Managed: a VIP novel

by Kristen Callihan

  “No, you should. Protecting myself is hurting them. I see it. But I don’t know how to change.”

  My fingertips trace the narrow groove of his spine down his strong back. “Just do what you did with me.”

  The shift of tension in his body is subtle but significant. I can almost feel him smiling, and I definitely feel the heat building between us.

  His voice grows deeper, intent. “I don’t think they’d appreciate that approach, Darling.”

  A hand slides down to cup my butt.

  I smile. “Probably best you keep this particular treatment just for me.”

  “Only ever for you,” he promises, his other hand moving down. He grasps my ass, kneading it with a growl of approval.

  I jump into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist. “Take me to bed, sunshine.”

  He begins walking, but doesn’t go into the house; he lays me down on the double-wide lounger beneath the shade of the bougainvillea before prowling over me, his lips finding my neck. One good tug at the bodice of my sundress, and my breast pops free.

  “Gabriel—” I groan as he sucks my nipple into his hot, wet mouth. “Not here.”

  “Yes, here,” he says around the stiff tip, flicking it with his tongue.

  I squirm, but my fingers find their way into his hair, holding him tight as he continues to lick and suck me. Another tug at my top and my other breast is exposed.

  I glance at the open doorway that leads to the kitchen. “I won’t be able to look Martina in the eye if she catches us out here.”

  He kisses his way over to my neglected breast, and catches the stiffened nipple with his teeth, pulling just enough that I lose my mind a little. I arch up, silently begging for more.

  A dark chuckle rumbles in his chest. Peppering my nipple with suckling kisses, he slides his hand under my dress and cups between my legs, where I am damp and achy. “I told her to take the rest of day off.”

  I rock into his touch with a moan, craning my head down to kiss his temple. “Fuck… I say we give her the week off.”

  He hums in his throat, slips his fingers beneath my panties. “Good plan.”

  We don’t talk for a long time after that.

  * * *

  “Where are you going? I’m not done with you yet.” His voice is a love song, soft and tender, deep with possessiveness and the promise of luscious sin. It dances over me like a caress, and I shiver in its wake.

  “I want to touch you,” I complain, though it’s not really a complaint. How can it be when he’s reduced me to this quivering, boneless mass of warm lethargy?

  His dark chuckle is knowing. “Later. It’s my turn now.”

  Big, hot hands slide up my legs, cup my ass. I close my eyes and hug the rumpled bed covers as those talented hands delve between my thighs and spread them wide.

  Exposed. Swollen and wet. He’s taken me twice now. Once on the terrace, and then on the bed, where he was slower, more thorough, taking his time, making me beg for it. And beg, I did, pleading and panting, losing my ever-loving mind.

  He rewarded me for it, making me come until I wept, stroking my skin, telling me I was his good girl in that low, stern voice I’ll forevermore equate with sex and pleasure.

  He uses it now, a weapon in its own right. “So pretty,” he says, from his spot between my thighs. “I knew you’d be so pretty.”

  The need to please him rises up within me. I tilt my hips, lifting my ass higher, showing him more of me. He hums in approval, his hands caressing my lower back, behind my knee. His breath tickles my inner thigh, and then he blows on my clit.

  I groan, fighting the urge to push down and catch his mouth.

  He knows. The dirty bastard knows what he’s doing to me. I feel the smile on his lips as he presses a kiss to my butt. And, really, I should make him pay for that, but his hand slides up my thigh, and my breath stalls as the tip of his finger slowly circles my opening.

  “Mmm,” he says, swirling his fingers around, gently teasing. “So pretty.”

  He dips his finger into me, barely enough to feel, then slides back out, gathering my wetness only to sink back in, deeper this time.

  A soft kiss to the sensitive swell of my clit makes me jolt. Gently, so gently. Barely there at all, and yet it holds all of my attention. The lazy flick of his tongue, a lingering suckle, little kisses, and all the while slowly fucking me with his finger.

  I close my eyes, concentrate on his touch and the way he keeps teasing, collecting the slick wet pooling at my opening, then plunging deep.

  My eyes snap open, a gurgle of shock leaving my lips. He’s pushing his come back into me.

  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 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 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.”

  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 classify 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 fucking 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?”

  Fuck me. I have needs. “Come to bed and read something alongside me?”

  She takes a step in my direction but halts. “You’re wearing glasses.”

  There’s a strangled note of lust in her voice that kicks my own into overdrive. I don’t look up from the contract. “As one does when one needs reading glasses.”

  “Smart ass. I’ve seen you read plenty of times, and you’ve never worn glasses.”

  “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 glasses while reading,” she says, heading my way. “And I mean always.”

  Did I know Sophie would react favorably to my rea
ding glasses? 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.

  God 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 glasses…”

  “Don’t even think about taking a picture.” I pretend to ignore the way her touch sends a ripple of lust straight to my cock. 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 glasses. 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 cock 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 glasses. You’ll have me combusting over here.”

  “Hmmm.” I turn my gaze back to the contract, as if I’m not tight as a fucking 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 cock 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 massive 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.