She Rogue

4. His Games

“What was that?” Gabriel asked, amusement dancing in his voice as his dark eyes flickered with curiosity.

“I said, I think I better not,” I repeated, my voice barely steady.

“Better not what?” His chuckle was low, deep, and entirely too knowing. He still held my hand firmly, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles across my skin.

“Umm… you know, the first two jobs,” I mumbled, giving him a vague smile. My body felt warm, almost feverish, like I was under some sort of spell. I tried pulling my hand back, but he didn’t let go.

“Why not?” His question was simple, but his tone carried weight, daring me to answer.

“I don’t do prostitution,” I blurted out, the words tumbling out faster than I intended. “No offense to those who do. I just… I’ve always done my best to find other ways to survive.”

“Like what?” he pressed, his darkened gaze holding me captive.

“Like whatever jobs I can find as a rogue,” I said, my voice faltering under the intensity of his stare. “Waitressing sometimes, odd jobs here and there—mail, driving, transport. Anything but…”

I trailed off, my cheeks flushing with heat as I averted my eyes.

“Anything but selling your body,” Gabriel finished for me, his voice soft but sharp.

I nodded, swallowing hard, cursing the way my body seemed to react to his presence despite my words.

“You know,” he began, his tone thoughtful, “if you’re with one man, in a committed contractual relationship, it isn’t quite prostitution.”

“It is,” I countered, turning my face away.

His silence forced me to continue. “It is when it’s for money. On a contract. Without feelings. Don’t you think?”

“I don’t,” he said plainly. “If we look at it that way, then every business transaction is technically prostitution. People sell their time, their skills, their loyalty. Is that really so different?”

“And it kind of is, in a way,” I replied, daring to meet his gaze.

“In that case,” he said, leaning in slightly, his smirk widening, “no matter what job you take, you’re in the business of prostitution.

You might as well take the one that pays more and gives you the best benefits. Don’t you think?”

I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. His words were like a trap, wrapping around me, leaving me with no clear way out.

“May I please get my hand back?” I asked, my voice soft but firm.

“Are you uncomfortable?” Gabriel’s tone softened, but the glint in his eyes suggested he already knew the answer.

“A little,” I admitted. “I’m not used to touching people I don’t know well.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But you did look like you enjoyed it a bit.”

I opened my mouth to respond but thought better of it. What could I even say? Yes, I enjoyed it far more than I wanted to, and that’s exactly why I want my hand back? He was already making me dizzy.

Gabriel’s lips quirked into a small, knowing smile. Slowly, he lowered himself to my knuckles, his lips brushing against my skin in the lightest of kisses. The sensation was so delicate, it was almost like a feather grazing my hand, but it sent a jolt through my entire body.

Butterflies erupted in my stomach, and heat spread through me, tightening in my chest and pooling low in my core. I hated the effect he had on me, and yet… I craved more.

When he lifted his head, his dark eyes met mine again, and the weight of his gaze felt like it was stripping away every wall I had ever built.

He left my hand resting on top of his, his grip loosened now, as if inviting me to pull away. But I didn’t want to.

The silence between us stretched, heavy with unspoken words and unbearable tension.

“What is wrong with me?” I thought, unable to look away from him. I should have sent him to hell with his offers. But I didn’t want to. A darker part of me—the part I barely acknowledged—wanted to ask where to sign, to surrender completely to him and whatever this was.

I needed to talk to my wolf. Aurelia had been quiet, too quiet, through all of this, and I needed her guidance.

Slowly, reluctantly, I withdrew my hand from his, the absence of his touch leaving me colder than I wanted to admit.

“So what would you like to do now, kitten?” Gabriel asked, his voice laced with amusement.

“If you don’t mind…” I began hesitantly.

“Yes?” he prompted, his expression unreadable.

“Could you please not call me that?”

“Not call you what?”

“Kitten,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

“What would you like me to call you?” he asked, leaning back slightly.

“My name is Atria,” I said, the heat in my cheeks returning.

“I can do that, Atria,” he said, his smirk softening into a smile. “And would you think carefully about what we discussed, Atria?”

“I certainly will,” I said, my stomach twisting at the sound of my name in his voice.

“How long will it take you, Atria?” he asked, his tone playful yet commanding.

“Maybe a couple of days?” I ventured. “I can call you.”

“No need,” he said smoothly. “Tell me when and where to find you, and we’ll discuss everything then.”

“Can I just come back when I’m ready?”

“I’d prefer a deadline,” he said with a chuckle, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Okay… Monday?” I suggested, offering him a bright smile. It gave me a week, a chance to breathe and think.

For a moment, his eyes flashed red, his wolf surfacing briefly before he reined him in.

“Do you really need that long, Atria?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm. “You seemed pretty eager to get a job earlier today.”

He wasn’t wrong. Desperation had driven me here, and I still had bills to pay and a rundown shack to keep. But I wasn’t ready to make such a rushed decision.

As I hesitated, his phone buzzed. “Excuse me for a moment,” Gabriel said, checking the screen.

I exhaled in relief, grateful for a brief reprieve from his burning gaze.

When he turned back to me, his smirk had returned. “It’s your lucky day, Atria. My barman has had an accident, and I need someone to fill in. Temporary, for now. Starting tomorrow, 4 PM sharp. Twelve-hour shift. Are you up for it?”

My heart jumped at the unexpected offer. “Yes,” I said quickly, grateful for a job I could accept without second-guessing myself.

“Good,” Gabriel said, his voice softer now. “Don’t be late, Atria.”