Gabriel Fallen, page 13
A moan escapes me, unbidden. “Who’s teasing who now?” I whisper, bucking against him.
“Maybe I shouldn’t give it to you yet. I like seeing you like this.” His hands are on me, worming their way between the desk to cup my breasts, massaging them with steady strokes that make me more needy.
I close my eyes, reveling in the intensity of being this vulnerable.
“Are you ready to cum harder than you ever have before?” he whispers, pinching my nipples in tandem before rubbing the pain away.
“Yes.”
His face is buried in my hair. He inhales deeply, as if absorbing my scent, his fingers weaving through mine above my head. I feel his head prodding my folds, searching for that wet opening without the help of a guiding hand. He finds it quickly.
I gasp as he finally thrusts into me, the combination of the plug and his girth forcing me to take several calming breaths.
“That’s it, baby. Take it all in. You’re gonna love it,” he coaxes.
I’m panting as he sinks deeper and deeper into me, my body stretching wide to accept him, the plug shifting, the pressure building. It’s not quite pain but it’s also not quite pleasure that I’m feeling right now. I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle him going at me rough.
He releases my hands and pulls himself up to stand over me. “I can’t wait to take this tight ass,” he murmurs.
Jesus, I can barely handle this small plug he put inside me, let alone that.
“You should see this view.”
“You talk a lot,” I pant, daring to buck against him again, the move stealing a gasp from my lungs.
He chuckles. The pressure eases as he slides out, but it comes back with vengeance when he slams back into me. My lips fall apart in a silent scream, that pleasure-pain combination stealing my voice.
“No one can hear you up here, baby. Let it all out.” He pulls out and plunges into me again, this time hitting that bundle of nerves deep inside. Thank God I’m already sprawled out on the desk, because the move buckles my knees.
Another deep plunge, and this time the sounds ripped from my lungs are audible and wanton. A thin sheen of sweat coats my back. My legs trembles.
But with each pull and push of his cock into me, my body opens up a little more, welcomes him more easily, until I’ve fallen into a rhythm of bucking backward, riding his dick, the words “more” and “harder” falling from my lips in moaning demand, my sex drenched with need.
Gabriel slams into me with powerful, expert thrusts, his cries growing louder and more desperate, his grip on my hips tighter as he hits my sweet spot each time.
There’s little warning to the impending explosion—a tingle skittering down my spine, swelling deep into my belly and through my thighs, the urge to spread my legs as wide as humanly possible and expose my sex to him—and before I can utter a word, my orgasm rips through me. I cry Gabriel’s name, unable to think as my stomach muscles tense and all those sensitive, private muscles inside convulse.
Somewhere in the midst of my crazy high, I hear Gabriel’s guttural moans, his thick length pulsing inside me as he spurts his hot seed. The notion of that makes my core throb with pleasure. I can’t help the satisfied sigh that escapes my lips when we’ve both settled, my skin flushed, my limbs pliable, my body sated.
“Are you going to tell me that was just okay?”
“No.” I close my eyes. I don’t even have the energy to lie to him.
He slips out of me, and my muscles clench at the sudden vacancy. But the plug is still there. “Hold still a second. Okay, baby?” I feel him fumbling with the base. With a gentle tug, he slowly draws it out. A clang sounds as he drops it into the single remaining glass on the desk. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, his palms pressing against my ass cheeks, spreading me wide. I jerk slightly at the sudden feel of his tongue darting over the sensitive skin there, but I’m too spent to squirm away. Gabriel’s free to do whatever he wants to my body at this point.
But that seems to be all he wanted. He gives my ass a playful slap and then steps away to pull up his pants and fasten the zipper. With reluctance, I haul myself up. Now that the heady moment is over, standing in Gabriel’s office stark naked feels awkward. What if Caleb were to barge in here? Gabriel didn’t lock the door this time around.
