Gabriella's Prosecution [The Black Iris Club 3] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic)

by Skye Michaels

  She knew he felt her stir when he said, “Good morning, Gabriella. Merry Christmas, querida.” He kissed her hard and deep before he rolled her over onto her stomach and checked her bottom. “Still a little pink, but not too bad.” When she started to struggle, he rolled her onto her back again and angled his broad chest over hers. “Don’t be embarrassed. I can see the pink in your cheeks as well.”

  “Well, I can’t help being embarrassed.” She couldn’t reconcile the feelings that invaded her body. She wanted his hand on her ass again, but she was mortified by her reaction. Her pussy and clit were pulsing, and she knew she was wet and ready.

  “You’ll have to get over it. I need to know how your skin tolerates impact play since I don’t want to mark you. Let’s not worry about that now. It’s Christmas morning. I’ll put on some coffee and bring up some croissants that Magda left for us.”

  “I’ll come down and help.”

  “No, you stay nice and warm in my bed. I have wanted you here for two years. I’ll be right back.” She surreptitiously admired his body as he got up and shrugged on a thick, black terrycloth robe with his initials on the pocket. There wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t beautiful. His black hair was mussed and hung over his forehead, and he had a dark morning growth of beard that sculpted his aristocratic features and made his eyes seem even bluer if that was possible.

  When he returned to the bedroom he had a coffee carafe on a tray. He’d also brought up plates with warm croissants, cream cheese, and guava jam. There was a small, gaily wrapped box with a red bow on the corner of the tray. Gabby was relieved that she had thought to bring him a present as well. She’d made a quick trip to the Antique District in Dania Wednesday morning on her way to the barn. She had wanted something unique and had gotten extremely lucky.

  He put the tray down on the bed and climbed back under the covers. They each prepared their coffee and took a bite of the croissants. The sweet guava jam and the slightly salty cream cheese were perfect together. “Oh, that’s delicious. I’ve never had that combination before.”

  “Guava and cheese are as common at home as peanut butter and jelly are here.” He picked up the small box and handed it to her. “This is for you, and let me say up front that any protests on your part will be met promptly by the palm of my hand on your butt. So don’t even think about it.” That had an ominous sound. Now she was worried as she took the small box from his hand. “Don’t look so worried. It’s a present, not a bomb.”

  “Okay.” She proceeded to carefully untie the bow and open the foil Christmas wrapping. The box inside the wrapping paper appeared to be hand-carved mahogany and old. She pressed a small recessed button and the top came up. Nestled against slightly faded red velvet was a large ruby pendant hanging from a thick, handworked gold chain and surrounded by an intricate, gold bezel frame with dangling smaller ruby stones and pearls. “Miguel, this is beautiful, but it is far too valuable for me to accept.”

  “What did I just tell you about protests? Unless you want to feel the palm of my hand, you’ll put it on so I can see how it looks on you. I especially want to see how it looks on you when you’re naked.”

  She blushed. She had all but forgotten that she was lying in his bed on Christmas morning completely naked. She took the pendant and necklace from the box and examined the hook and eye closure. This was definitely an antique. Modern necklaces did not close in this fashion. She put it around her neck and fastened it. The brilliant red stone and the gold setting felt heavy on her chest. “It’s gorgeous. But really, it’s far too valuable for me to accept, let alone wear.”

  “That is not true. It’s just an old necklace I had lying around in a drawer.” She knew by the smile on his face that that was not true. This was an important family piece, and she wasn’t sure she could accept it.

  “I’ll wear it now, but this discussion is not over.” She scrambled up and went to the closet where her weekend bag had been stored. She reached into the side pocket of her tote and drew out a long flat box that was also wrapped in gay Christmas paper. She climbed back in bed and handed him the box. “I didn’t know what to get you since our relationship is so new, but I thought you would enjoy this.”

  He ripped open the paper and exposed the Montblanc box. He looked up. “How did you know I collect these?”

  “It would be hard to miss. You always seem to have a different one in your hand.”

