Gabriel
I THOUGHT I’d find it difficult to let work drop and simply be. I’d never done it before, and honestly, I wasn’t sure I’d know who I was if I wasn’t working at all hours.
Sophie makes it remarkably easy to enjoy the simple things in life.
Days pass, and we fall into a sort of lazy rhythm. We sleep in until one of us wakes, make love, then drift off to sleep again. We eat when we’re hungry. And when we’re horny, we fuck again, which is all the time and all over the house—my favorite spot being on the terrace where the sun gilds Sophie’s fine skin and her cries echo off the cliffs.
If we are feeling particularly motivated, we take the Ferrari or the Vespa
—which, despite Sophie’s initial panic, she now loves—into town and explore. And we argue. Over everything: where to eat, where to shop, how fast I should go on the Vespa. The Italians approve because they know it’s foreplay.
And, truly, there is nothing more alluring to me than Sophie’s eyes snapping with intelligence and building desire, her cheeks flushed, and her
breasts rising and falling with each verbal exchange. I swear, I hobble around half or full-on hard most of the time. Completely worth it.
At some point during each day, by some silent agreement, we do our own thing.
Though Sophie is social where I am reticent, we both need time alone to recharge. Even when we were touring and stuck on a bus together, we found ways to give each other space. This has its perks now since our reunions are that much sweeter, a few hours apart feeling more like weeks.
And so I’m alone now, waiting. Sophie has gone to town with Martina’s daughter Elisa. Since my phone has been confiscated, Sophie cannot text me, but I know she’ll be back soon. I don’t know how I know, I simply do.
Minutes later, I hear Elisa’s car in the drive.
It’s easy to track Sophie’s movements; the woman sounds like a marauding yeti whenever she invades a space. The front door opens and slams shut, shoes clatter onto the floor. She’s singing “Ruby Tuesday” off key and getting the lyrics wrong.
I bite back a laugh.
“Sunshine?” Her happy voice echoes. “Where you at?”
There is something entirely gratifying in knowing that, whenever Sophie comes home, the first thing she does is seek me out.
“Your grammar is appalling,” I call back, fighting a smile; there’s something anticipatory about withholding the full scale of my happiness. I let it build as she tromps up the steps.
“You don’t want me for my grammar,” she says near the top of the stairs.
“Your tits and arse definitely rate higher.”
“Feel free to show them some appreciation.” She stands in the doorway to our room, blue sundress rumpled, the rosy light of sunset slanting through the wide widows and illuminating the gold of her hair.
I’m struck speechless, my breath cutting short.
I am not a poetic man, but I want to be one now. I want to do justice to her beauty and the way she fills me with a strange mixture of utter peace and demanding need.
It’s always this way with Sophie. I look at her and want to simultaneously hold her close, cherishing her as though this is our last day alive, and tumble her onto the bed and fuck her until my cock chafes. Which is rather perverse, I suppose.
Doesn’t matter. Not when she’s looking at me as if she wants the same.
But then her sweet face pulls in a frown. “You’re working.”
Hard to deny when I’m holding a contract in my hand. “Just a bit of light reading.”
While Sophie was in town, I went for a run. The second I returned, I downed a protein shake and took a shower before lounging in the bed in my boxer briefs and reading over a contract. I don’t classify this as work per se since I’m only skimming.
Sophie appears to disagree.
Her hands go to her hips. “I should have searched your bags for contraband. You’re supposed to be relaxing.”
“Forced relaxation is an oxymoron.” I go back to reading said contract because I know it will stir her up. I fucking love Sophie stirred up. The results are always naked, sweaty, and in my favor. “Besides, this is a standard contract, nothing too involved or detailed.”
A sigh rings out. “What am I going to do with you?”
Fuck me. I have needs. “Come to bed and read something alongside me?”
She takes a step in my direction but halts. “You’re wearing glasses.”
There’s a strangled note of lust in her voice that kicks my own into overdrive. I don’t look up from the contract. “As one does when one needs reading glasses.”
“Smart ass. I’ve seen you read plenty of times, and you’ve never worn glasses.”
“I have contacts. But my eyes are irritable today.”
I suspect this has something to do with going down on Sophie in the pool this morning. It had been an experiment of sorts, figuring out just how long I could hold my breath. We laughed and applied ourselves to the task with much enthusiasm.
“You should always wear your glasses while reading,” she says, heading my way. “And I mean always.”
Did I know Sophie would react favorably to my reading glasses? No. But by the wide-eyed, slightly dreamy look in her eyes, I’m fairly confident she appreciates them. I’m man enough to admit I want to entice her.
She sits on the bed, and her warm thigh rests next to mine. My body goes on alert, but I don’t let it show. Not yet. That’s not how our game is played.
God help me if I no longer had Sophie to play with. It is one of the best parts of my day.
“You know,” she says, trailing a finger along my kneecap, “there’s this Tumblr. Hot guys with glasses…”
“Don’t even think about taking a picture.” I pretend to ignore the way her touch sends a ripple of lust straight to my cock. A lost cause. And I know she sees my growing interest. Her path heads upward.