I duck into the office bathroom to clean up and then head for my pile of clothes, gingerly slipping my panties back on. I cringe at the feel of the wet material. “I’m going to have to start carrying around extra panties as long as I’m with you,” I mutter, fastening my bra.
“Or just don’t wear them at all,” Gabriel retorts with a smug smile. He fishes his shirt off the floor, scowling at the missing buttons.
“That’s two ruined shirts in twenty-four hours,” I remark. This one, by his own hand.
He sighs and tosses it into the trash.
“Don’t worry. This is a good look for you.” I waggle a finger at his topless form. “I’m sure your patrons will appreciate it. You can bring a few fresh women home.”
“You finished with me already? Can’t handle a full month?” He laughs and opens a closet door where several more shirts hang. He pulls out another button-down and yanks it on.
My curious eyes wander to the tape on the window. “So, what happened up here earlier? During your meeting?”
“Just Caleb and his temper.” He doesn’t bother following my gaze. He knows what I’m talking about.
“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting him to have one.” I’ve only ever seen the easygoing playboy, unfazed by anything. I slip on my dress. The silky material doesn’t have a single crease in it, despite the heap it was left in.
Gabriel snorts. “You have no idea.”
I hesitate. “Who are those two guys?”
“Nobody you want to know.” He fumbles with the buttons. “Caleb always buys these stupid shirts with the tiny little buttons. Who the hell can do these up?”
“Here. Let me.” I wave him over. “I have much smaller, daintier hands.”
He complies, wandering over to stand before me, his broad, hard chest bare.
I can’t help but smooth my palms over the plane of muscle once before I begin working on the bottom buttons, thinking it’s a shame to hide such a beautiful body. “So who’s Camillo Perri?” Besides someone who apparently had something to do with his mother’s death.
He curses under his breath and then shakes his head. “He’s nobody. Forget you ever heard that name.”
“Okay, fine, I just …” I abandon the buttons to smooth my hands over his pecs again, my worry for this man flaring again. “You’re not doing anything dangerous, are you?”
He blinks. “Why are you asking me that?” There’s a distinctive shift in his tone to one of calculating calm. One that sparks a voice inside my mind, warning me to tread carefully here.
Don’t ask, don’t tell.
I shrug. “It’s just Caleb said something the other day about you getting in over your head. And now there are these guys showing up and that cracked window, and that thing Caleb said about your mother—”
“Drop it, Mercy. I mean it,” he growls, the edge in his tone as sharp as the shattered crystal tumblers on the floor. “Ignore anything he’s said and anything you’ve heard. And don’t ever repeat a word of it. Understood?” When I don’t answer immediately, he barks, “Do you understand?”
The mood in the room has turned frigid.
Caleb isn’t the only one showing me another side of himself tonight. And this version of Gabriel, I think I like less than the arrogant ass at Fulcort.
“Yup. Got it,” I answer crisply, finishing off the last two buttons while avoiding his steely gaze, though I want nothing more than to tell him to dress himself. And go fuck himself. I can’t ignore this burn of hurt I feel inside, which only makes me angrier.
“What do you care if I’m doing something dangerous, anyway?” he asks after another moment, his tone a touch softer. But only a touch. “You’ve already got your money for your father. That’s all you want me for, isn’t it?” I could be mistaken but the words seem tinged with bitterness.
His question gives me pause.
What if Gabriel were to tell me right now—right this minute—that I’m free to walk out that door, go back to my shitty apartment with Rob and Trisha trying to kill each other on one side and Dorito Glen masturbating on the other side, and continue struggling with this thing called life. That I’ve met my obligations to him and will never see him again. My dad will still be protected, and his legal fees are paid for, care of the money in that account.
That would be utopia, wouldn’t it? That’s what I would want?
The odd, unexpected tightness in my chest tells me that it might not be such a simple answer anymore.
And that tells me that I am seriously messed in the head. I don’t even know this man.
But I think I’m beginning to want the opportunity to get to know him.
