Managed: A VIP Novel Part 38

"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 pa.s.s, 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 h.o.r.n.y, we f.u.c.k 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s 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 s.p.a.ce. This has its perks now since our reunions 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 s.p.a.ce. 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 antic.i.p.atory 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 t.i.ts and a.r.s.e 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 f.u.c.k her until my c.o.c.k 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."

While Sophie was in town, I went for a run. The second I returned, I downed a protein shake and took a shower before lounging in the bed in my boxer briefs and reading over a contract. I don't cla.s.sify this as work per se since I'm only skimming.

Sophie appears to disagree.

Her hands go to her hips. "I should have searched your bags for contraband. You're supposed to be relaxing."

"Forced relaxation is an oxymoron." I go back to reading said contract because I know it will stir her up. I f.u.c.king love Sophie stirred up. The results are always naked, sweaty, and in my favor. "Besides, this is a standard contract, nothing too involved or detailed."

A sigh rings out. "What am I going to do with you?"

f.u.c.k me. I have needs. "Come to bed and read something alongside me?"

She takes a step in my direction but halts. "You're wearing gla.s.ses."

There's a strangled note of l.u.s.t in her voice that kicks my own into overdrive. I don't look up from the contract. "As one does when one needs reading gla.s.ses."

"Smart a.s.s. I've seen you read plenty of times, and you've never worn gla.s.ses."

"I have contacts. But my eyes are irritable today."

I suspect this has something to do with going down on Sophie in the pool this morning. It had been an experiment of sorts, figuring out just how long I could hold my breath. We laughed and applied ourselves to the task with much enthusiasm.

"You should always wear your gla.s.ses while reading," she says, heading my way. "And I mean always."

Did I know Sophie would react favorably to my reading gla.s.ses? No. But by the wide-eyed, slightly dreamy look in her eyes, I'm fairly confident she appreciates them. I'm man enough to admit I want to entice her.

She sits on the bed, and her warm thigh rests next to mine. My body goes on alert, but I don't let it show. Not yet. That's not how our game is played.

G.o.d help me if I no longer had Sophie to play with. It is one of the best parts of my day.

"You know," she says, trailing a finger along my kneecap, "there's this Tumblr. Hot guys with gla.s.ses..."

"Don't even think about taking a picture." I pretend to ignore the way her touch sends a ripple of l.u.s.t straight to my c.o.c.k. A lost cause. And I know she sees my growing interest. Her path heads upward.

"What about hot guys reading? They even made a book. You're definitely cover material."

I glare at her over my gla.s.ses. She's giving me that saucy look, her head tilted just so, those ripe lips pursed. A band of hot greed tightens low around my gut and gives a swift tug. My c.o.c.k rises hard and fast.

Sophie licks her lower lip, never breaking eye contact with me. "You're not playing fair, sunshine." Her voice goes husky. "I can't take that silent reprimand, combined with those gla.s.ses. You'll have me combusting over here."

"Hmmm." I turn my gaze back to the contract, as if I'm not tight as a f.u.c.king drum. The reward will be much greater if I make her work for it. "I fail to see how this is my problem."

"Oh, no?" The bed creaks as she crawls closer.

My c.o.c.k throbs in time to my heartbeat and pushes uncomfortably against my pants.

"You're the one affected," I tell her. "Best you do something about it."

Her low chuckle ripples over my skin. The silk of her hair tickles my chest as she eases under the papers I'm holding. Yes, love, step into my parlor.

"And this ma.s.sive hard-on is over what..." She glances at the contract in my hand. "Licensing percentages?"

"I have a thing for details," I murmur, my breath catching as she places a light kiss on the center of my chest.

"Well..." She kisses me again. "Don't let me keep you."

I pretend to read while she slowly, thoroughly kisses her way across my chest. Each lingering press of her lips upon my skin undoes me a little more. The tenderness mixed with heat, as though she's both worshiping and reveling in me, makes my heart clench and my c.o.c.k throb.

Her tongue flicks over my nipple, and my hand shakes, my breath stuttering.

"G.o.d, you're so hot this way," she says. Her teeth catch the tip of my nipple and tugs.

I grunt, liquid heat licking up my thighs. The contract falls to the bed, my head hits the wall with a dull thud.

Farther down she goes, following the valley between my abs. "So. f.u.c.king. s.e.xy." Each word punctuated with a kiss. "I want you to f.u.c.k me while wearing those gla.s.ses, Gabriel."

This woman will kill me.

I swallow hard, search for my voice. "If you're a good girl, perhaps I shall."

I don't miss the way her peachy a.r.s.e clenches. Something primitive and base flows through me. My voice roughens.

"Take my c.o.c.k out. You're going to suck it."

A little sound rises in her throat, and I know I'm getting to her, which gets to me. My skin is so hot, I can barely breathe.

Sophie's hands trace the edge of my boxer briefs, a sly tease. My c.o.c.k pushes rudely against the fabric, and she lifts the elastic away from my waist. The throbbing tip catches on the band of my pants. She frees me, and I'm so hard, my p.r.i.c.k slaps against my abdomen.

"Love that sound," she whispers.

Good. It's only for you. "Take me in hand."

Her warm fingers wrap around me and squeeze. My eyes nearly roll back in my head. I swallow a groan, my hips lifting up to meet her.

"Softer," I pant.

"Softer?" She kisses my chest again as her grip eases.

I nearly weep it's so good. "Make me beg for it."

Her lashes flutter, a breath leaving her parted lips. The tips of her fingers glide down my length, teasing.

I struggle to hold still, but she gently cups my b.a.l.l.s and gives them a little tug. A groan rumbles in my throat. It turns to an outright whimper as she bends down and mouths the head of my c.o.c.k.

Not enough.

"Sophie..."

"Mmmm?" The sound vibrates against my skin, and a throb of pained pleasure pushes through me .

I nudge upward, but she evades. A teasing lick flickers on my tip. "f.u.c.k... Suck it, Darling. Suck it well."

Brown eyes smile up at me, and she does, for one glorious pull, sucking me deep and tight. I arch off the bed, groaning. But she stops there and plays with me again, her pouty lips barely wrapped around my flesh.

Heat flushes my skin, and I give her what she wants. "Please. Please..."

And she does please me, lavishing me with attention, drawing out my pleasure as if her pleasure is connected to seeing mine. I lose myself in her, until my throat tightens with emotion and my b.a.l.l.s clench with impending release.

I don't want to spend in her mouth. Not this time. I pull her up, trying to be gentle, but my hands shake. She makes a noise of protest that I swallow down with a kiss as I tumble her onto her back, fumbling to hike up her skirt.

"I wasn't finished," she pants between kisses.

My hand slides beneath her little pink panties. Sweet slickness greets my fingers.

"I need to be in here." I pet her soft, swollen s.e.x before plunging in deep. And she cries out-a lovely plea that makes me greedy to hear more of them.

I kiss her mouth as my fingers work her within the tight fit of her panties. She moves with me, her hips thrusting and grinding on my hands. Our breath mingles, growing disjointed.

No more waiting. I wrench her knickers off, roll between her thighs spread wide for me. The first push into her is agony and heaven, because nothing will ever feel as good as fitting myself inside Sophie. We're both frantic now, panting. I know she expects me to plough her hard and fast.

I slow down, cup her cheeks and softly kiss her as I slowly work her slick clasp.

"Gabriel," she whimpers into my mouth. "More."