Robin Schone by Gabriel's Woman (10 ebook reader TXT) 📕

he might not hurt.

But he would never be free of the hurt.

“Tell me, Victoria, is this what you want?” he crooned, chest cradling her back while her hands

flattened against the copper wall tried to hold back her pleasure and her pain. But she couldn’t hold them

back. Experienced whore that Gabriel had been, even he had not been able to hold them back. “All you

have to do is tell me to stop, and I’ll stop. Tell me, Victoria. Tell me to stop.”

Or he would die. And take her with him.

Victoria took the sloping tip of his penis into her body. And gasped her death sentence. “Don’t stop!”

Past echoes screamed inside his skull.

Stop . . . Stop . . . Stop . . .

They were followed by: N’arrête pas.. . N’arrête pas. .. N’arrête pas. ..

Don’t stop ... Don’t stop ... Don’t stop ...

Gabriel’s muscles bunched inside his thighs and his buttocks. Left hand sliding down Victoria’s arm—a

woman’s arm, soft, slender, so easily bruised or broken—he smoothed her waist and cupped her hip.

He didn’t stop.

Victoria’s outspread fingers clenched into fists. She milked his flesh, frantically trying to adjust to the

alien invasion.

Her pain vibrated in the hot mist.

Gabriel buried his face in her wet hair.

He didn’t want this.

The shower relentlessly pounded down on them, a man and a woman who had been brought together

because of their fear and their desire.

“Tell me to stop, Victoria,” Gabriel whispered, drowning in the spraying water and the tight haven of her

body, the past he had survived and the future he had been denied.

“Don’t stop!” she gasped.

“Tell me to stop, Victoria,” he repeated. And withdrew until just the crown of his cock was inside her.

Victoria’s muscles convulsed, trying to stop him, trying to pull him back inside.

The pleasure. The pain.

Gabriel didn’t want Victoria to see darkness when she reached her climax.

Voir les anges. Le petit morte.

Gabriel wanted Victoria to see angels, not death.

“Don’t stop!” she cried, a death knoll.

He eased inside her another inch. “Tell me to stop, Victoria.”

“I can feel the head of you”—Victoria sucked in hot mist, water streamed into her mouth—”oh, dear

God!”

Gabriel could feel Victoria as keenly as she felt him. Flesh slippery inside and out. Pressure growing,

building, seeking an outlet.

She had to stop him.

He drove home.

Victoria’s pelvis slammed against the copper wall. “Oh my God!” burst out of her throat.

Heat.

Gabriel did not remember a woman being this hot. He could feel the slick wetness of her skin and the

slippery heat of her body knotting inside his testicles.

“Tell me to stop, Victoria,” he repeated raggedly, slipping, falling into the past.

“Did you tell him to stop?” she gasped, taking into her body the French boy who had wanted to be an

angel and the whore who had begged for release.

“Yes!” Gabriel hissed through clenched teeth. And could not stop himself. He eased out of Victoria. For

his pleasure, not hers. “I told him to stop.”

Victoria bit her bottom lip—she had beautiful lips, bottom lip only marginally fuller than her top lip. Water

streamed down her temple. “But he didn’t stop.”

He didn’t stop. He hadn’t stopped until the second man had told him to stop.

Then the nightmare had begun.

“Tell me to stop,” Gabriel said.

Begging. But angels didn’t beg.

Victoria’s buttocks clenched. “No.”

For a second, Gabriel couldn’t breathe for the pain and the pleasure.

“Then beg me not to stop,” he said ruthlessly.

“Make me beg, Gabriel,” she challenged, a part of him.

But he didn’t want her to be a part of him.

“Make you beg . . . how, Victoria?” Gabriel asked, voice dangerously soft, body shaking with need,

inside, outside. “Do you want me to make you beg for me to stop?”

Pain.

“Yes.”

“Or do you want me to make you beg me not to stop?”

Pleasure.

“Yes,” she repeated, gasping, trembling.

Willing to take both his pain and his pleasure.

But Gabriel didn’t want to give Victoria his pain.

He wanted to think, if just for a moment, that he had found a soul, and that the soul’s name was Victoria

Childers. A woman who saw his face when she exploded with pleasure, the face of a man who had

forsaken his namesake.

Gabriel grasped Victoria’s left hip. His fingers spanned her hipbone.

His muscles bunched.

He wanted to ram Victoria until she screamed for him to stop. And then he wanted to ram her until she

begged him not to stop.

He wanted Victoria to take away the truth and bring back the nameless boy who had thought he could

be an angel.

“They chained me,” he said into the tumbling steam and the pounding water. “I couldn’t move. I couldn’t

fight.”

All he had been able to do was endure until he could endure no more.

Gabriel slowly withdrew his cock until only his heartbeat was lodged inside Victoria.

The truth would not be denied.

“He didn’t use a lubricant,” he said rawly.

The two men had taken him for no other reason than to hurt him. Because he had loved a black-haired,

violet-eyed boy.

A boy who had taught him to read and to write.

A boy whom Gabriel had joined in prostitution rather than be parted from.

Gabriel flexed his hips: Victoria took him. As he had been taken.

The shower relentlessly pounded down on his head. On Victoria’s head.

“There is a word.” Water coursed down Gabriel’s face. “Algolagnia. It is pleasure that is

indistinguishable from pain.