I swallow the flurry of conflicting emotions. “And all you want is my body, so I guess we’re even.”
He presses his lips together. For a moment, it seems like he’s going to respond, maybe argue with me. But then he strolls away briskly, tucking his shirt into his pants as he walks across the office. He grabs his keys and wallet from a shelf by the door. “I’ve had enough of this place for one night. Time to go home.”
I return to my desk after a hellish morning to find an angry text from Michelle.
Michelle: Have you talked to that shithead yet?
I groan. Gabriel promised Caleb would get her home—safely and unmolested. But this is Caleb.
Mercy: No. Why? What did he do?
The three dots dance across my screen and I picture her lying in bed—it’s 11:00 a.m.—furiously tapping away on her screen.
Michelle: NOTHING! I practically climbed onto his lap and he turned me down! I thought you said he’d fuck anything! I’m anything!
“Seriously?” I frown. That’s impossible. That would mean Caleb has a decent bone in his body.
“How’s it going with you today, girl?” Marsha comes around the corner into my cubicle, her brow pulled tight. “Did you get any sleep last night? You look exhausted.”
I quickly mute my phone and tuck it away. “I was up late, studying,” I lie, hoping the smell of alcohol isn’t still seeping from my pores. It was almost two by the time we pulled into Gabriel’s garage, the drive home tensely silent save for the sportscaster on the radio droning on with the day’s highlights. Gabriel disappeared into his home office while I hopped into the shower. I drifted off wondering when he’d come to bed.
When my alarm went off this morning, I considered calling in sick, something I’ve only done once in all the years I’ve worked here. But that would mean dealing with Gabriel.
Given the morning I’ve had, I think dealing with him might have been easier.
I arrived to a pool of water in one of the counselors’ offices and in not one, but two meeting rooms, thanks to the monsoon early this morning and our shitty roof. I’ve spent hours with Ali, our receptionist, mopping it up.
“Oh, right. When exactly are those exams again?” Marsha asks.
“Next week.”
“And then you’re done.”
“And then I’m done,” I say with an exhausted sigh. I hope. I still need to pass.
“Atta girl. I’m so proud of you. Life has thrown you a ton of lemons, and you are making some mean lemonade with it, aren’t you?” She gives me one of her wide forced smiles, the kind that morphs into a wince. “So listen, I have another lemon to throw at you. The toilet’s acting up.”
I toss my pen haphazardly across my desk. “Again? He just fixed it!”
“No, that one’s fine. It’s the other one now.” She gives me a look and then sighs. “See if you can get that plumber in this afternoon, will ya? Having two working toilets is critical with all the people coming in and out of here.”
“Yeah, okay, but we haven’t paid the last two bills from him. I don’t know how willing he’s going to be to do more work.”
“Work that charm I know you have.”
“I need that charm for a roofer,” I mutter. In between mopping I was on the phone haggling with several, searching for one who’d be willing to patch a roof now and take payment in a few months, out of the goodness of his heart. I sink into my chair. “We’re running bare bones, Marsha. I’m trying my best, but I don’t know how to keep making this work.”
Marsha sighs heavily and fumbles with the jade beads of her necklace. “Monsoon season is almost over. We can ride it out.”
“No, it’s not, and no, we can’t. Sara lost all her files. Thank God she took her computer home or we’d be looking to replace that, too. Plus, the electrician is threatening to send our bill to the collection agency.” I lower my voice, stealing a glance around to make sure no one’s listening. “We can’t settle all our debts and pay for everyone’s salary next month.”
Marsha purses her lips tightly. “Let’s not worry about that right now, okay? Just get the plumber in to take a look and give us a quote. You do what you can and then you focus on your exams. It’s all going to work out for you, no matter what. Okay?”
It doesn’t take a genius to read between the lines. This building is falling apart and we’re falling farther into debt. She created this office manager job especially for me six years ago and said she’d keep me on as long as she could afford to.
