CHAPTER 195: CHAPTER 190: THE QUIET BEFORE THE STORM (2)

The shirt tore with a sound that made Gabriel’s breath catch—clean linen surrendering beneath Damian’s grip like parchment to flame. The fabric split at the seams, baring his chest to the cool air and Damian’s gaze.

Damian sat back slightly, hands spread over Gabriel’s ribs, just enough space to look.

His golden eyes gleamed, hungry and reverent, like the sight before him was some rare relic he hadn’t expected to find again. The low light played along the sharp lines of Gabriel’s collarbone, the soft rise and fall of his chest, and the curve of muscle and skin that he now touched without barriers.

He didn’t move right away. Just watched. Just breathed. His jaw clenched once, then relaxed. His hands slid higher.

"You should’ve worn something I didn’t like," Damian murmured, voice rough, reverent.

"I should’ve worn your shirt."

Damian huffed a breath against Gabriel’s skin, the sound half a laugh, half a groan. "You keep saying things like that, and I’ll never let you take it off."

Gabriel’s smile was lazy, teasing, and flushed with heat. "Was that not already the plan?"

Damian looked up, eyes molten gold, pupils blown wide with hunger and something softer, something only Gabriel ever got to see. "It was," he said, low and certain. "But now I’m reconsidering furniture, timing, and mercy."

He dipped his head again, mouthing at Gabriel’s chest, slower this time, dragging teeth just enough to lift Gabriel’s back off the mattress. His mouth closed over one of his nipples while his hand was teasing the other.

Gabriel’s breath caught sharply, his spine arching from the bed as Damian’s mouth closed over him. The heat of it, the way his teeth grazed and tongue soothed—slow, deliberate, knowing—sent a tremor through his entire body. His fingers curled instinctively into Damian’s hair, gripping just enough to feel the weight of him, the certainty.

"You’re infuriating," Gabriel muttered, though his voice had lost its usual edge. It was breathless now, frayed around the corners, unraveled by every place Damian touched.

"I know," Damian murmured against his skin, his voice low and full of amusement. His hand moved in tandem with his mouth, thumb teasing over the opposite side, patient and cruel in the way only a lover could be. "But you like me better this way."

Gabriel didn’t deny it. Couldn’t.

Instead, he pulled Damian up by the collar, dragging him mouth-to-mouth again, gasping into the kiss. His lips parted on instinct, letting Damian in, and there was nothing tentative about it now. No hesitation. Just want, tangled between tongues and teeth.

Damian groaned into the kiss, sliding his hand beneath Gabriel’s trousers waistband, warm fingers tracing the curve of his hip and the short scar on it before sliding across the small of his back. He dragged him closer, closing the space between them until Gabriel could feel every line of his body, the way his muscles coiled like someone holding back a storm.

Gabriel could feel the hardness of Damian through the two layers of material between them, the heat and pressure growing unbearably sharp. His breath stuttered as his hands moved on their own, seeking the buckle at Damian’s belt. The leather gave with a soft, reluctant clink, the sound swallowed between gasps and kisses that had grown messier—more urgent.

Damian’s breath hitched when Gabriel’s fingers brushed against him, even through the fabric. He caught Gabriel’s wrist, not to stop him, but to slow him. Ground him. Golden eyes burned down at him, half-lidded, pupils blown wide.

"Please hurry," Gabriel said, his voice hoarse and his body on fire as he searched for cool, for his mate.

That was all it took.

Damian pushed up on his knees just enough to free Gabriel from what little was left between them. His movements were swift and practiced, but there was no impatience in the way his hands mapped the curve of Gabriel’s thighs, the lines of his hips, and the dip beneath his ribs. He touched him like he’d dreamed of this moment in silence, and now that he had it, he wouldn’t rush a second of it.

When their skin finally met—bare to bare—Gabriel gasped, his head tipping back against the pillows, throat exposed, and chest rising too fast. Damian leaned in and kissed the center of it, his tongue tracing a slow line up to the hollow of his throat before biting down softly at the spot just under Gabriel’s jaw.

"Mine," he whispered, not as a demand, but as a truth.

Gabriel’s hands tangled in his hair again, dragging him closer, voice raw. "Then show me."

Damian didn’t answer with words.

He pressed Gabriel back into the mattress with a hunger that no longer wore the mask of control. His mouth found every inch of skin exposed to the air, slow at first—teasing licks along his ribs, a reverent kiss at the hollow beneath his sternum—but each touch carried weight, each motion building on the next like heat pooling beneath their skin. The scent between them thickened, saturated with want and something deeper: bond heat.

Gabriel writhed beneath him, the sharp edge of his smirk long gone, replaced by parted lips and flushed skin, by the low, broken sounds he no longer cared to muffle. His legs parted instinctively for Damian, knees bent and heels pressed into the mattress for support.

He didn’t have to ask. Damian was already there, settling between his thighs, the final barrier pushed down and discarded with such force that Gabriel gasped. The press of Damian’s cock, thick and hot, dragged between his legs once in warning before finding home.

Gabriel arched when Damian pushed in, inch by inch, groaning into the curve of his shoulder. The stretch was sharp at first, almost too much—but it wasn’t new. It was a memory awakened, one buried in the haze of their first bond night. Familiar and overwhelming all at once.

Damian whispered his name like a curse, forehead pressed to Gabriel’s as he bottomed out. "You feel like—fuck—you feel like you were made for me."

Gabriel couldn’t respond. Couldn’t think. His fingers clawed at Damian’s back, hips rising into every deep, hard stroke. Damian didn’t go slow, not this time. The restraint of the day cracked, and everything he’d held back came spilling out in the roll of his hips, the growled praises against Gabriel’s throat, and the desperate way he kissed him like the air itself wasn’t enough.

"Damian—" Gabriel gasped, his body slick with sweat, his own pleasure building too fast, too sharp.

"I know," Damian rasped, kissing him again, deeper this time. "I’ve got you. Let me have you."

And then Gabriel felt it.

That deep, primal pull low in his belly—the tightening that signaled more than just climax. It was the shift. The flare of Damian’s knot swelling with purpose, claiming, tethering. His body recognized the rhythm before his mind did.

Their bond sang between them, louder now, flaring bright and raw with ether. It wasn’t violent, but consuming. Every thrust stoked it, every sound Gabriel made drew Damian closer to the edge, until—

He knotted with a sharp cry, hips locked tight against Gabriel’s, his entire body trembling from the force of it. Gabriel’s own orgasm ripped through him at the same time, white-hot and overwhelming. He clenched around Damian, head thrown back, mouth parted in something between a moan and a sob.

They remained locked, panting, their hands still clutching each other as if the world would fall apart if they released their grip.