Sophie
GABRIEL HAS something to pick up for our trip, and he’s gone when I wake. He’s left me a note that says I should be ready to go by nine. Mother hen that he is, he also set my phone alarm for seven, something I bitch about for a good ten minutes as I bumble my way into a hot shower.
As it nears eight, room service arrives with cappuccino and a little bowl of extra creamy, ridiculously thick yogurt, topped with roasted hazelnuts and drizzled in golden honey. It’s not something I’d have thought to try, but I scrape up every little bit clinging to the glass bowl.
Determination steels my spine. I’m supposed to be taking care of Gabriel, helping him relax, and here he is pampering me, arranging every step of my morning without even being present. I cannot let myself forget that I’m contending with a professional manager of people’s lives. I need to step up my game.
I’m not remotely surprised when a bellhop arrives at eight forty-five to take my bags and escort me down to the lobby. Mr. Scott, he tells me, is waiting.
Wry amusement puts a bounce in my step as I walk through the lobby. Were I someone into high fashion, my heels would be clicking on the marble. But I’m in white flip-flops and a red, cotton eyelet sundress. Gabriel has warned that it will take about four hours to get to Positano, and I intend on being comfortable.
The bellhop leads me out to the front drive, and my steps slow as I catch sight of Gabriel waiting for me.
“Oh, fuck me,” I blurt out.
At my side, the bellhop makes a gurgled sound of shock. I’m too busy staring at my man to care.
Dressed in a crisp white polo shirt, which shows off the deep gold of his skin and stretches around the bulge of his biceps, and slouchy, gray slacks that highlight the narrowness of his hips and drape over his thick thighs, he leans against a red Ferrari, his hands tucked into his pockets.
Move over Jake Ryan.
When Gabriel smiles—a full one, complete with that cute dimple on his left cheek, the corners of his eyes crinkling in joy—I’m tempted to look around before mouthing, “Who me?”
But I don’t do that. I run to him like a loon. He catches me with a soft oof and wraps me up in his arms as I kiss his cheeks, the corner of his eye, the edge of his jaw. Chuckling, he captures my mouth and gives me a proper kiss.
He tastes faintly of tea. His body is warm and solid, and he is mine.
I give his lip one last nibble before pulling back. “Sexy beast, you’re going to melt me on the spot one day, you know.”
He gives the tip of my nose a quick kiss. “If you’re taking requests, I prefer that you melt on my mouth.”
“Sweet talker.” I glance at the car, truly taking it in now that I’ve had my Gabriel fix. “Holy shit, that’s a Ferrari 488GTB Spider.”
He blinks, swaying a little. “You’ve just given me a hard-on.”
He’s not lying; I can feel it rise against my belly. I grin, pressing into him just a little.
“Will you be able to drive? Or should we take care of it now?”
His lips purse, but there’s a glint in his eye that promises retribution. With a subtle shift of his hips, he prods my belly with that hard dick, then moves me away from him.
“Get in the car, chatty girl, before I call this trip off and take you to bed instead.”
“As good as that sounds, the car is calling my name.” And Gabriel needs this vacation. I have plans for him. Most of them dirty, all of them fun.
Gabriel opens the door for me. “Thrown over for a car, lovely.” I grin. “Not just any car.”
And oh what a car it is. The bucket seats are dark grey leather, buttery soft. They’re designed to hold your ass in place as the car zooms down the road, but I’m not complaining. I touch the gray and red dash as Gabriel closes my door.
He tips the bellhop after the luggage is placed in the front trunk, and a moment later, he’s sliding into his seat. With a push of a button, the car purrs to life.
“Is this what you were picking up?” I ask, stroking the seat leather.
“Yes.” For a second, his expression is so pleased he looks almost boyish, but it soon morphs into the cool loftiness he uses when giving a lecture. “If we’re going to drive along the Almalfi coast, we’re going to do it in style.”
So very Gabriel.
“How did you get your hands on one of these babies? Aren’t they, like, impossible to buy?”
