Gabriel's Rapture by Reynard, Sylvain (reading comprehension books .TXT) 📕

had dampened his libido. He would far rather have held her tightly and tried to soothe her by being close, than to attempt an act he would not be able to perform.

Her face told him that she needed him, that she needed this and them and the conjunction of body and soul. While he stroked her hair, deciding what to do, he realized something about himself. No matter what his therapist had intimated, he was not a sex addict. He was not a wanton hedonist with a massive hunger who was willing to, as Scott had put it, screw anything female and attractive.

Julianne had changed him. He loved her. And even if she begged him, he couldn’t become aroused while seeing her in pain.

She was still staring up at him, her fingers tracing up and down his naked back. He decided to give her part of what she wanted, to touch and caress her, focusing on distracting her with pleasurable feelings and sensations, hoping that it would be enough. He kissed her, slowing their pace to a gentle exploration. She ran her fingers through his hair, anchoring him to her as she softly scratched his scalp. Even in the midst of her sorrow and need, she was kind.

He feathered his lips to her neck and her ear where he whispered about how much she’d changed him. How much happier he was now that she was his.

She began to sigh as he adored her neck, dipping a playful tongue into the hollow at the base of her throat before kissing it chastely. He nipped at her collarbones, gently pulling aside the thin strap of her tank top so the white slope of her shoulder was bare to his mouth.

She would have removed her tank top for him, exposing her breasts, but he stopped her.

“Patience,” he whispered.

He wound their fingers together and kissed the back of her hand, extending her arm so he could draw the flesh of her inner elbow into his mouth, pausing when she began to moan. He kissed every inch of her, gliding strong hands across soft skin, taking his cue from the heat that shot across her flesh and the sounds that escaped her lips.

When he was satisfied that her tears had stopped and she was asking him for more, he cast their clothes aside and knelt between her legs.

Soon she was shaking and crying out his name. In itself, this was the moment he craved most, even beyond his own climax—the sound of his name tripping from her lips amidst the waves of her satisfaction. She’d been so shy the first few times they made love. Every time she said Gabriel in that ecstatic, breathy whisper, a precious warmth overtook him.

This is what love is, he thought. Being naked and bare before one’s lover and unashamedly calling her name in need.

In his own orgasm, he reciprocated, telling her that he loved her. It was inextricably linked in his mind and experience—sex and love and Julianne. The holy three.

He held her tightly while they caught their breath, smiling to himself. He was so proud of her, so happy she could give voice to her desires, even when she was sad. He kissed her softly and was grateful to see that her smile had returned.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Thank you, Julianne, for teaching me how to love.”

* * *

Paul walked into the departmental office on Wednesday and was shocked by what he saw.

Julia was standing in front of the mailboxes, her skin pale and dull, with dark circles under her eyes. As he made his way over to her, she lifted her head and smiled at him thinly. Her smile alone pained him.

Before he could ask her what was wrong, Christa Peterson breezed in, her large Michael Kors bag dangling from her wrist. She looked remarkably well rested, and her eyes were bright. She was wearing red. Not cherry red or blood red, but scarlet. The color of triumph and power.

She saw Paul and Julia together and cackled quietly.

Paul’s dark eyes shifted from Julia to Christa and back again. He watched as Julia hid her face while she checked her mailbox.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered.

“Nothing. I think I’m coming down with a cold.”

Paul shook his head. He would have pressed her, gently this time, but Professor Martin entered the office at that moment.

Julia took one look at him and quickly picked up her messenger bag and her coat, hoping to make a break for the door.

Paul stopped her. “Would you like a cup of coffee? I was going to walk over to Starbucks.”

Julia shook her head. “I’m pretty tired. I think I need to go home.”

Paul’s eyes glanced down at her bare neck, her bare unmarked neck, and moved back to her face.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked.

“No. Thanks, Paul. I’m fine, really.”

He nodded and watched her turn to leave, but before she could enter the hallway, he followed her. “On second thought, I should head home now too. I can walk with you, if you want.”

Julia bit her lip but nodded, and the two friends exited the building into the bone chilling winter air. She wrapped her Magdalen College scarf around her neck, shivering against the wind.

“That’s an Oxford scarf,” Paul observed.

“Yes.”

“Did you buy it in Oxford?”

“Um, no. It was a gift.”

Owen, he thought. I guess he can’t be a complete bonehead if he went to Oxford. Then again, Emerson went to Oxford…

“I really like the Phillies cap you gave me. I’m a Red Sox fan, but I’ll wear it with pride, except when I’m in Vermont. My dad would burn it if I wore it on the farm.”

Julia couldn’t help but smile, and Paul mirrored her expression.

“How long have you been sick?”

“Um, a few days.” She shrugged uncomfortably.

“Have you been to the doctor?”

“It’s just a cold. They wouldn’t be able to do anything for me.”

Paul stole glances at her while they walked past the Royal Ontario Museum, snowflakes swirling around them and the crystal monstrosity