  He opened the box. “This is the John Lennon Limited Edition. Where did you find it? I have wanted one since they came out in 2012.” He slowly turned the black resin fountain pen with the grooved barrel and sterling silver clip shaped like a period guitar with tuning pegs and etched strings on the neck. There was a hand-engraved peace symbol on the eighteen-caret gold nib and just below the cap a silver plaque engraved with John Lennon’s famous self-portrait sketch. “This is beautiful, Gabriella, but it is too expensive a gift.”

  “I got lucky and found it at a shop in Dania. The proprietor knew it was a Montblanc but had no idea that the John Lennon was a severely limited edition, so I got it for a very good price. Actually, I jumped on it when I saw the price tag, all the while trying not to look too excited.”

  “Well, I love it. You could not have gotten me anything I would have enjoyed more. So, that settles it. You cannot protest the necklace.”

  “Miguel, I still think…”

  “Not another word. It’s a minor family piece, and I want you to have it. It arrived in Puerto Rico from Spain around 1800 with a young woman named Doña Maria Christina Martinez who came to marry one of my Gatto ancestors. So, no more arguments about it. It looks beautiful against your skin.” Miguel reached over and kissed her. She felt herself slipping under his spell as he bore her down to the mattress and began a leisurely exploration of her mouth. He cupped her breasts in his big hands, and she felt the weight of the ruby pendant as it slipped between her breasts. They would definitely have to discuss the necklace further, but she had seen the stubborn look on his face when she’d said it was too valuable. She knew she was going to get an argument if she persisted with her protests. It was strange, but the ruby had quickly taken on her body warmth and felt right against her chest as though it was glad to be close to a woman again. Now that is fanciful thinking.

  Miguel slid his hand down between her thighs, and she felt his fingers slip through her wetness. Both her pussy and her butt were pleasantly sore. What a strange concept. Pleasantly sore. They had made love several times yesterday between the pool, the barn, and later that night in this bed. She didn’t think she had ever had quite that much sexual activity in so short a space of time. She wondered. Did other women have this much fun, and had she been missing out all this time? She almost giggled. That was something to make scientific enquiries about, but right now she was going to lay back and enjoy it. Who knew how long it would last? Not that she thought Miguel was a playboy and would disappear when the weekend was over. If anything he was very conservative and old fashioned despite his BDSM leanings, but things happened, and the best relationships hit hard times. While she had been very intrigued by the idea of BDSM, she didn’t know if she could do it permanently. Whoa, Nellie. What’s this about permanent? Miguel hadn’t said anything about permanent, and she surely didn’t want that. Did she? It was way too soon to be thinking this way. Let’s just enjoy the day and the rest of the weekend.

  He gripped her wrists in one hand and held them securely above her head. He looked into her eyes and slid his iron-hard cock into her wanting pussy and went still. His husky voice sent shivers down her spine as he said, “I’ve been waiting a long time for this, querida. A long time.” He began to stroke her slow and easy. She didn’t know if she could take the gentle torture. She wanted him hard and fast, but she knew better than to try to direct the proceedings. Miguel would pleasure her in his own way and at his own pace. He had patiently explained “topping from the bottom” in the barn the day before, and while they were not in the barn, she instinctively knew he would not wa
nt to be told what to do. Her breasts rubbed against his perfectly sculpted chest, and the bright red ruby seemed to pulse with life. That had to be an optical illusion—the way the light was shining through the tall glass doors to the balcony. Miguel reached down and nipped at her swollen nipples. He kissed each of her breasts in turn and then kissed the pendant resting between them. “Mine. You’re mine.”

  He picked up his pace, and each stroke seemed to glide over her clit and hit the perfect spot on the upper wall of her vagina. He fit her perfectly. She thought that was what they meant when they talked about the “G-spot.” She had never felt quite that sensation before. Oh, my. It really was different. She tilted her pelvis higher to try to capture the intense feeling as he continued to stroke her. This morning their lovemaking seemed to last forever. She had been impressed with his stamina yesterday based on the number of encounters, but this morning he seemed to be really taking his time. She couldn’t hold out to match him, and an orgasm tingled down her spine and to the tips of her toes. He kissed her slightly swollen lips and began to stroke her hard and fast until she came a second time, and he joined her in the fall over the edge. He collapsed on her chest and rested his forehead in the crook of her neck. They slowly came down together. “Am I too heavy, querida?”

