Gabriel’s Inferno Trilogy by Sylvain Reynard Page 0,154

if you had sex with her. I don’t care if she didn’t leave any marks. I can’t bear the thought of someone hurting you, especially because you wanted them to.”

Gabriel pressed his lips together but said nothing.

“The mere thought of someone hitting you makes me sick.”

He clenched his jaw as he watched two lone tears slide down her cheeks.

“You should be with someone who will be kind to you.” She wiped her face with the back of her hand. “Promise me you’ll never go back to her. Or to someone like her.”

Gabriel gazed at her sharply. “I promised that you wouldn’t have to share me. I keep my promises.”

She shook her head. “I meant—ever. After me. Promise.”

He growled. “You say it as if it’s a foregone conclusion that there will be an after.”

She wiped away another tear. “Promise me you won’t let anyone abuse you in order to punish yourself. No matter what happens.”

He gritted his teeth.

“Promise me, Gabriel. I will never ask you for anything else, but promise me this.”

His eyes narrowed, and he measured her carefully. Then, seemingly satisfied, he nodded. “I promise.”

Julia’s body relaxed, and she hung her head, physically and emotionally exhausted.

He’d been watching her closely, the alternating flush and paleness of her skin, the way she’d fidgeted and pulled at her dress. It hurt him more than he thought possible to see her so upset. And the sight of her tears…

The brown-eyed angel was weeping over the demon. The angel wept because she was grieved at the mere thought of someone hurting him.

Without a word, he pulled her onto his lap. He pressed her head gently against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. “No more weeping. I’ve seen enough tears from you to last a lifetime,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her ear. “And I’m not worth a single one.”

He sighed with regret. “I’ve done a very selfish thing in pursuing you, Julianne. You should be with someone your own age who is your equal in goodness. Not with some twisted Caliban like me.”

“There are moments when you are my equal in innocence.”

“When? Tell me.”

“When you hold me in your arms. When you stroke my hair,” she whispered. “When we’re in bed.”

His face took on a pained expression. “If you don’t want me, all you have to do is say so, and I’ll disappear from your life forever. I don’t want you to be afraid of what might happen if you reject me. I promise I’ll let you go, if that’s what you want.”

Julia was quiet, for she did not know what to say.

“I know that I am controlling and, as you put it, commanding.” Gabriel’s voice was low and strained. “But I would never do to you what she does. I won’t harm you, Julianne. I could never harm you.” He lightly trailed his fingertips up and down the exposed flesh of her arm, feeling the skin goose-pimple underneath his words as much as beneath his touch.

“I was more worried about what Ann did to you.”

“No one has worried about me for some time.”

“Your family does. And I did too, you know, even before I came to Toronto. I thought of you every day.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, and Julia reciprocated softly.

“My past indiscretions notwithstanding, my tastes run to inflicting mad, passionate pleasure on my lovers and not pain, I assure you. Someday I’d like to show you that side of me. Slowly, of course.”

Julia chewed at the inside of her mouth, trying to find the right words.

“I need to tell you something.”

“Yes?”

“I am—not as innocent as you think I am.”

“What’s that supposed to be mean?” he snapped.

She raked her upper lip with her teeth nervously.

“Sorry. You took me by surprise.” Gabriel rubbed at his eyes.

“I had a boyfriend.”

He frowned. “I know that.”

“We, um, did things.”

His eyebrows shot up. “What kinds of things?” His question emerged before he could consider it, but he soon thought better of it. “Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”

“I am not as innocent as I was when you first met me, which means that you have, um…an idealized and false perception of me.”

He considered her admission for a moment. He wanted to know the specifics, but he was worried about what she might say. The thought of someone else, of him, coaxing pleasure out of her, or even touching her, infuriated him. He was far from certain that he could handle whatever confession she was burning to make.

“You were my first kiss.