Gabriel’s Inferno Trilogy by Sylvain Reynard Page 0,258

and cut her (also metaphorically speaking).

Second, she was going to rewrite her dissertation proposal and hopefully win Professor Emerson’s academic approval.

Third, she was going to redouble her efforts at seduction. Now that she had seen Professor Emerson angry, there was nothing she desired more than to see him angry with her—while naked. She was going to change his mind. She was going to break through his harsh exterior. She was going to see him kneeling before her, begging for her, and then…

Clearly, the four-inch heels and the Bordelle lingerie weren’t enough. Christa was going to head over to Holt Renfrew, and she was going to buy herself a new dress. Something European. Something sexy. Something by Versace.

Then she was going to Lobby to set her third scheme in motion…

Chapter 4

In the penthouse of a boutique hotel in Florence, clothes had been tossed haphazardly across a sitting room floor, trailing like breadcrumbs from the doorway toward a wall that was no longer blank. Groans and obvious rhythms floated in the air, wafting over a man’s fine handmade shoes, a black bra, a tailored suit tossed wantonly over a coffee table, a taffeta dress puddled into a Santorini-blue pool…

If one were a detective, one would notice that the lady’s panties and shoes were missing.

The air was thick with the smell of orange blossoms and Aramis, mingled with the musk of sweat and naked flesh. The room was dark. Not even the moonlight streaming in from the terrace reached the wall where two nude bodies clung to one another. The man stood upright, supporting the woman, who had her legs wrapped around his hips.

“Open your eyes.” Gabriel’s plea was punctuated by a cacophony of sound—skin sliding over skin, desperate cries muffled by lips and flesh, quick gulps of oxygen, and the slight thud of Julia’s back against the wall.

She could hear him as he groaned with every thrust, but her ability to speak had withdrawn as she focused on a single sensation—pleasure. Every movement of her lover pleased her, even the friction between their chests and the grip of his hands as he held her aloft. She danced on the very edge of satisfaction, breathless with anticipation that the next movement would push her over. Building, building, building, building…

“Are—you—okay?” He was breathing hard, his last word leaving his mouth as a cry as the slightest turn of her ankles pressed her sharp heels into his flesh.

Julia threw her head back and let out a few incoherent sounds as she climaxed, intense waves radiating out from where they were joined and speeding along her nerves until her entire body vibrated. Gabriel felt it, of course, and followed soon after; two deep thrusts and he cried her name into the crook of her neck, his body shaking.

“You worried me,” he whispered afterward. He lay on his back in the center of the large, white bed while his sleepy beloved curled into his side, her head resting over the surface of his tattoo.

“Why?”

“You wouldn’t open your eyes. You wouldn’t speak. I was worried I was too rough.”

She moved her fingers along his abdomen to the few hairs that trailed down from his navel, tracing the texture lazily.

“You didn’t hurt me. It felt different this time—more intense. Every time you moved, the most incredible feeling passed through me. I couldn’t open my eyes.”

Gabriel smiled to himself in relief and pressed his lips to her forehead.

“That position is deeper. And don’t forget all our foreplay at the museum. I couldn’t keep my hands off you during dinner.”

“That’s because you knew I’d lost my panties.”

“That’s because I want you. Always.” He offered her a half-smile.

“Every time with you is better than the last,” she whispered.

His expression grew wistful. “But you never say my name.”

“I say your name all the time. It’s a wonder you haven’t come up with a pet name you’d rather I use, such as Gabe, or Dante, or The Professor.”

“That’s not what I meant. I mean you never say my name—when you come.”

She lifted her chin so she could see his face. His expression matched his tone, wistful and momentarily vulnerable. The confident mask had slipped.

“For me, your name is synonymous with orgasm. I’m going to start calling them Emgasms.”

He laughed loudly, a hearty, chest-bouncing chuckle that required Julia to sit up. She joined him in his laughter, grateful that his moment of melancholy had passed.

“You have quite the sense of humor, Miss Mitchell.” He tilted her chin upwards so he could worship her lips once