“Not if you’re on a list,” he says as he pulls into traffic.
Good Lord, there is something sexy about a man who knows how to handle a car. If Ferrari execs saw Gabriel driving this, I’m certain they’d try to hire him as a spokesmodel.
“Of course you’re on a list. Why am I not surprised?”
He glances my way. “How do you know about this car, anyway? From what I’ve heard, you don’t even know how to drive.”
“Hey, a lot of New Yorkers don’t.”
“This sad state of affairs must be rectified as soon as I buy a proper car to teach you in. Now, answer the question.”
“I read your car magazines when I got bored one day.” I turn a little in my seat to face him. “You realize they’re the male equivalent of Vogue.”
He gives me a sly grin. “But far sexier.”
The drive goes quickly, in part because the car is speedy and luxurious, in part because the scenery is so blindingly beautiful, but mostly because I’m with Gabriel.
We never run out of things to talk about, whether it be music or movies or speculating on history as we drive by through the area where they’ve excavated parts of Pompeii and Herculaneum—both sites he promises to take me on day trips to explore. And I realize that no one else sees him this way, as the man who has tons of tidbits of knowledge stored up, the man who smiles frequently and with ease, and who teases me with jokes as lame as my own.
It’s afternoon when we arrive in Positano, a town so picturesque it brings a lump to my throat. Colorful stucco buildings that look almost Moorish in architecture cling to the steep green mountains that plunge toward the turquoise sea. The air is fresh, tinged with hints of sweet lemon and salty ocean.
Gabriel’s house is a little way out, nestled between the crags of two mountain outcrops and guarded by a tall gate. You can’t tell much about it
from the drive, but inside it’s all crisp white stucco walls, airy spaces that face the blue sea, with endless French doors open to the breeze.
A small, elderly lady greets us. Gabriel kisses her cheeks and talks to her in Italian. I’ve never had a fetish for foreign languages until I heard him speak in one. He introduces her to me. Martina, who is both cook and housekeeper, doesn’t speak English, but she doesn’t need to. Her welcoming smile says enough. She leaves us, bustling off toward the back of the house.
“How many languages do you know?” I ask him. I’ve heard him speak French and Spanish on the tour.
“English, of course. Italian, French, Spanish, a little German, and a bit of Portuguese. A few phrases in Japanese.”
“You’re killing me.”
“Languages always came naturally to me.” A smug smile unfurls. “Your expression, Darling… You like that?”
“I’m going to demand that you speak to me in Italian in bed.”
His expression goes thoughtful and he leans down and whispers in my ear, his voice hot cream. “Sei tutto per me. Baciami.”
I swear my knees go weak. “Jesus, give a little warning. What did you say?”
His smile grows secretive. “I said ‘kiss me’.”
It sounded like more than that, but I lift to my toes and place a soft, lingering kiss on his lips. He kisses me back, keeping it light and gentle.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get you fed before you become hangry.” “You know me so well.”
Hand to the small of my back, he guides me out to the terrace. It’s enormous, surrounding the property and carved out of the hill. It’s part garden with lemon trees and rustling palms, part slate-lined terrace with an infinity pool hovering along one cliffside, and a dining area shaded by a
trellis covered in bougainvillea. Sunlight filtering through the fuchsia blooms tints the air pink.
Gabriel watches me take it all in, then comes to stand by my side, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“You own a slice of paradise,” I tell him, staring out at the sea.
His shoulder brushes against mine. “Paradise is a state of mind, not a location.”
“Fair enough. You own the perfect place to evoke paradise.”
Behind us, Martina sets the table. She waves off my offer to help, and we’re soon sipping icy limoncello.
“This tastes like summer in a glass,” I tell Gabriel.
He lounges in his chair, stretching his long legs out before him. “Wait until you taste Martina’s food.”
When she plunks down two bowls of pasta, I can see why. Clams and mussels tangle with linguine, all glossy with olive oil and fragrant with little bits of garlic, parsley, and lemon zest. It’s the best thing I’ve eaten in my life, and I sop up the juices with crusty white bread.
