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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."





Chapter Twenty-Four





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  reunion     s 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."