Made For You

Ch. 8: A Prisoner & Her Jailor

Sofia

"Didn't think you'd be this eager to get me shirtless," Gabriel prompts with a twitch to his lips as if he is fighting a grin.

He better not grin. I might just end up punching him in his handsome face.

I keep my jaw clenched tautly, my words spilling through gritted teeth. "Just open it."

He takes a step forward, the shadow of his tall form covering me. "Do it yourself."

The demand catches me by surprise. I feel my face burning as his molten stare descends through my body like he is hungry for something, and I am supposed to be his meal. His throat bobs once before he brings that erotic gaze back to my face.

"What?" I blurt. "No! I..."

"Scared you might accidentally take advantage of me?"

"I'd never do that. I have seen better," I scoff, pretending that the laugh accompanying my words is very real.

"I don't believe that."

He keeps looking at me like he is judging me under those microscope eyes. It causes my skin to tingle. At this distance, he is close enough for me to wish to climb him, trace my palms over the hard planes of his chest, lick my tongue over his Adam's apple, and maybe even bite his ear off while I am at it. The last option sounds more becoming.

But I have never been good with heights. So, climbing him is not an option.

"You're weird," I poke a finger right on the center of his rock-hard chest. He gives my hand a disinterested look. "Okay, fine!"

I remove my finger, watching his short hair fall over his forehead, losing him of his stone-cold appearance and replacing it with a touch of boyishness. My nerves scream in a strange kind of protest as my fingers find the last button of his shirt. I move my way up, knowing very well how close we are, how I can feel his breath fan the spot right over my forehead. His muscles are tensed, his fingers bunched to form fists on both sides of his body.

In the silence of the room, the silence between us is heavier, filled with insurmountable tension that lingers.

His buttons come undone as I undo the top one and his shirt parts. I can sense my mouth forming a jaw-dropping expression as my eyes take in the majestic figure of his body. He is all fitted with abs, taut muscles, and sexy tattoos. His torso is ribbed, and the shapes in black ink mapping his skin—a fire-breathing dragon, a strange-looking symbol, and drawings woven together—are in contrast with his skin.

"Shut that pretty mouth, Senorita. It's giving the wrong signal."

I shiver out of my state of awe, tearing my hands from his shoulders where they had been on their way to slide his shirt off his body. I give him a furrowed-brow glare which doesn't bother him in the least. Continuing to watch me, he only removes one of his arms from a sleeve—the arm where his wound is.

He was joking when he said he wasn't hurt. There is way too much blood. The wound looks nasty, coated with dried blood now. Even the sight of it makes my stomach squirm. My skin scorches when my palms land on his abs. I push him until he is seated on the edge of the bed.

"Just sit here and don't move."

I am spared of any snarky comment as I turn around, moving to the nightstand which I arranged just yesterday with my products. I find him eyeing my ass when I see his reflection in the vanity mirror to my side. Absently, a smirk teases the corner of my lips as I retrieve the first-aid kit from the top drawer. When I turn, he is quick to remove his gaze, focusing on my face instead while he leans back, spreading his hands behind his back.