“I fell in love with your heart,” I continued, eyes locked with his, “and your terrible yet suave charm that’s like a Bond villain trying to flirt his way out of any situation.”

  He smirked, but it faltered when I leaned in closer, my words brushing against his mouth.

  “I love the way you make me feel. Vulnerable, but also strong. I don’t feel like I have to hide any part of me from you. You’re the only man that loves both sides of me and doesn’t make me choose between soft and unbreakable.”

  His hands gripped my waist reverently.

  “I don’t just love you,” I whispered. “I recognize myself in you.”

  He kissed me then with the kind of focus that made everything else vanish. It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t hurried. It was grounding, because we had nowhere to be.

  Because the world had finally gone quiet in the right way.

  Amara

  Gabriel deepened the kiss, his tongue turning demanding. He slid his hand from my cheek into my hair, fingers tangling gently in the strands as his lips moved with a patience that was almost maddening. He kissed me like he had all the time in the world. Like he wasn’t in a rush to conquer anything, because I was already his.

  I ground myself against his hard length and he stilled for a breath, his hands hovering at my hips.

  “Tell me what you’re wearing,” he grunted against my lips.

  “One of your shirts,” I murmured, pressing soft kisses along his jaw and neck. “And nothing else.”

  A low groan rumbled in his chest. “I wish I could see you.”

  I found his hands in the dark and guided them beneath the fabric, pressing his palms to my skin. “You can. Your hands see me better than anyone ever has.”

  That was all it took.

  His grip tightened, fingers sliding up my sides, thumbs grazing the bare skin beneath the shirt and brushing against my bare breasts. His touch was exploratory, as if he was learning me one inch at a time.

  Then he reached the buttons, working them open easily. It didn’t feel like he was just undressing me. It felt like he was claiming the moment, claiming me.

  His mouth followed the path of his fingers, soft kisses pressing into my sternum and down to my ribs. Every graze of his lips was a vow. A promise.

  I wasn’t sure if it was my heart pounding so hard or his, but the air around us thickened, charged and electric.

  “You feel like fire,” he murmured against my skin. “God, Amara…”

  I curled my fingers into his shirt, fumbling with the buttons. “Take it off.”

  He did—swiftly, without flourish—tossing the fabric to the floor with zero regard for the designer label. My hands splayed across his chest, tracing the muscle, the heat, the heartbeat that thundered beneath my palms. He was solid and warm and real. The scar along his shoulder caught my fingertips, and he shivered under my touch.

  His sight may have gone, but his instincts hadn’t dulled. He touched me like he could still see me and knew exactly how to make my breath hitch.

  “You’re still you,” I said quietly, pressing my forehead to his. “Just with a different view.”

  He chuckled softly, but it turned into a groan as I rolled my hips over his.

  “Careful,” he warned, though the way his fingers dug into my waist said otherwise. “I’m already hanging on by a thread.”

  I smiled. “Don’t hang on. Let go.”

  And he did.

  He leaned forward, kissing me hard, fast, like the wait was over and the pretense was no longer necessary. We were alive. We were in love. And we were together.

  My shirt hit the floor next, followed by whispered curses in Spanish that curled like smoke between kisses.

  The city behind us blurred into a mess of light and shadow, but all I saw was him—taut muscles, trembling breath, the heat radiating off his skin.

  Hungry for him, I reached for the leather belt at his waist, fingers trembling as I unfastened it. The soft click echoed in the hush of the darkened penthouse, followed by the whispering slide of his zipper. I sank to my knees before him and slipped his pants past his hips, letting them pool around his ankles.

  I pressed a kiss just above his waistband, tasting the tension thrumming through him. His hand found the back of my neck, not to guide but to anchor.

  “Tell me what you want,” I whispered against his skin.

  He shuddered, and the night held its breath with us as I reached for his hard, warm length.

  He was heavy, and the way he looked down at me, eyes dark and full of something deeper than lust, made my chest ache.

  “You like this?” I asked. His cock was big, veins pulsing with the need I felt between my thighs.

  “Yes, this,” he whispered, voice rough with restraint.

  I leaned forward and kissed the tip of his cock, then opened my lips and took him deeper, savoring the way he groaned, like the sound had been dragged from his soul.