For a while, we are silent, simply enjoying the food and the sea breeze that cools our skin. When we’re done eating, Martina comes and takes the plates away, and Gabriel says something to her again.
It’s fairly ridiculous how much I swoon when he speaks; he’s probably saying something banal like, hey, thanks for the meal. But it sounds like pure sex coming from his mouth.
I sit back with a sigh. He seems equally content, his hands folded over his flat belly, his expression calm as he stares at the sea.
“I don’t understand it,” I find myself saying. He looks my way. “Don’t understand what?”
“This.” I wave my hand around. “You have this stunning house that you rarely visit, and other houses that are presumably equally gorgeous, and yet none of the guys has been to any of them. Why bother?”
A frown wrinkles the space between his brows. “Killian’s dad once told me the best thing a man can invest in is property. It is tangible, true, eternal. I agree.”
“I get that, but why have these properties if you’re never going to enjoy them, never bring your friends here?” I lean forward. “Why don’t you let them in, Gabriel? They love you, and you keep them at arm’s length.”
A flush tints his cheeks, and he lurches up from his chair to pace. “I’m not a social man, Sophie. You know that about me.”
I watch him walk. “I’m not talking about hosting wild parties. I’m asking about you systematically building a wall between you and the people who mean the most.” He glares at me over his shoulder, and I soften my tone. “And I think you know that.”
Our gazes clash, but I don’t blink. He curses under his breath and squeezes the back of his neck.
“Gabriel, you are a charming, witty, kind man—don’t roll your eyes at me, you are.” I stand and walk over to him. Not too close, because he’s cagey right now. “You are kind. The guys, Brenna—they’re your family, and you treat them so well, care for them better than anyone I’ve ever met. Why won’t you let them care for you too?”
A breath bursts from him, and he whirls to face me. “I don’t know how,” he snaps.
“What do you mean?”
“Sodding…” He rakes a hand through his hair and grips it hard. “My mum, my dad…They…They fucking left me, yeah? The two people who were supposed to love me the most. Left. And I know the guys and Brenna love me. But if I let them in then…”
He paces away before coming back, his eyes wide and pained. “If they’re fully in then I’m fully in. It will hurt more, Sophie. Do you understand? It will hurt more if…”
He looks off, scowling so hard his lips pinch.
“Gabriel, they won’t leave—”
“I can barely handle letting you in. Opening up is so foreign to me; I don’t know what the bloody hell I’m doing. But I’m trying for you because you’re…” He struggles for the words, looking panicked.
I wrap my arms around him and hug him close. I expect resistance, but he yields, burrowing his nose in my hair and breathing deep, hugging me as if I might disappear.
“It’s all right.” I stroke his tense neck. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed.”
“No, you should. Protecting myself is hurting them. I see it. But I don’t know how to change.”
My fingertips trace the narrow groove of his spine down his strong back. “Just do what you did with me.”
The shift of tension in his body is subtle but significant. I can almost feel him smiling, and I definitely feel the heat building between us.
His voice grows deeper, intent. “I don’t think they’d appreciate that approach, Darling.”
A hand slides down to cup my butt.
I smile. “Probably best you keep this particular treatment just for me.” “Only ever for you,” he promises, his other hand moving down. He
grasps my ass, kneading it with a growl of approval.
I jump into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist. “Take me to bed, sunshine.”
He begins walking, but doesn’t go into the house; he lays me down on the double-wide lounger beneath the shade of the bougainvillea before prowling over me, his lips finding my neck. One good tug at the bodice of my sundress, and my breast pops free.
“Gabriel—” I groan as he sucks my nipple into his hot, wet mouth. “Not here.”
“Yes, here,” he says around the stiff tip, flicking it with his tongue.
I squirm, but my fingers find their way into his hair, holding him tight as he continues to lick and suck me. Another tug at my top and my other breast is exposed.
I glance at the open doorway that leads to the kitchen. “I won’t be able to look Martina in the eye if she catches us out here.”
