Gabriel's Rapture (Gabriel's Inferno 2)

“Do you like it?” He searched her face eagerly, hoping that she would be pleased.

“I love it. When you said you were renting a villa, I didn’t think it would be so opulent.”

“Wait till you see inside. They have a fireplace and a hot tub on the upstairs balcony.”

“I didn’t bring a bathing suit.”

“Who said anything about needing a bathing suit?” He moved his eyebrows suggestively, and Julia laughed.

A black Mercedes sat in the driveway so they could visit the neighboring villages, including Assisi, which was a destination of particular interest for Julia.

The housekeeper of the villa had stocked the kitchen with food and wine in anticipation of their arrival. Julia rolled her eyes when she discovered several bottles of imported cranberry juice in the pantry.

Professor Gabriel “Overprotective” Emerson strikes again.

“What do you think?” he asked, settling his hands on her waist as they stood together in the large, fully equipped kitchen.

“It’s perfect.”

“I was worried you wouldn’t like being in the middle of Umbria. But I thought it would be good for us to spend some quiet time together.”

Julia arched an eyebrow. “Our times together usually aren’t quiet, Professor.”

“That’s because you drive me mad with desire.” He gave her an impassioned kiss.

“Let’s stay in tonight. We can cook together, if you like, and maybe relax by the fire.”

“Sounds good.” She kissed him once again.

“I’ll carry the luggage upstairs while you explore the house. The hot tub is on the terrace just outside the master bedroom. I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.”

She acquiesced with a smile.

“Oh, and, Miss Mitchell…”

“Yes?”

“No clothes for the rest of the evening.”

She squealed and scampered up the stairs.

Not only was the house tastefully decorated in various shades of cream and white, but it boasted a very romantic master bedroom on the second floor that was punctuated by a canopy bed. Julia found herself trying the bed out just for a moment before taking her toiletry case into the washroom.

She unpacked her makeup and placed her shampoo and bath gel in the large, open shower. She pinned her hair up and took off all her clothes, wrapping herself in an ivory towel. She’d never skinny dipped before, but she was looking forward to it.

As she folded her clothes and placed them on the vanity, she heard music coming from the bedroom. She recognized the song “Don’t Know Why” by Norah Jones. Gabriel thought of everything.

His voice outside the bathroom door reconfirmed that. “I brought up some antipasti and a bottle of wine, in case you’re hungry. See you outside.”

“I’ll be there in a minute,” she called.

Julia looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were bright with excitement, and her cheeks were a healthy pink. She was in love. She was happy. And she was (she thought) about to christen the hot tub with her beloved underneath a darkening Umbrian sky.

On her way to the terrace, she saw Gabriel’s discarded clothes hanging over the back of a chair. The cold evening breeze wafted in through the open door, ruffling her hair, making the pink of her skin pinker still. Gabriel was naked and waiting for her.

She walked out onto the terrace and waited until she had his complete attention. Then she dropped the towel.

* * *

Near Burlington, Vermont, Paul Virgil Norris was wrapping Christmas presents at his parents’ kitchen table: presents for his family, for his sister, and finally, for the woman for whom his heart pined.

It was, perhaps, surprising to see a two-hundred-pound rugby player with bolts of Christmas wrap and Scotch tape, painstakingly measuring before he put scissors to paper. A bottle of maple syrup, a stuffed toy Holstein, and two figurines were proudly arranged in front of him. The figurines were a curiosity, something he’d found in a comic book store in Toronto. One was supposed to be Dante, dressed as a crusading soldier with St. George’s cross on his chain mail chest, while the other was a blond-haired, blue-eyed anachronism of a Beatrice in the garb of a medieval princess.

Sadly, the toy company neglected to make a Virgil action figure. (Virgil, apparently, was not worthy of action.) Paul begged to differ, and so he decided to write to the toy company to alert them to their regrettable oversight.

He wrapped each item carefully and placed them in a cardboard box with bubble wrap. He signed a Christmas card with a few words, trying desperately to sound casual in order to disguise his growing feelings, and taped the box shut, neatly addressing it to Miss Julianne Mitchell.

