Falling For My Ex's Dad (Clarissa and Gabriel) novel Chapter 212

Gabriel’s POV

I clenched my fists to stop myself from doing something reckless.

“No, you can’t,” I barked. “Adrian came home drunk out of his damn mind. And you—”

My eyes narrowed. “Have you been drinking?”

She tossed her hair back, casual and defiant. “Maybe.”

That answer should’ve fueled the fury already building in my chest and pushed me closer to losing it.

Not sparked a twisted urge to taste the alcohol on her lips.

“You’ve got some nerve,” I muttered, pushing back the dark thoughts.

She folded her arms. “You don’t have any right to be jealous. Adrian’s an adult. So am I. Besides, he’s my—”

“Ex-boyfriend,” I corrected through gritted teeth. “And you told me you didn’t want him. So what the hell is going on now?”

She tilted her head, slowly, deliberately. Her voice dropped to a soft, almost teasing lilt. “Maybe my feelings have changed.”

A violent surge of jealousy tore through me—hot, reckless, blinding.

It twisted into something darker. Rougher. A raw, aching desire that burned beneath my skin.

She was pushing me to the edge, tempting the worst in me. Daring me to break.

She turned to leave, her tone airy, almost playful. “Good night, Mr. Storm.”

That voice—sweet, seductive, drawing me in.

My jaw clenched.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me,” I growled.

Instead of stopping, she threw a glance over her shoulder—calm, careless—and offered a soft, infuriatingly beautiful smile.

Then she kept walking, hips swaying, heels clicking softly against the stairs like she hadn’t just provoked me.

She was tempting fate. And I was past ready to watch her burn.

I moved.

One step.

Then another.

And then I closed the distance in long, fast strides.

Just as she reached the landing, I caught her hand, spun her back, and pinned her to the wall. Her spine hit with a soft thud, breath hitching—trapped between me and the heat burning in my chest.

She looked up at me, eyes lit with defiance.

“Gabriel,” she warned, her fists pushing against my chest.

But they were soft. Weak. Shaking.

“What are you doing—”

She shoved harder, but I didn’t move. I wasn’t backing off. Not this time. I was done pretending I didn’t care—done letting her walk away like none of it mattered.

She sagged slightly against the wall, and I closed in, planting a hand beside her head, my body locking her in.

I reached for her wrist—slowly—and lifted her arm above her head until it hit the wall.

My fingers curled around hers, holding her there, watching her as I trapped her completely.

Locked eyes with her.

Mine.

In that moment, she realized she wasn’t getting away—and she stopped fighting. Not out of fear, but something else entirely. Something darker. Something reckless.

God, she was beautiful like this—angry and breathless, lips parted, pulling me in like a flame I couldn’t resist.

She was so close I could feel the heat radiating off her skin, could breathe in that faint trace of perfume she always wore.

Her chest rose and fell with every breath, breasts straining against that damn plunging neckline.

That did it.

I let go of her wrist, grabbed her face, and slammed my mouth onto hers.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a collision—fierce, consuming. A clash of everything we hadn’t said, hadn’t forgiven.

She bit my lip in defiance, trying to fight back—but I took the pain like a challenge, and it only fed the hunger pounding through me.

I needed to claim her.

Needed to burn this war between us into something we couldn’t walk away from.

My hand buried in her hair, gripping tight, tilting her head back as I devoured her mouth.

Her lips were soft, addictive. I deepened the kiss, tongue thrusting past her lips, claiming, tasting, punishing.

And then—she kissed me back.

Matching me beat for beat, fire for fire.

Her nails scraped down my arms. She moaned into my mouth, and it only made me crave her more.

Now I was pouring every bit of that pent-up passion into her mouth—weeks of torture, cold showers, morning hard-ons, dreams of her name on my lips.

I broke the kiss just long enough to drag my lips down her throat, planting wet kisses along the curve of her neck.

She gasped and arched into me, her hands fisting my shirt, pulling me closer. When I looked up, her lip was between her teeth.

It broke something inside me.

I kissed her again—brief but hard—then slid my hands down her back, cupping the firm curve of her ass and grinding her against the aching bulge in my pants.

“This is what you do to me,” I groaned against her skin. “I’ve been pining for you like a goddamn teenager.”

And just like that—teenager—the word hit me sideways.

All I could picture was Adrian walking in... catching us like this.