It’s becoming obvious that she can’t afford to anymore. She just can’t bring herself to let me go—or even discuss it—until after I’ve finished my exams. Knowing Marsha, she’ll take a hit to her own paycheck before she has “the big talk” with me.
I watch her amble away, her keys jangling in her pocket with each step, leaving me not only tired but in a sour mood now. I can’t believe I’m so close to graduating with my degree and I’m about to lose my job at the place I feel most comfortable working.
With a sigh, I make the call to the plumber—he doesn’t answer; I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s blocking this number—and then I head to the staff kitchen to heat up the enchiladas I found in the fridge this morning. Gabriel did say to help myself to whatever was in the fridge.
Back at my desk, I do what I’ve been waiting to have a chance to all morning, what’s been dwelling in my thoughts since last night, that I can’t just let go: I open up my internet browser and I do a search for Vlad Easton’s wife and her car accident.
The first few articles that show up are about Gabriel’s father and his criminal history—basically, what I’ve already read.
The fourth headline, dated September 2, 2000, is one that didn’t appear in my original search.
It’s one that turns my blood cold.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, abandoning my lunch to scan the page, my hand over my mouth to muffle my gasps, my horror growing with each new line I devour.
Gabriel’s mother didn’t die in any car accident.
Not unless Gabriel’s version of a car accident is being brutally raped and beaten before being shot execution style and left naked in a ditch for a motorist to find on his way to work.
Gabriel’s mother was murdered.
No wonder Gabriel and Caleb get tense whenever there’s any mention of their mother. At least my mother drifted off in a peaceful, self-induced slumber. If I had to choose, I’d take her overdose over this any day.
This happened in 2000. Gabriel said he was ten when she died. Caleb is only two years older than him, from what I remember of something Gabriel said. What’s it like to be ten and twelve, the sons of a crime boss, and have your mother die like this?
The article says that the police suspected it was a revenge kill by a rival crime family, given who her husband was. There’s a related link to another article about the suspect in her murder. I click on it and my stomach drops.
The police arrested Camillo Perri for her murder.
The article shows a picture of a distinguished-looking older man with dark, wavy hair being led into a courtroom, banked on either side by men in expensive suits. His lawyers, no doubt. He definitely isn’t one of the men I saw at Empire last night.
Those lawyers earned their money, it would seem, because the case against Camillo was thrown out based on technical mistakes by the police and a violation of his rights.
Camillo Perri walked away free and clear for the brutal murder, though I’m guessing he did it.
And now Gabriel and Caleb were meeting with other Perris about “business” last night. About an alliance.
An alliance for what?
Why?
My stomach churns as I type Camillo Perri’s name into the search engine next, to find that he’s a well-known California vintner with vineyards in Santa Barbara, Sonoma, and Napa. He’s sixty-seven years old according to this article and married to a beautiful, blond wife who modeled in her teens and twenties and survived a terrible car accident about fifteen years ago.
They have four sons together.
Of course. Those had to be Camillo Perri’s sons there last night. They were definitely related.
I begin flipping through the Google images, searching for a Perri family portrait. I almost give up, but one finally appears.
I immediately recognize the two on the left. Merrick and Vince Perri. Those are definitely the two men who were at Empire last night.
Why would Gabriel and Caleb do business with the sons of the man who most likely raped and murdered their mother?
“What are you getting yourself involved in, Gabriel?” I whisper to no one but my computer screen. Caleb’s warning to his brother about Camillo Perri knowing that he has a woman in his life springs to mind then. I’m beginning to connect the dots here, and the image emerging chills my blood.
What have I gotten myself involved in?
I get stuck at Mary’s waiting for the roofer to show, assess the damage, and give me a quote. Ironically, the cost to patch the holes is almost exactly my salary for next month. If that isn’t a sign that I should ease Marsha’s guilt and hand in my resignation, I don’t know what is.
