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

that had betrayed him.

He opened his mouth for Victoria. And did not know why he did so.

Gabriel allowed Victoria to share with him the taste of his seed. And did not know why the mechanical

release of a male whore tasted like hope.

The butterfly flutter of Victoria’s satisfaction resonated inside his chest.

And Gabriel knew ...

Slipping out of Victoria’s kiss and the fingers that held his hair, Gabriel stood up and flipped the covers

up over her naked body, darkly silhouetted against pale sheets. Blindly he grabbed a coat, trousers and a

pair of boots from the armoire; he took socks, a shirt and a handkerchief from the chest. From the floor by

the bed, he scooped up the used condom.

... Gabriel knew that the second man had won. He just did not know at what.

Chapter

22

Victoria listened to familiar sounds, an opening drawer, a drawer closing ... Gabriel rifling through the

armoire.

Silver glinted; Gabriel approached the bed.

Her calming heartbeat accelerated.

Gabriel reached down, quickly straightened, an elongated rubber sheath in his left hand, his clothes

bundled up underneath his right arm. He stepped into black shadow. The bathroom door quietly closed

behind him.

Victoria’s fingers were sticky. Her lips and tongue burned.

She had tasted herself; it had been surprising, certainly, but it had not been revolting. Then she had felt

Gabriel’s orgasm swell inside her hand as her orgasm had swelled between his fingers.

Faint sounds penetrated the bathroom door—the splatter of water on water, the decided flush of the

toilet, water splattering marble, a quick, sharp tap—an ivory toothbrush impacting the edge of the marble

basin?

Her chest tightened.

It was endearingly intimate, listening to Gabriel perform his morning toilet.

Victoria reached underneath the covers and touched her left nipple.

It was hard and swollen. As Gabriel’s manhood had been hard and swollen.

She had not known that a woman could orgasm by having her nipple squeezed. She had not known how

sticky a man’s ejaculation would be or how quickly the thick, viscous fluid chilled or how salty it tasted.

She had not known that a woman’s body could ache yet be replete with satisfaction.

A soft swish interrupted her thoughts. Gabriel exited the bathroom, silently padded out of the

bedchamber.

She bit her lip to keep from calling him back.

He would be back, he had said.

Victoria believed him.

The man who had written the letters, she thought on a note of contempt, was a poor excuse for a man.

Muted voices penetrated the bedroom door. Gabriel had a visitor.

He had told her to go back to sleep. But Victoria didn’t want to sleep.

She wanted more of Gabriel.

Victoria threw back the bedcovers. The sheets smelled of Gabriel, of her, of their combined sweat.

The hard wooden floor was an icy awakening.

Gabriel could die.

She could die.

Victoria stepped into the bathroom. And remembered the sight of Gabriel’s erection piercing the steam.

Victoria stepped into the copper tub. And remembered how Gabriel had utilized the Liver Spray.

A grin hitched up her lips. Every household should possess a combination shower and bath.

Immediately her thoughts returned to Gabriel.

Was he eating breakfast?

Deftly she twisted off the shower cock. There was no resemblance whatsoever between it and Gabriel.

Gabriel, unlike the brass apparatus, felt both pain and pleasure.

He could reject touch, but he had not rejected her touch when she grabbed his hair to pull him closer. He

had not rejected her touch when she smeared his sperm onto his lips—petal-soft lips— and tasted him.

He had let her share the taste of his pleasure with him.

Gabriel had hung up the damp towel. Victoria patted herself dry with it.

He had rinsed out the washcloth he had cleansed her with the night before and hung it up to dry beside

her worn silk drawers.

There’s no sex act I haven’t done, no sex act I wouldn’t do to please you.

She hadn’t told Gabriel that she didn’t want another man.

She hadn’t told Gabriel... so many things.

The comb—it was still in the bedroom. Victoria hurriedly brushed her teeth.

The flip of a wooden switch turned blackness into a lit bedchamber.

There were the brass rails that Gabriel had laced her fingers around. He had clamped his fingers over

hers and held on to her while the bed beneath them shook and quaked.

The logs Gabriel had stacked the fireplace with the night before were a pile of black-and-gray ashes.

Time was slipping away.

Rummaging inside the boxes neatly stacked beside Gabriel’s chest, Victoria retrieved silk drawers. A

pair of buckled kid slippers. The corset—it had garters sewn into the front and back panels—silk stockings,

petticoats, chemise—no, the corset had no whalebones that required protective covering. Putting back the

chemise, she lifted up the golden brown dress out of its rose-petal printed coffin.

All the while she strained to hear Gabriel: she did not. Victoria did not have to open the bedchamber door

to know that he was not inside his study.

The front of the corded silk dress fastened with tiny eyelets. Victoria’s wool gowns had been simple

shirtwaists with front buttons. Her fingers were painstakingly slow with the unfamiliar closure. Ruthlessly

she combed her hair.

Stockings ... Stockings . .. What had she done with the stockings?

Brown silk gleamed on the back of the satinwood valet chair.

Securing the stockings to the bottom of the corset took considerably more time than it had to locate

them. The elastic clasps weren’t as elastic as they should be; or perhaps the stockings were not as long as

they should be.

Victoria thought of Gabriel choosing the corset, the