Gemma: A Mafia Forbidden Romance

I imagine it’s her. On her knees on the bed next to me. I can see her devilish smile as her smooth fingers grip my cock. She’s dragging her bottom lip between her teeth, nipping it, a thing she does when she’s turned on. I can practically see her, feel her there gripping me, pumping quickly.

She’ll whisper my name, the sound so fucking sexy it threatens my control. I see her bending down, running her tongue over the length of my shaft. The thought alone elicits a moan. She’ll suck on the tip of my cock, making a popping sound when she releases it, then immediately looking at me with a smile. She’s knows how fucking sexy she is, her confidence is at it’s highest when she’s teasing me. She knows that every little thing she does is perfect.

She’s fucking perfect.

I continue stroking my length, imagining her there with me until she pushes me over the edge. Until I’m coming all over my hand and sheets. I’m panting when I’m done, breathless with the ghost of her haunting me.

Tomorrow?

She asks through the buzz of my cell phone and the box that appears on my screen. There’s a huge smile that spreads across my face at the thought of seeing her again.

I’d see her anywhere. Hell, I’d walk through both of her brothers if it meant seeing her tomorrow. I’d burn in hell if it meant I could have one more night with Gemma DelGado.

Tomorrow.

I text back, agreeing. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll see her again, hell, I’ll tell her everything.

Tomorrow.

We meet in the middle again. Halfway between Boston and Providence in a small Massachusetts town.

I could barely sleep last night, thinking about seeing her again. When I woke, I showered and stood in front of my closet like a teenage girl trying to pick something to wear. There’s something about Gemma that turns me into a different person.

It’s good, I think. I try harder for her. I work harder for her. She makes me better. She doesn’t try to fix me, even though I’m still broken. Not sure if that’s something that will ever change, but she makes me want to work for it. She makes me want to live longer, to be a good man.

I ended up wearing a pair of fitted, low-rise jeans with a white crew neck and a gray bomber jacket. I find myself smoothing down my jacket as I wait, adjusting myself. I want to be perfect for her, I don’t think I’ve ever cared about my appearance quite as much.

She finally arrives at the restaurant, the Italian bistro we first had dinner at. She steps out of the red Lexus wearing a tight black mini skirt with a black top tucked into it and a large loose electric purple cardigan that’s longer than the mini skirt itself. Her feet are clad in a strappy pair of black heels and she has oversized sunglasses covering her eyes. She’s the perfect mix of sexy and cool.

She steps from the Lexus and marches over to the black Escalade that followed her into the parking lot. I wish I could hear what she was saying, because she speaks fiercely to the enforcer in the driver's seat. When she struts away, this time toward me, he doesn’t follow.

Gone was the intimidated little daddy’s girl who feared her father and brothers. The woman in front of me is a fucking queen. She walks with dignity and fearlessness. This is the woman I know behind the mask she shows her family. The one that shared a bed with me, that told me all her secrets in a hotel bathtub.

This is the woman I love.

I tap the cigarette I’m smoking out against the brick wall. “Hi,” I say meekly, her stance and power is daunting. I’m not afraid of her though, I’m in awe of the woman in front of me. She’s a goddess in high heels, a fucking queen in a mini skirt.

Women will envy her and men will bow down to her. She is unlike anyone else in this world.

She flips a strand of her long dark hair over her shoulder. “Hi.” she smiles back, giving me a flash of her soft side.

“So.” I curve half my face into a one sided smirk. “Should we get a room or a table first?” I ask with a chuckle.

Her hazel eyes flick to mine, a serious look on her face. “A room. Definitely.”

The butt of my cigarette falls from my fingertips, hitting the cement below us. “Don’t tempt me, Princess.” I warn. My cock has been aching for her for nine long months. Even the tease of having her again has my palms sweaty and my heart racing.

She stalks closer to me, her manicured hand reaches for my face, cupping against my cheek. I close my eyes and relish in the warmth of her fingers against my skin. God, how I missed her touch.

“I’m not joking, Liam.” She peers up at me, even with her heels on, she’s still a good head shorter than me. “I want you.”

My eyes only open long enough for me to hear my name on her lips before they flutter closed again. The sound of her voice is fucking heaven to me. “Gemma,” I peer down at her. “This better not be a goodbye fuck. If I take you upstairs right now, I’m claiming you. If you let me sink my teeth in you here and now, I’ll never let you leave me again, you get that right? You’re fucking mine, Princess. So if that’s not what you want, you need to leave now.” It pains me to tell her this, to tell her to leave me, but she needs that fucking out. Because if she doesn’t take it, I’m keeping her.

She leans up, ghosting my mouth with hers. “Fuck me, Liam,” she whispers, and that’s enough for me. I don’t need to be told again.

I grab her hand, leading her through the restaurant and back to the hotel. I tap the counter, slapping two one-hundred dollar bills down. “Room, now.” I tell the attendant. One look at my eyes tells her I’m not fucking around. She fumbles around as she types on the computer keyboard, sliding a fresh keycard through the machine. I drum my fingers against the marble, no doubt making her more anxious.

Gemma chuckles next to me. “You’re scaring her,” she whispers, standing on her toes to reach my ear. Her lips gently tickle the lobe of my ear and I swear about I’m to lose my control and fuck her in the lobby if she keeps that up.