  His fingers tightened in my hair, not forceful, just desperate to hold on.

  The warm and salty taste of him made me moan as I glided my tongue, licking his cum while humming with approval.

  His hips jerked and he thrust deeper in my mouth, gliding in and out with dominance, but I was the one holding all the power.

  He fucked my mouth fast and hard, his nostrils flaring each time I moaned, hummed, and gagged. Oh, God, this was the sex I’d been dreaming of and waiting for.

  He looked down, unseeing, breath ragged, eyes dark with want, but underneath it, something softer flickered. Something tender.

  “I want all of you,” he said, voice rough. “Every second. Every breath. Come up and ride me, preciosa.”

  My heart stuttered at the need in his tone, the vulnerability stitched between the hunger.

  I rose slowly, letting my body graze his on the way up, my bare skin brushing over his taut muscles. His hands found my waist again, thumbs stroking my hips and drawing small circles into my skin that made my clit ache.

  I hovered right above him, my hot, throbbing entrance brushing against his length. I rocked my hips once, twice, both of us grunting and moaning at the sensation.

  And then his fingers curled into my hips and he thrust up, filling me to the hilt.

  “Santo Dios,” he grunted.

  “Oh… God, Gabriel,” I moaned.

  “Start fucking me, Amara,” he hissed, his voice teetering on the edge of reason. He was worried about losing control, but I was already there.

  I rocked my hips, his big cock pulsing inside me as I moved. My fingernails curled into his muscles, holding myself as I bounced on him, flesh against flesh and moan against grunts.

  I gasped as he slid his hand into my hair and yanked my head back, pressing a rough kiss on my neck and sucking. Marking me.

  His lips found my nipple and took it inside their wet heat, nipping and sucking, and white light shot behind my eyelids.

  We moved with purpose, each one of his thrusts sending sparks dancing along my spine, each whispered word a thread pulling me closer. My clit ground against his pelvis as I bounced against him, making me shudder and see stars.

  “I love you so goddamn much,” he rasped.

  I closed my eyes and relished all the sensations. The couch creaked, the outside world faded into static, and his hands were everywhere. In my hair. On my hips. On my breasts. He was deep inside me, his lips burning everywhere they landed.

  “Oh, God… Oh… my… Gabriel…”

  I shattered into a million pieces as I came, only aware of him inside me.

  My body tightened and my pussy clenched around him, a pulse of heat, and he shattered, our rhythm lost to the storm we’d created. His movement turned ragged and desperate until he surrendered and a groan tore from his chest with one final thrust.

  “My Amara,” he rasped.

  Then he spilled inside me, warm, thick, and wet, while we both floated somewhere between earth and space. Or maybe it was somewhere between the ocean and land.

  My head came to rest against his forehead as a shaky breath escaped me. There was nothing that mattered but his warmth against my skin. My name on his tongue. The way my body and heart belonged to him.

  This wasn’t just sex. This was love. This was our forever.

  A claim of us and the years we’d wasted. But we’d have many more ahead of us.

  Nothing would stand in our way.

  Epilogue

  Amara

  The church was small and modern, tucked quietly into a sunlit Miami, its clean lines softened by ivy climbing the stone façade.

  Inside, golden candlelight shimmered along the walls, dancing against pale stone and stained glass windows that glowed like jeweled stories that held a hundred whispered prayers, a thousand soft regrets.

  But not ours. Never ours.

  We hadn’t come here in sorrow, but in triumph. After years of circling each other, we’d found love and would choose each other in every place, time, and universe.

  Gabriel stood at the altar like a statue come to life, dressed in black, the cut of his suit sharp against the warmth in his eyes. His shoulders, so often burdened by responsibility, were square and still, but I saw the flicker of emotion in him as I stepped into the aisle.

  His head lifted. His mouth parted.

  He only saw shadows, but I truly believed he could feel me. He understood me. And in that suspended heartbeat, I knew he always had.

  I held my breath, not out of nerves but awe.

  The world seemed to hush around us. Time thinned like gauze, soft and glowing, wrapping us in the weight of everything we were, everything we had carried through the years.

  To Gabriel’s left, Raphael, Nikola, and Matteo stood in quiet solidarity while my own bridesmaids—Skye, Penelope, and Elira—waited for me.

