Gabriel’s Inferno Trilogy by Sylvain Reynard Page 0,438

your business.”

He bent down and kissed her, his lips insistent until she opened her mouth.

“Such a dirty mouth, Cristina.”

“You love it when I’m dirty.”

He sighed, and his expression morphed into a wry smile.

“Si.”

He moved to his back, taking her with him.

“I want to get up.” She pulled against his arms.

“No.”

She struggled but he would not let her go. Finally, she relented, resting her head against him.

He toyed with her hair. This was part of their arrangement. Afterward, she had to let him hold her.

Perhaps he did so simply to satisfy himself that there was something affectionate about their fucking. Perhaps he did so because he was not an entirely ruthless adulterer. But whatever the reason, she always resisted for a moment or two, even though she secretly liked being held.

“I was surprised to hear from you, Cristina. We were supposed to meet a year ago. You never answered.”

“I was busy.”

He lifted the ends of her raven hair to his nose, inhaling its fragrance.

“I wondered why you insisted I bring you. You’re here for revenge.”

“We’re both getting what we wanted.”

His fingers stilled.

“Be careful, Cristina. You don’t want Professor Picton as an enemy.”

“I don’t care.”

Pacciani cursed.

“Don’t you understand the patronage system? Departments around the world are filled with her admirers. Your chair at Columbia was her student.”

“I didn’t know that.” Christa shrugged. “It’s too late. I’ve already pissed her off.”

Pacciani grabbed Christa’s chin roughly, forcing her to look at him.

“I’m responsible for you now. So you will stop. I’m trying to get a position in America and I don’t need Professor Picton making trouble.”

Christa was quiet for a moment as she examined his menacing expression.

“Fine,” she pouted. “But I need the room tomorrow night.”

“Va bene.”

He released her chin and resumed stroking her long, dark hair. “What was his name?”

“Who?”

“The man who made you like this.”

Her muscles tensed under his fingers. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know, tesoro. Was it your papa? Did he—”

“No.” She trained her eyes on his furiously. “He’s a good man.”

“Certo, cara. Certo.

“All the time I’ve known you, you’ve had lovers but no suitors. You should be married. You should be having babies. Instead, you fuck old men for expensive gifts.”

“I don’t fuck you for your gifts. I fuck you because I like to fuck.”

He laughed.

“Grazie. But still, there must always be gifts.” He brought his lips to her forehead. “Why?”

“I like nice things. That isn’t a crime. And I’m worth it.”

“You know what I think, tesoro?”

“Stop calling me that.” She pulled away.

His hand wrapped around the back of her neck, holding her in place.

“You don’t think you’re worth it, which is why you demand gifts. Sad, no?”

“I don’t want your pity.”

“You have it, all the same.”

“Then you’re a fool.”

His grip on her tightened. “You fuck priests and old, married men because you’re afraid. You’re afraid of what might happen if you were to sleep with someone who was unattached.”

She struggled in his arms.

“Since when did you become a psychiatrist? Don’t project your bullshit on me. At least I’m not fucking around on my wife.”

“Attenzione, Cristina.” His tone was a warning. “So who is the man you fuck tomorrow night? A priest? A professor?”

She regarded him for a moment, then traced her finger across his lower lip. “Who said it was a man?”

Giuseppe gave her a ravenous look.

“Then I expect you to share.”

Chapter Eleven

Wake up, darling.” Gabriel ran his thumb over Julia’s eyebrows. “You need to get ready.”

She buried her face in the pillow and mumbled something unintelligible.

He chuckled, thinking about how adorable she looked.

“Come on, you need to grab the shower before one of our neighbors occupies it.”

“You go first.”

“I’m already showered, shaved, and dressed, darling.” He ran the back of his hand down her naked spine, taking pleasure in the tremor that resulted.

“You kept me up too late,” she groaned.

“If you don’t get moving, Katherine will be cross with us.”

“I’m not taking a shower. I can sleep longer.”

Gabriel rolled her over and ran his nose along her collarbone, inhaling her scent.

“You smell like sex,” he whispered, flicking out his tongue to taste her skin. “And me.”

“That’s why I’m not taking a shower. We had incredible makeup sex, which I’d like to remember.”

It was all he could do not to pull the sheets off her and engage in wild, passionate (and scent-transferring) sex. But he quickly restrained his impulses.

“You can’t deliver a lecture at Oxford smelling of sex.”

“Watch me.”

Gabriel looked at his wristwatch. Then he looked at his wife.

Then he took off all his clothes and commenced