He kisses his way over to my neglected breast, and catches the stiffened nipple with his teeth, pulling just enough that I lose my mind a little. I arch up, silently begging for more.
A dark chuckle rumbles in his chest. Peppering my nipple with suckling kisses, he slides his hand under my dress and cups between my legs, where I am damp and achy. “I told her to take the rest of day off.”
I rock into his touch with a moan, craning my head down to kiss his temple. “Fuck… I say we give her the week off.”
He hums in his throat, slips his fingers beneath my panties. “Good plan.”
We don’t talk for a long time after that.
 |
“WHERE ARE YOU GOING? I’m not done with you yet.” His voice is a love song, soft and tender, deep with possessiveness and the promise of luscious sin. It dances over me like a caress, and I shiver in its wake.
“I want to touch you,” I complain, though it’s not really a complaint. How can it be when he’s reduced me to this quivering, boneless mass of warm lethargy?
His dark chuckle is knowing. “Later. It’s my turn now.”
Big, hot hands slide up my legs, cup my ass. I close my eyes and hug the rumpled bed covers as those talented hands delve between my thighs and spread them wide.
Exposed. Swollen and wet. He’s taken me twice now. Once on the terrace, and then on the bed, where he was slower, more thorough, taking
his time, making me beg for it. And beg, I did, pleading and panting, losing my ever-loving mind.
He rewarded me for it, making me come until I wept, stroking my skin, telling me I was his good girl in that low, stern voice I’ll forevermore equate with sex and pleasure.
He uses it now, a weapon in its own right. “So pretty,” he says, from his spot between my thighs. “I knew you’d be so pretty.”
The need to please him rises up within me. I tilt my hips, lifting my ass higher, showing him more of me. He hums in approval, his hands caressing my lower back, behind my knee. His breath tickles my inner thigh, and then he blows on my clit.
I groan, fighting the urge to push down and catch his mouth.
He knows. The dirty bastard knows what he’s doing to me. I feel the smile on his lips as he presses a kiss to my butt. And, really, I should make him pay for that, but his hand slides up my thigh, and my breath stalls as the tip of his finger slowly circles my opening.
“Mmm,” he says, swirling his fingers around, gently teasing. “So pretty.”
He dips his finger into me, barely enough to feel, then slides back out, gathering my wetness only to sink back in, deeper this time.
A soft kiss to the sensitive swell of my clit makes me jolt. Gently, so gently. Barely there at all, and yet it holds all of my attention. The lazy flick of his tongue, a lingering suckle, little kisses, and all the while slowly fucking me with his finger.
I close my eyes, concentrate on his touch and the way he keeps teasing, collecting the slick wet pooling at my opening, then plunging deep.
My eyes snap open, a gurgle of shock leaving my lips. He’s pushing his come back into me.
It’s so fucking dirty, so illicit, that heat and lust take my breath. A shuddering moan leaves me. I undulate against his touch, begging. Slower.
Deeper. Harder. Faster. I don’t care, as long as there is more.
A soft huff of breath against my skin, almost a laugh but lower, as if he too needs more. Slow kisses map their way up my back, as he presses me into the bed with the heat of his body. He doesn’t give me all his weight, just enough to make me feel him.
He kisses my neck, his breath coming faster as he sinks another finger in. He goes so deep this time, straining against me, it almost hurts. But it’s not enough.
“Gabriel,” I choke out, spreading my thighs wider.
“Shhh,” he whispers, kissing my cheek, sliding his hips between my thighs. His cock lays heavy and hot on my ass. His fingers work me, a slow plunge, a teasing drag.
“Now,” I rasp. “Now.”
“Darling,” he whispers. My name, an endearment. They’re one and the same now.
I lay beneath him panting and shaking, so hot I can barely breathe. But he’s right there with me, his breath a rasp, tremors running through him and into me. He lifts his hips, and his cock sinks into me, the fit tighter now because he hasn’t removed his fingers.