* * *

After a very enjoyable time in the hot tub, Gabriel prepared an Umbrian dinner. Bruschetta con pomodoro e basilico, tagliatelle with olive oil and black truffles from the villa’s estate, and a cheese course with local artisan cheeses and bread. They ate their fill, laughing and drinking a fine white wine from Orvieto in the candlelight. After dinner, Gabriel made a nest of blankets and pillows on the floor in front of the living room fireplace.

He plugged his iPhone into the sound system so they could continue enjoying his Loving Julianne playlist. Then he took her into his arms as they sat on the floor, finishing their wine, while the sounds of medieval chant swirled around their heads. They were naked, wrapped in blankets, and unashamed.

“The music is beautiful. What is it?” She closed her eyes as she focused on the female voices, which were singing a cappella.

“‘Gaudete’ by The Mediaeval Baebes. It’s a Christmas song.”

“That’s quite the name for a music group.”

“They’re very talented. I saw them live the last time they came to Toronto.”

“Oh, really?”

Gabriel smirked at her. “Are you jealous Miss Mitchell?”

“Should I be?”

“No. My arms are full. Completely.”

Their talking ceased against the backdrop of celestial voices as their kisses began. Soon their bodies were tangling naked next to the fire.

In the glow of the orange flames, Julia pushed Gabriel down on his back and straddled his hips. He grinned as he let her lead, welcoming her newfound confidence. “It isn’t so scary, being on top, is it?”

“No. But I’m more comfortable with you now. I think the wall sex back at the hotel shook loose my inhibitions.”

He wondered silently what other inhibitions he could shake loose with various kinds of sex—shower sex, for example. Or perhaps, the holy grail of domestic coupling—kitchen table sex.

Her voice interrupted his thoughts. “I want to please you.”

“You do. So much.”

She reached a hand behind her and lightly touched the top of his groin. “With my mouth. I feel badly that I haven’t been able to reciprocate. You’ve been so generous.”

His body reacted to her low whisper and hesitant hand. “Julianne, there’s no quid pro quo here. I do things with you because I want to.” His lips curled up into a half-smile. “But since you’re offering…”

“I know men prefer it.”

He shrugged. “Great sex will always be better. In comparison, everything else could only be an amuse bouche.” He winked at her wickedly, squeezing her hip for emphasis.

“Is this position okay? With you lying down or…?”

“It’s fine,” he whispered, his eyes suddenly alight.

“I suppose it’s better than me on my knees.” She watched his reaction from the corner of her eye.

“That’s right. I, on the other hand, am happy to kneel before my Princess in order to pleasure her. As I have already demonstrated.”

Julia laughed softly. Then her smile disappeared. “I need to tell you something.”

He gazed up at her expectantly.

“I have a gag reflex.”

A furrow appeared between his eyebrows. “I’d be worried if you didn’t.”

Julianne avoided his probing expression as her hand slipped lower. “Mine is kind of strong.”

His hand closed over hers.

“It won’t be an issue, darling. I promise.” He squeezed her hand.

She moved farther down, and he began to weave her hair around his fingers, tugging playfully.

Julia froze.

For an oblivious moment, he toyed with her long, silken hair. Then he realized that she wasn’t moving. “What’s wrong?”

“Please don’t hold my head down.”

“I wasn’t going to.” He sounded perturbed.

She remained perfectly still, waiting. For what, he didn’t know. He let go of her hair so he could lift her chin. “Sweetheart?”

“Um, it’s only because Idon’twanttothrowuponyou.”

“What was that?”

She ducked her head. “I’ve—thrown up—before.”

He stared at her incredulously. “What…after?”

“Um, no.”

Gabriel was silent for some time, then his eyes narrowed. “Were you sick because of a gag reflex, or because that bastard held you down?”

She cringed, her head moving in the slightest of nods.

Gabriel swore, his anger burning blue. He sat up swiftly, rubbing his face with his hands.

In the past, he hadn’t been tender with his sexual conquests, although he’d prided himself on maintaining some vestige of good manners. Less so when he was doing cocaine. Despite the Bacchanalia that he’d participated in, parties that had approximated the decadence of Rome on occasion, he’d never, ever held a girl’s head down until she vomited. Nobody did that. Not even the drug dealers and addicts he used to hang around with did that, and they had no boundaries or moral compunctions at all. Only an incredibly sick, twisted, misogynistic motherfucker would get his kicks from humiliating a woman that way.