“What about hot guys reading? They even made a book. You’re definitely cover material.”
I glare at her over my glasses. She’s giving me that saucy look, her head tilted just so, those ripe lips pursed. A band of hot greed tightens low around my gut and gives a swift tug. My cock rises hard and fast.
Sophie licks her lower lip, never breaking eye contact with me. “You’re not playing fair, sunshine.” Her voice goes husky. “I can’t take that silent
reprimand, combined with those glasses. You’ll have me combusting over here.”
“Hmmm.” I turn my gaze back to the contract, as if I’m not tight as a fucking drum. The reward will be much greater if I make her work for it. “I fail to see how this is my problem.”
“Oh, no?” The bed creaks as she crawls closer.
My cock throbs in time to my heartbeat and pushes uncomfortably against my pants.
“You’re the one affected,” I tell her. “Best you do something about it.”
Her low chuckle ripples over my skin. The silk of her hair tickles my chest as she eases under the papers I’m holding. Yes, love, step into my parlor.
“And this massive hard-on is over what…” She glances at the contract in my hand. “Licensing percentages?”
“I have a thing for details,” I murmur, my breath catching as she places a light kiss on the center of my chest.
“Well…” She kisses me again. “Don’t let me keep you.”
I pretend to read while she slowly, thoroughly kisses her way across my chest. Each lingering press of her lips upon my skin undoes me a little more. The tenderness mixed with heat, as though she’s both worshiping and reveling in me, makes my heart clench and my cock throb.
Her tongue flicks over my nipple, and my hand shakes, my breath stuttering.
“God, you’re so hot this way,” she says. Her teeth catch the tip of my nipple and tugs.
I grunt, liquid heat licking up my thighs. The contract falls to the bed, my head hits the wall with a dull thud.
Farther down she goes, following the valley between my abs. “So. Fucking. Sexy.” Each word punctuated with a kiss. “I want you to fuck me while wearing those glasses, Gabriel.”
This woman will kill me.
I swallow hard, search for my voice. “If you’re a good girl, perhaps I shall.”
I don’t miss the way her peachy arse clenches. Something primitive and base flows through me. My voice roughens.
“Take my cock out. You’re going to suck it.”
A little sound rises in her throat, and I know I’m getting to her, which gets to me. My skin is so hot, I can barely breathe.
Sophie’s hands trace the edge of my boxer briefs, a sly tease. My cock pushes rudely against the fabric, and she lifts the elastic away from my waist. The throbbing tip catches on the band of my pants. She frees me, and I’m so hard, my prick slaps against my abdomen.
“Love that sound,” she whispers.
Good. It’s only for you. “Take me in hand.”
Her warm fingers wrap around me and squeeze. My eyes nearly roll back in my head. I swallow a groan, my hips lifting up to meet her.
“Softer,” I pant.
“Softer?” She kisses my chest again as her grip eases. I nearly weep it’s so good. “Make me beg for it.”
Her lashes flutter, a breath leaving her parted lips. The tips of her fingers glide down my length, teasing.
I struggle to hold still, but she gently cups my balls and gives them a little tug. A groan rumbles in my throat. It turns to an outright whimper as she bends down and mouths the head of my cock.
Not enough. “Sophie…”
“Mmmm?” The sound vibrates against my skin, and a throb of pained pleasure pushes through me .
I nudge upward, but she evades. A teasing lick flickers on my tip. “Fuck… Suck it, Darling. Suck it well.”
Brown eyes smile up at me, and she does, for one glorious pull, sucking me deep and tight. I arch off the bed, groaning. But she stops there and plays with me again, her pouty lips barely wrapped around my flesh.
Heat flushes my skin, and I give her what she wants. “Please. Please…”
And she does please me, lavishing me with attention, drawing out my pleasure as if her pleasure is connected to seeing mine. I lose myself in her, until my throat tightens with emotion and my balls clench with impending release.
I don’t want to spend in her mouth. Not this time. I pull her up, trying to be gentle, but my hands shake. She makes a noise of protest that I swallow down with a kiss as I tumble her onto her back, fumbling to hike up her skirt.
“I wasn’t finished,” she pants between kisses.
My hand slides beneath her little pink panties. Sweet slickness greets my fingers.
“I need to be in here.” I pet her soft, swollen sex before plunging in deep. And she cries out—a lovely plea that makes me greedy to hear more of them.
I kiss her mouth as my fingers work her within the tight fit of her panties. She moves with me, her hips thrusting and grinding on my hands. Our breath mingles, growing disjointed.
No more waiting. I wrench her knickers off, roll between her thighs spread wide for me. The first push into her is agony and heaven, because nothing will ever feel as good as fitting myself inside Sophie. We’re both frantic now, panting. I know she expects me to plough her hard and fast.
I slow down, cup her cheeks and softly kiss her as I slowly work her slick clasp.
“Gabriel,” she whimpers into my mouth. “More.”
I know she means faster. I plunge as deep as I can and hold it until she quivers before easing back out.
“I’ll give you everything,” I whisper.
