Fallen (Seven Deadly Sins #2)(22)
Author: Erin McCarthy

Perhaps you are painting. I admire and respect your artistry and do not wish to interrupt. However, it was my understanding that since we embarked on a new, more intimate relationship, that we would be spending time together. I feel sorely used, I must say, and neglectednow that I have given myself to you. I had thought you better than that, better than so many selfish and insensitive men who charm and flatter a woman merely to gain her bed, than discard her carelessly. If that is what you have done, I admit I was fully duped, and may you feel a sickening and painful shame, along with the sting of my hatred, for such illicit behavior.

But, dearest John, I mustn’t chastise you. That is not you, I know that. You are different, I am convinced of it. I do not mean to scold, to put such unkind motives and character flaws upon you, even though I am hurt and quite lonely. You no doubt have extensive and important demands that must come before me. I am not a young girl, and I harbor no illusions about romance or promisesa man makes. Yet, I must tell you that I have never felt the way that I feel about you. It is humiliating, but I find that if necessary I will beg you—yes, beg—that you pay your respects in person as soon as is humanly possible.I cannot bear the thought of even one more day without your touch upon me, without your lips coaxing me to such exquisite pleasure.

I cannot get enough of you, John, and I will go mad with want if you do not return to me immediately. I wait most desperately for return word, or better still, to see your face outside my door.

With love and longing,

Your Jane

Gabriel’s back hit the wall in the alley, and he glanced right and left, the view spinning from drink. Holding on to the bricks for balance, he tipped his head back, closing his eyes, as the street whore he’d visited the last three nights went down on her knees in front of him.

There was a sharp chill in the air, but it just added to the sting, to the over-heightened sense of his legs struggling to hold him upright, the cloud of confusion that swirled around in his brain.

This one would be different. This was a hardened, angry woman, with filthy fingers and missing teeth. She wouldn’t want anything more from him than his money so she could buy herself whiskey, or a bit of bread to eat. There would be no communication, no expectations, no professions.

And he could ease his panicked mind.

Swallowing hard, his mouth dry, missing the bottle he’d emptied a full thirty minutes earlier, he tried to enjoy her ministrations,tried to pretend that his stomach wasn’t rebelling in disgust at what he was doing.

But it was, and he wanted to turn and toss its entire contentsonto the fetid, sewage-soaked cobblestones. Taking deep breaths, he focused on his cock, on the warmth that surroundedit, on the base human throb that rose from deep inside it, and grew to a feverish pitch with the strokes of a hot tongue. It had nothing to do with his head, his heart, but sought only guttural release, and he forced himself to distance,to focus, to let his body take what it wanted.

He was grateful the event was quick and to the point, absolutelyrelieved that his body cooperated, and she was rearranginghis trousers in less than two minutes. He wanted to go home. Prying his eyes open, he held his hand out to her, so she could rise off the street.

The sudden coy smile on her face startled him. “You’re an odd one, ain’t ya?”

It was only the second time he’d heard her speak, and her voice was high in pitch, but rough. Gabriel shrugged, fumblingaround for a coin to give her, his fingers ineffectual, shaking.

“Same place tomorrow?” she asked, straightening his coat in an oddly tender gesture.

Gabriel felt his alarm returning. He was about to say no, he wouldn’t be seeing her the next day, when the street-hardenedwhore, who had probably lost her place in a bordello due to bad temper or excessive alcohol consumption, brushed his hair back off his face with her filthy fingers.

“A body could fall for a strange one like you. Please say you’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll do it for nothin’.”

“No, that’s not necessary.” He didn’t even want her physicalattentions. It had been to prove a point to himself, to show that what he suspected to be his punishment was merely a figmentof his fanciful imagination.

But her fingers gripped the front of his shirt. “Please say you will. I like the way you taste. I been thinkin’ ’bout you all day.”

Oh, God. Gabriel felt the automatic plea rear up in his mind, though he knew he was not going to receive any help from that quarter. He was fallen, so deep and dark down in the pit that he had been given the ultimate punishment beyond banishment from heaven. He had been given the curse of havinghis flaws emulated by the women he encountered.

“I’ll do whatever you want, just let me be with you, love you,” she said, eyes red-rimmed and desperate, greasy hair tumbling over her shoulders, callused hands running along his chest.

And he knew it was true. This was his punishment. Every woman he had an intimate physical relationship with grew to crave him, to desire him the way he longed for his absinthe.

He was addicted to alcohol and opium, and they were addictedto him.

It was overwhelming in its horror, and Gabriel shifted left, moved out from under those smothering, clinging hands, and stumbled down the street, ignoring her pleas, the pounding of her shoes as she followed him, chased after him.

There would be no more women, ever.

Chapter Six

“Are you sure you don’t want to stop in anywhere else?” Gabriel asked, as they walked down Bourbon toward Dumaine.

“No, I definitely need to call it a night.” Sara couldn’t believe she’d danced as long as she had. Gabriel must have been bored out of his mind sitting there with his ice water while she danced through an entire band set.

But it had been so much fun, so liberating to just move to the music. To not think, to not worry, to just feel. To interact with people in such a casual, anonymous way.

She sighed, fingering the strand of beads around her neck. Lack of sleep and the wine were catching up with her, making her weary, but in a pleasant, content way. “Thanks for taking me out. I had a good time, and I appreciate you suffering through a boring night to show me Bourbon Street.”

“It wasn’t boring at all,” he said. “I enjoy your company, and I like to people watch.”

Sara told herself to accept that, take it at face value. Enjoy walking beside Gabriel. “There were definitely some people worth watching.” She laughed, picturing the older guy who had suddenly decided to break-dance. It had been worthy of an A for effort, but not much else.