "I love you, Clara. And I'm never letting you go."

The orgasm hits me like a wave, crashing through me with an intensity that leaves me breathless and shaking. Gabriel follows a moment later, his hands gripping my hips hard as he comes inside me with a low, guttural groan.

I collapse forward onto his chest, tangled and breathless, his arms wrapping around me to hold me close.

For a long moment, neither of us moves. We just lie there, our hearts pounding in sync, our breathing slowly returning to normal.

Finally, Gabriel lifts his head and looks down at me, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You realize I’m never letting you go.”

“You realize you don’t get to decide that,” I whip back.

He rolls us over, covering me. “Then decide, Duchess.”

I kiss him. “I already did.”

79

JAKE

A FEW MONTHS LATER

It starts snowing just after noon, and not the polite kind.

Big Montana flakes come down hard enough to erase the mountains, swallowing the fence line and turning Blackthorn into its own little world.

Emma loves it.

She stands at the kitchen window with one hand braced against the small of her back and the other wrapped around a mug of tea, watching snow pile up on the porch railing.

I watch her, and our baby, round and active in her belly. Eight months pregnant, barefoot, wearing one of my flannel shirts over leggings, and still capable of making me forget what the fuck I was talking about. “You know staring at it won’t make it stop.”

“I don’t want it to stop.”

I snort. “You will when I make you shovel it.”

She looks over her shoulder. “You’re going to make your extremely pregnant wife shovel snow?”

We both know I’d do everything for her, regardless of being pregnant, if she let me. “No, I was going to make Luke do it.”

She laughs. “Even better.”

The front door bangs open, right on cue.