Robin Schone (31 page)

He didn’t want anyone to ever know what he had felt.

Easing back, Gabriel brought his hand between their bodies. He smeared himself with cold, slick cream

—the crown, the shaft; Victoria’s buttocks teased the back of his hand and his knuckles.

Firmly grasping himself, he encircled her with the lubricated head of his penis . . . slipping, sliding,

enticing, beguiling. “Is this what you want, Victoria?” he crooned. A whore by nature as well as by training.

Victoria tensed, unprepared for either pleasure or pain.

Last night he had breached her virginity, a thin layer of flesh that he had gradually peeled back to allow

one finger, two fingers, three.

He had not ruptured it, neither with his fingers nor his cock.

A clever whore would repair the hymen and sell it again.

But Victoria wasn’t a whore.

Her virginity could be reclaimed. If he took Victoria now, she would never be able to claim innocence

again. She couldn’t heal Gabriel; but she could be destroyed by him.

He didn’t want to hurt her.

What Gabriel wanted hadn’t stopped him in the past.. .From whoring. From killing.

He knew it wouldn’t stop him now.

Circling, circling, Gabriel pressed inward. And almost collapsed at the pleasure that shot through his

testicles.

But he didn’t want the pleasure.

Victoria instinctively arched her body. Even in this she accepted him. She who had never known the

pain that men could give women. The pain that men could give men.

“Is it?” Gabriel whispered invitingly into Victoria’s hair, and her water-slickened cheek. Circling,

pressing, circling, pressing harder, circling, pressing harder still, wooing her body into accepting his as he

had been trained to do twenty-seven years earlier. “Is this what you want, Mademoiselle Childers?”

“Yes.” Victoria squeezed her eyelids together and turned her head into his lips, seeking solace in the

man she had invited to rape her.

So that
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. Do you want to know how pain can become pleasure, Victoria?” he whispered.

Dying inside. Dying outside.

Cock throbbing. Past overcoming the present.

“Yes.” Victoria gulped air. Water. His cock. “Yes, I do.”

Gabriel had not begged until the pain had turned into pleasure. But Victoria would not understand that

until she herself experienced it.

All of a sudden he wanted her to understand. He wanted her to be a part of him.

He wanted her to forgive what he could never forgive.

Grasping her right hip, Gabriel slid his left hand forward, fingers slippery wet with cream and water,

searching ... finding.

Her clitoris pulsed between his thumb and forefinger, a woman’s most sensitive flesh, softer than silk.

She was hard—as hard as Gabriel was now. As hard as he had been made to be in the past.

Victoria convulsively jerked, quivered, stilled, realizing how one man could make rape painful while

another man made it pleasurable.

“Gabriel,” she whispered, water coursing down her cheek.

Last night she had come for him ten times. Each time she had cried out her pleasure, the internal

contractions of her
portail
had squeezed his heart.

“Would you cry for an angel, Victoria?” he murmured.

“Yes,” she said unsteadily, heart pounding inside her body. Or perhaps it was his heartbeat that pounded

inside her body.

The water rivuleting down Victoria’s cheek was salty. Tears for an angel.

Gabriel gently thrust inside Victoria; at the same time he pumped her engorged clitoris, as if it were a

miniature penis.

It throbbed. Like he had throbbed.

Wrapping his right arm about her waist, Gabriel held Victoria against him while he squeezed her and

pumped her until both her flesh and his flesh swelled beyond endurance. Until the need for orgasm was

greater than the need to breathe.

And then he let her go. Hovering on the brink of release. His flesh sliding inside her body, against her

body.

And there was nothing she could do to reach climax.

“Would you beg an angel, Victoria?” Gabriel whispered, fingers hovering over her engorged clitoris that

screamed to be touched while he filled her so deeply he touched the very core of the woman who was

Victoria Childers.

With pain. With pleasure.

A woman whose only sin was in wanting an angel.

“Beg me, Victoria,” he said gently.

Like Gabriel had begged in the end.

Fear suddenly contorted her water-sluiced face.

Victoria realized that her body was an apparatus: an object that could be made to feel pleasure whether

she wanted to or not. She could never solely claim ownership again.

“No!” she gasped.

Too late.

Her pain and her pleasure wrapped around Gabriel’s testicles.

She strained for the release he had not allowed her even as she fought to regain control of her body.

He did not allow her that, either.

Any moment now she would beg, as Gabriel had begged.

And she would never see light again.

Contrarily Gabriel didn’t want Victoria to beg. He didn’t want her to live with the knowledge of how

easily her body could become a weapon.

He didn’t want her to see darkness when he touched her.

The second man had given him a woman: if Victoria died because of her desire to touch an angel, he

could at least give her pleasure worth dying for.

Stepping, turning, penis slipping and sliding internally—flesh slipping and sliding against flesh externally—

Gabriel carefully turned Victoria so that she faced the side of the shower wall. He tightly instructed her, “

Turn the Liver Spray cock.”

He did not have to tell her why.

Victoria leaned forward.

The pain and the pleasure of her motion squeezed the air out of his lungs. He couldn’t stop it: the pain,

the pleasure. Gabriel felt each twist of Victoria’s wrist, as if she turned his cock instead of the valve cock,

slippery penis sliding inside the fist-tight heat of her body a quarter of an inch, outside a half inch, inside a

pulse-stopping inch.

A shock of hot water squirted the top of his foot.

“Angle the spray up,” Gabriel said raggedly, holding on to her waist and to his sanity.

He did not recognize his voice. Did Victoria?

She clumsily positioned the spray.

Gently Gabriel walked her closer—penis slipping, sliding, her internal muscles caressing, nipping, two

bodies acting as one—until her pelvis pressed against the shower spray and water needled her swollen

clitoris.

“Oh, my... Gabriel!”

Surprise, pleasure, then pending orgasm flavored Victoria’s cry.

There had been no joy in Gabriel’s release.

Squeezing his eyelids shut and throwing his head up into the spray, Gabriel grasped both of Victoria’s

hips and thrust so far up inside her that her buttocks cushioned his groin and there was no pending death, no

lurking memories, no second man. Just two bodies made one.

The shock of his entry was upstaged by the force of Victoria’s orgasm. Her muscles clenched about him

until Gabriel gritted his teeth, surrounded by hot water, slippery flesh.

A woman’s softness.

A man’s need.

Gabriel pumped his flesh into Victoria and held her so that she would gain maximum pleasure from both

his penetration and the spray of water. He felt her second orgasm before she did.

“Gabriel, please . . . Don’t!” Victoria cried.

Gabriel had cried, a twenty-six year old man who had never before cried.
Please. Stop.