Falling For My Ex's Dad (Clarissa and Gabriel) novel Chapter 227

Gabriel’s POV

The lights dimmed to near black, leaving only a soft golden glow on the stage.

A sudden, deep bass began to play.

The Flame Dance group took their places as the music increased. Their performance was a perfect blend of art and seduction.

Men and women moved too close, too slow. Their hips rolled together as their hands traced over each other’s bodies, touching intimately as they moved in sync with the beat.

At one point, sparks flew as two dancers twirled with lit torches, the fire spinning in perfect rhythm.

Gasps echoed around the table. Laughter followed. Hushed words of admiration went on across the guests.

Randolph was loving every second, eyes wide, grinning like a man proud of what he paid for. The rest of the team looked equally mesmerized.

Everyone at the table was hooked. Except me.

I wasn’t watching the stage.

I was watching her.

Clairessa.

She sat beside me, eyes locked on the dancers like nothing else existed.

But I noticed the tension in her back. The way her fingers twitched against the table told me she felt my gaze burning into her skin.

I leaned in, my voice low, meant only for her.

"What the fuck do you think you’re doing?"

She didn’t look at me. Kept her eyes on the stage like I hadn’t said a word. That calm, dismissive act only made my jaw tighten.

"Why did you let him touch you like that?" I hissed. "You know exactly what that does to me."

She finally glanced at me, brief and cool.

"He wasn’t touching me inappropriately, if that’s what you’re getting at."

"Don’t insult my intelligence." I shook my head, feeling my anger rise even more.

"I step away for one damn minute and come back to find you dancing that close to my son, right after what we just did."

She rolled her eyes, clearly fed up with the accusation. Maybe I had pushed too far, but I didn’t care.

"I wasn’t grinding against him," she snapped, then stopped herself and pulled in a breath to stay calm.

"He asked me for a dance," she said more quietly. "What was I supposed to do, Gabriel? Everyone was watching. I couldn’t exactly tell him to go to hell."

I leaned in until my lips grazed the shell of her ear.

"Yeah? Well, you should have. Because I’m not going to sit here pretending this is fine while you let Adrian think he still has a shot. I don’t share what’s mine. With anyone. Blood or not."

She turned her face to mine, eyes fierce, voice strained with frustration.

"First of all, Gabriel, we’re at a dinner table. People are watching. And second, no one’s sharing me. Especially not with your son. I haven’t even said I’m coming back to you, so calling me yours? That’s a little presumptuous."

That struck deep.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to stay calm, to not lose it here.

"Don’t," I warned quietly. "Don’t make me do this here."

Her brows lifted in a challenge.

"Do what? Mark your territory like some savage? I’m so sick of you acting like you own me."

She was pushing me.

And I was done playing nice.

"Oh, sweetheart. I already do."

I let the words land slowly, possessive and deliberate.

"From the moment you opened your legs for me and I sank into that tight heat, you were mine. And we both know it."

She scoffed.

"God, I can’t with this possessive arrogance right now. What is this, Gabriel?"

"This is what you’ve done to me," I growled, still forcing a faint smile to keep face at the table.

"You’ve turned me into something dangerous. Obsessed. Unhinged. I’m starving, Clairessa. Watching you. Needing you. And I’m done pretending I can hold it in."

"Well," she said with a smirk, "then you’ll just have to take it like a man."

That look, that bold curve of her mouth, dared every dark part of me to answer.

"Oh. So it’s like that now," I murmured.

My eyes swept the table. Everyone was still focused on the dancers.

This was the moment.

I let my hand slip beneath the tablecloth, reaching for Clairessa’s legs.

She shifted, knees pressing together on instinct, but I eased them apart with firm, deliberate pressure.

Her dress was silk. It offered no resistance as I slid my fingers up her inner thigh in slow, possessive strokes, just to feel her tremble beneath my touch.

She turned to me, eyes wild with need.

"Gabriel. What are you doing?"

"Reminding you who you are," I murmured. "And who you belong to."

My hand found the lace edge of her underwear and slid it aside in one smooth motion. My fingers brushed across her full length.

She was wet. Slick. Already aching for me.

She gasped softly.

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