She eats at my mouth, her body wriggling beneath me as she tries to change the tempo. But I have her where I want her. I move in her, let her feel each inch. She huffs out a half-laugh, half-disgruntled complaint.
“Sophie.” My voice is clear and firm, demanding her attention.
Her eyes meet mine, and I let her see everything—what she is to me, what she does to me.
Her breath hitches, her eyes wide and shining. I feel her body yield, becoming softer.
“Gabriel.” Her trembling fingers touch my cheek.
And suddenly I’m terrified. Because she does see me, every dark corner and imperfect edge. It sparks something between us. I can’t look away or stop myself from rocking into her, saying with my body what I’m too afraid to utter.
Take me, have me, love me.
But I don’t need to say those things, because I know in that instant that she already does. On rumpled, linen sheets, she claims me, body and soul, and then offers herself right back. In that moment, I am no longer Scottie or Gabriel, I am something more. I am home. Finally. At last. Forever.
 |
Sophie
ALL GOOD THINGS must come to an end. I knew my time with Gabriel to myself had a limit; he’s too much of a workaholic to stay on vacation for very long. But though we had two glorious weeks to ourselves, it doesn’t feel like enough. Still, I cannot deny that it’s done him well.
Days of sleeping until midday, spending lazy hours in bed making love, or lounging by the pool soaking up the sun, have given him a healthy glow and an easy smile in his eyes.
Days of drinking rich red wine and sopping up olive oil with crusty bread, devouring ripe tomatoes and creamy cheese, have filled out the hollows in his cheeks.
I thought Gabriel was gorgeous when I met him. Now I realize I hadn’t gotten the full story. He’s robust, deeply tanned, and so attractive in his tailored linen suit that I get a little lightheaded whenever I look at him.
He flashes me a quick, happy grin as he navigates the Ferrari over the switchbacks along the Italian coast, and I’m thankful I’m sitting.
“I can almost hear you thinking,” he says, downshifting with authority.
Good Lord, the way his thighs strain against his pants… I cross my legs. “All dirty thoughts, I promise you.”
His grin grows but he keeps his eyes on the road. “Behave yourself, chatty girl. I need to concentrate.”
“It’s like I’ve fallen into the cover of Suit and Car Porn.”
A low chuckle rumbles in his chest. “There’s no such magazine, Darling.”
“There should be.”
Laughing, he shifts again and accelerates. I’m thrust against the seat as the car leaps forward. Squealing, I throw my hands up and let the wind catch my hair as we race down the coast.
We arrive at our hotel in Naples all too soon. Kill John is doing a show tonight, and then we’re headed up to Milan, and finally Bern in Switzerland.
Gabriel takes my hand as we walk into the lobby. I wouldn’t have expected it, but he loves holding hands. Whenever we’re in close proximity, he finds a way to thread his fingers with mine, his thumb caressing my knuckles or the back of my hand as if touching me soothes him.
One evening during our vacation, I sat with him on the terrace, me drinking wine and him playing with my hand, looking down at it as if he wasn’t sure how he’d arrived at the place were he could freely touch me.
I’d smiled at him then, and he’d tugged me onto his lap. He put his hands to better use after that. And I’d licked wine from his skin until he shivered and growled and demanded dirty things of me in that bossy, manly way of his.
A wistful sigh escapes me, and Gabriel gives me a squeeze. “What’s that all about, chatty girl?”
“I don’t want to say.”
“Which only makes me want to know more. Talk to me, Darling.”
We reach the elevators, and he hits the up button. I shake my head, but give in.
“I’m just being ridiculous and greedy. I already miss it being just the two of us.”
His brows draw together, and he takes a step closer, wrapping me up in his scent and the strength of his arms. Warm fingers slide to my nape.
“Where we are is simply a matter of geography.” Soft lips brush my cheek, and his voice rumbles in my ear. “Remember, chatty girl? I’ll never truly be apart from you because you’re always in here.” He takes my hand and puts it against his temple as he did that night backstage.
I smile and rest my cheek against his chest where his heart beats strong and sure. “And in here.”
“Precisely.”
I love him. I love him so much it doesn’t feel real. I love him so much it terrifies me a little. I’ve never been in love before. I don’t have any experience with processing the emotion. How can it make a person so happy and yet so afraid? I can’t lose him. I can’t. My heart won’t survive.
But he’s here, holding me as if he’ll stay right here, giving me comfort for as long as I need it.
The elevator dings, and I step back. That’s when I see him. He’s looking a little worse for the wear, with a sunburn on his face, but I’d recognize him anywhere.
The bottom falls out of my stomach, and I swallow hard, feeling dangerously close to throwing up.
He’s looking right at me from his spot across the lobby. The calculating glint in his eyes tells me he knows exactly who Gabriel is, and he’s figuring out how to use the knowledge that we’re obviously together.
A cold sweat breaks out along my skin as Gabriel puts his hand on the small of my back and guides me into the elevator. The last thing I see before the doors close is Martin’s smug grin and ugly wink, as if to say, “I’ll be in touch soon.”
