Free Gabriel David's White Horse by Gina Watson Page A

him.
    “You didn’t think I was creepy a few hours ago.”
    No, she didn’t “Just chop your vegetables.” While she whisked the eggs she watched him attempt to chop the onions. He was skilled in a lot of ways but cooking wasn’t want of them, and she couldn’t hold back a laugh.
    He sliced a large tomato in half lengthwise, and then did the same to an orange that had been in a bowl on the counter. He walked toward her with a half of each in hand. “Are you laughing at me?”
    His intensity was so different from any man she’d ever experienced. He used everything in his environment to pelt her with white-hot passion and she was powerless against him. She wanted to experience punishment at his hands so she said, “Yeah, I’m laughing at you. What are you going to do about it?”
    He stalked behind her and she turned to allow her gaze to remain on his. A foot on each side of hers held her there with her back against the counter and his body so close she could feel the heat radiating from him.
    “Apologize,” his voice rasped.
    He had a gleam in his eye and she knew he was having as much fun with her as she was with him. At the moment she held all the power, but knew they both needed her to be confrontational.
    She leaned in close so that he could feel her breath against his lips, “No.” His brow arched at her refusal. His hands lifted, still holding the cut tomato and orange. He squeezed the fruits and juice dripped onto her neck and chest. His grip was strong and the juice abundant. When her top was sufficiently soaked he bent his head and lapped at the juices on the bare skin of her chest. He hummed as his lips danced across her skin. The passion was so great she thought her heart might explode where it chugged like a runaway train in her chest.
    When his lips closed around her needy nipple she reached back to anchor her hands onto the counter, knocking the cheese and ham to the floor. She moaned out his name and he lifted her by the waist to sit on the counter. They both fiddled with the hardware on their jeans, each one hyper aware of the need created between them. His jeans were down in a flash and then he pulled her into his chest to aid in divesting her of her own denim.
    He slid deeply into her without warning and yet again without protection, but she didn’t care. Her body was only capable of so much focus and right now it was all centered on the burning pleasure building inside of her. With each deep plunge he transformed her into a woman who no longer lived in a box, but who was free to enjoy the pleasures the entire world had to offer her. Free. She was finally free to be wild and she didn’t hold back.
    Grabbing the bottle of olive oil she drizzled it over his head. It dripped down his face and neck and onto his torso. Several drops of oil landed on her breasts and he massaged them into her skin. His thrusts slowed and she leaned forward, her tongue following a trail of oil from his shoulder to his nipple where she lightly sucked.
    Men had tried to change her before. After all, she worked as a pole dancer. The few men she’d allowed into her bed all thought they were going to be getting something exotic, something extraordinary. She hadn’t known what they’d expected—bedroom acrobatics—however, it was clear once they’d had sex that she hadn’t met their expectations. But with Gabriel it was like he’d adored her because of who she was, flaws and all. He’d demanded to know that he’d met her needs before he slaked his own. She’d found a true gentleman in the sack. Until she’d experienced Gabe, she’d thought it was a myth.
    When he started to pick up the pace he placed his fingers between her legs and massaged with expertise, driving her higher and higher with each stroke. Her voice was knotted and thick as she called out his name.
    “Mirabelle, you’re so beautiful like this.” Massage—thrust—squeeze. “I’ll never get enough of you.” Slow