The stretch burns, and I’m coming before the first thrust. It washes over me in a slow, rolling wave. I cry out, sobbing.
Gabriel pulls his fingers out and grasps my hands in his. “Sophie,” he says as he begins to thrust, slow yet intense, as if he never wants to stop.
“Don’t,” I say, unable to form proper thoughts. “Don’t ever stop.”
He shudders and groans, his lips against my damp cheek. His answer is one word. “Mine.”
And it is everything.
|
Gabriel
“LOOK, this isn’t rocket science. Simply lift your leg and straddle it—” “I’d rather attempt rocket science.”
“You’re kicking up too big a fuss over this.” “It’s a death trap on two wheels. Tiny wheels.”
“It’s a Vespa, Darling. We’re going to tour the town on it. Very Roman Holiday.”
“We aren’t in Rome.”
“Stop nitpicking. Come along, get into the spirit. You love that movie.” “True. You’d make a great Gregory Peck, but sadly I’m no Audrey
Hepburn.”
“You’re definitely more a Marilyn.”
“I’m not seeing that as a compliment, mister.”
“Believe me, it is. Now onto the scooter with you, chatty girl. I want to feel those fantastic tits pressed against my back.”
“I’m beginning to think you have a preoccupation with my boobs.”
“I have a preoccupation with your everything. Stop stalling. The day is wasting, love.”
“You’re not going to let this drop, are you?” “We’re supposed to be relaxing—“
“Careening down mountain roads on this toy is not relaxing.”
“It will be fun, and that is relaxing to me. You want me to relax, don’t you?”
“Gah. Don’t give me that sad puppy look.” “I wasn’t aware I was giving you any look.”
“Dial it back, sunshine. You’re burning my retinas.” “I will if you get on the scooter.”
“Fine. Just don’t go driving off a cliff and getting us killed.”
“I plan on dying when I’m very old and fucking you while hopped up on Viagra.”
“You really do say the sweetest things.”
“Sono pazzo di te.”
“Okay, what did that mean? It sounded sexy as hell.” “I’ll tell you if we survive the ride to town.” “Gabriel Scott—ahheee!”
|
“NOW, listen up, I rode on that speed demon from hell here—“ “It’s a scooter. Its speed is limited.”
“It has a top seed of sixty miles per hour. I checked. That’s fast.” “That’s hardly what I’d call fast.”
“Coming from someone who drives Ferraris, I guess you would think that.”
“Precisely.”
“Bully for you. You won that argument, but you’re not winning another.
We’re eating here.”
“Darling, this place is a hole in the wall. There are literally holes in the wall.”
“Maybe they’re bullet holes from the war.” “Which one?”
“Ha. But you see my point.” “That it’s run down?”
“That it’s been here long enough to have a history. Look, it’s filled with old Italians eating.”
“I hadn’t noticed. I was too distracted by the rat skittering by.” “That wasn’t a rat. It was a cat.”
“A rat as big as a cat.”
“Stop being such a snob. Jesus, didn’t you grow up in poverty?” “Which means I know enough to stay away from dives.”
“Argh. Look, you want great food, you go where the grandmas cook.
See? There’s a little nonna in that kitchen.” “Well, I suppose that’s—“
“We’re eating here.”
“Did you just tweak my nipple?” “Is that rhetorical?”
“Beware, chatty girl. I can retaliate.”
“Promise? Ooh, I like that smolder, it’s very Flynn Ryder.” “You’re comparing me to cartoon characters now?”
“Animated characters. Huge difference. And it’s cute that you know who he is. Come on, sunshine.”
“Wait—”
|
“SEE? Didn’t I tell you? Delicious food.” “Yes, you’re very smart. Shut up.”
“Another Princess Bride quote. You, Gabriel Scott, are my perfect man.”
“You say the sweetest things, chatty girl.”
“Now, tell me what you said in Italian on the death scooter.” “Sono pazzo di te. I am crazy about you.”
“Gabriel…”
“Eat your food, Darling.”