  Nikola, for the first time since his accident, stood tall without his cane. His eyes weren’t on me. Instead, they were locked on his wife, Skye, radiant in her dress, pride shining from her like sunlight. She reached out slightly, almost imperceptibly, like she was both grounding him and lifting him.

  Elira stood next to her, her smile easy and full of secrets. Raphael was watching his wife, Sailor, with an expression so tender it almost didn’t belong in a room full of witnesses.

  Luis, somewhere in the third row, was shaking his head, probably lamenting the absence of a dramatic mermaid shape to my dress, while a wave of friends and family looked on with misty eyes, hushed gasps, and a few not-so-quiet sighs.

  But none of that fully registered.

  Because all I could see was Gabriel.

  And in the space between us, between my spot and the altar, a future full of joy and happiness awaited. It wasn’t the dazzling kind, but a quiet and richer one, although I knew better than to think it wouldn’t be without its challenges.

  Nonetheless, it was ours. A happiness built slowly. A love that had waited, watched, endured, and finally, stood waiting with open arms.

  The man waiting for me at the altar might have experienced blindness, but he’d always seen me, and that would never change.

  As I reached him, he held out his hand like he’d rehearsed it a thousand times.

  I slid my hand into his, and he smiled that quiet, knowing smile that hit somewhere deep in my chest.

  “You’re here,” he murmured, just for me.

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” I whispered back.

  The priest spoke, but his voice felt distant, almost like background music to something much more sacred unfolding between us.

  This man—this complicated, loyal, maddeningly good man—had watched me make mistakes, yet he still waited for me and loved me.

  I had spent years pretending I didn’t notice him, didn’t care for him, didn’t love him, didn’t want him, didn’t need him. But now, standing here in a white dress, my fingers laced with his, I finally let myself feel it all.

  When it came time for the vows, my voice trembled for the first time in a long time, but I didn’t look away.

  “You’re the only constant in my chaos, Gabriel,” I said quietly, holding his hand tighter. “The one man who looked at all my sharp edges and never flinched. You never asked me to be someone else. You just stayed, despite the obstacles. Despite the challenges. When the world feels tilted, you’re still here, and I love you for it. All of you.”

  His fingers brushed over mine gently.

  He breathed out a slow exhale, as if he’d been holding it in for days. Then, he spoke his own vows, voice low and reverent.

  “I would’ve waited lifetimes for you. For this moment,” he said. “But I’m damn grateful I don’t have to. I love you, Amara. I have for years. You say I stayed, but you’re the only place I’ve ever belonged. And now that I have you, I’m never letting go. No matter what comes next.”

  When the priest pronounced us husband and wife, Gabriel found me without hesitation. His hands on my face were warm, steady, familiar. And when he kissed me, it wasn’t perfect or polished or poetic.

  It was real.

  It was ours.

  And for the first time in years, maybe my whole life, I wasn’t hiding my true self anymore.

  THE END

  What’s Next?

  Thank you so much for reading Gabriel! If you liked it, please leave a review. Your support means the world to me.

  If you’re thirsty for more discussions with other readers of the series, you can join the Facebook group, Eva’s Soulmates group (https://bit.ly/3gHEe0e).

  Next up in the series is Jetmir’s story (https://amzn.to/46y5XLX).

  About the Author

  Curious about Eva’s other books? You can check them out here. Eva Winners’s Books https://bit.ly/3SMMsrN.

  Eva Winners writes anything and everything romance, from enemies to lovers to books with all the feels. Her heroes are sometimes villains because they need love too. Right? Her books are sprinkled with a touch of suspense, mystery, a healthy dose of angst, a hint of violence and darkness, and lots of steamy passion.

  When she’s not working and writing, she spends her days either in Croatia or Maryland daydreaming about the next story.

  Find Eva below:

  Visit www.evawinners.com and subscribe to my newsletter.

  FB group: https://bit.ly/3gHEe0e

  FB page: https://bit.ly/30DzP8Q

  Insta: http://Instagram.com/evawinners

  BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/eva-winners

  Amazon: http://amazon.com/author/evawinners

  Goodreads: http://goodreads.com/evawinners

  TikTok: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMeETK7pq/

 

 

  Eva Winners, Gabriel: A Dark Mafia Romance

 

 

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