Page 68 of Ruthless Enforcer

She bites her lip, considering. Then she reaches up and cups my face, her green eyes steady and clear. "I'm sore, but I want you again."

Something dangerously close to tenderness floods through me. “We’ll go gentler this time.”

She arches her brow. "Can you?"

Grinning, I give her a light spank on her flank. "Don't push your luck, wife."

I kiss her again, taking my time. No urgency. No desperation. Just the slow, deliberate exploration of her mouth, her throat, the sensitive spot behind her ear that makes her shiver.

She tastes like salt and sex and something uniquely Clara—something I'm already addicted to.

I work my way down her body, mapping every curve, every freckle, every place that makes her breath hitch. Her breasts. The dip of her waist. The sharp jut of her hipbone.

When I reach the apex of her thighs, I pause. "Spread your legs for me, Duchess."

She does, without hesitation, and the trust in that simple act nearly undoes me.

I settle between her thighs and look up at her. Her face is flushed, her lips parted, her eyes dark with arousal. She's watching me like I'm the most fascinating thing she's ever seen.

Like I'm worth painting.

"You're staring," I murmur.

"You're beautiful."

I laugh, a low, rough sound. "Men aren't beautiful."

"You are." Her hand slides into my hair, her fingers tangling in the strands. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Something cracks open in my chest. I don't know what to do with that. So I do what I'm good at.

I put my mouth on her.

She gasps, her hips jerking, but I hold her down with one hand splayed across her lower belly. "Stay still."

"Gabr—"

"I said stay still."

I lick her slowly, thoroughly, taking my time. She's swollen and sensitive from the first round, and I can taste myself on her—salt and musk and the faint bitterness of latex, the slightest tinge of copper. It should be obscene, but it's the hottest thing I've ever experienced. I work her with my tongue, my lips, my teeth, until she's trembling and incoherent.

Until her fingers are pulling my hair and she's begging. "Now, Gabriel. I need you inside me.”

"Nah, Duchess. We’re going slow and gentle, remember?" I slide two fingers into her, curling them just right. “We’re not rushing this.”

My stoic duchess sobs once, clutching me. “What good will that be if I pass out?”

I laugh, watching my fingers slide out shiny before I slowly ease them back in and rub over her G-spot. “I’ll give you mouth-to-mouth.”

“Promises, promises,” she says, trying to grind on my hand.

“Well, I guess since I kidnapped you, this is technically my problem.” I flick her clit with the tip of my tongue.

“Rescued,” she gasps.

Lifting my head, I look at her. “What?”

Her eyes find mine. “You rescued me, Gabriel.”