  “No. You feel perfect.” And he did. She loved the feel of his solid, muscled body bearing her down into the mattress. Finally, he released her wrists, and she ran her hands down over his broad back and tight ass. Mine.

  * * * *

  Miguel rolled to the side. It wouldn’t do to suffocate the woman he had been waiting two years for. Having her here, in his bed, was the best Christmas present of all. That reminded him that he had Christmas morning calls to make to his parents and grandmother in Puerto Rico and his uncle Juan in Spain. He would do that while Gabriella was getting dressed. He had begged off his planned trip to Puerto Rico when he realized he would be able to spend the long weekend with Gabriella. He certainly was not going to pass up that opportunity.

  “How would you like to take a trail ride this morning? The horses need to get out. Jorge will have cleaned the stalls and fed them early, so they will be raring to go.”

  “I’d love that. I haven’t ridden out here in the Ranches in years.”

  “Good. Why don’t you shower and get dressed while I make a few calls home?”

  “Okay. That sounds like a plan.” He thought she looked a little disappointed that he wasn’t going to join her in the shower. Interesting.

  He quickly dressed in a western shirt, leather vest, jeans, and boots and took the breakfast tray down to the kitchen. He left it on the counter before walking to his home office overlooking the pool area. He picked up the phone and dialed Puerto Rico. “Hola, Mamá. Feliz Navidad. Que pasa?” He switched to English. “How are Popí and Abuela?”

  “Everyone is fine, mi hijo. We miss you and wish you were here. I don’t like to think of you alone on Christmas.”

  “I’m not alone, Mamá. I have company for the weekend.”

  “Oh? And who would that be?” He could hear the smile in her voice. She was ever hopeful that he was going to settle down and provide the next generation of Gattos.

  “Mamá. Don’t get pushy. It’s too soon for that.”

  “Fine. You can’t blame me for being hopeful. Don’t forget to call your uncle Juan. I spoke with him and Isabelle earlier.” After a few more minutes of catching his mother up on current events in his life, Miguel spoke with his father and grandmother and then hung up. He made one more quick call to his mother’s brother, Juan, in Spain and then went back up to the master suite.

  Gabriella was tucking her polo shirt into her English-style riding britches and fastening the buckle of her belt. The tall pair of polished black riding boots sat on the floor beside her. That was right. He had noticed that she’d had a Passier dressage saddle in the tack room of the trailer. He had expected that she would ride Western style since her horse was an Appaloosa. Apparently he had been mistaken. She sat on the edge of the bed and quickly attached the boot hooks to the loops on the inside of her boots and pulled them on. She smiled at him and stood up. When she turned toward the bed to pick up her helmet, jacket, and riding gloves he had the opportunity to admire her really fine butt in the tight britches with the full leather seat. Her riding clothes were top quality, and her saddle probably went for around three grand. The houseboat on the Intracoastal was not an inexpensive proposition either. Obviously she had family money since he knew her salary as an ASA was not particularly generous due to the current condition of the state budget. Most of the ASAs were working in the State’s Attorney’s Office either because of strong moral convictions or to gain the experience necessary to join a big criminal defense firm. He had the impression Gabriella was there because of strong moral convictions.

  “You look beautiful, Gabriella. Those britches are giving me ideas.”

  She grinned and said, “Full leather seat. I won’t feel a thing through them.”

  “We’ll see about that.” He laughed. “Let’s get on the road.” He took her hand, spun her around, and swatted her butt before he led her out of the bedroom.

  When they walked into the barn, both horses had their heads over the stall doors. Gabriella had a bag with carrots and apple slices ready and quickly dispensed the treats. They each pulled their horse out of its stall, hooked up to the cross-ties in the barn aisle, and began grooming. Miguel noticed that Gabriella was extremely quick and practiced. She had Ollie groomed and saddled with his legs wrapped in polo bandages before he had finished with Quixote. “You’re good at that.”

  She had unhooked the cross-ties and was putting the bit in Ollie’s mouth and pulling the head stall of the bridle up over his ears. “I’ve been doing it since I was twelve and got my first horse, Shadow, a black Morgan. I still get butterflies in my stomach when I’m on the way to the barn. Horses and riding have never lost their appeal for me.”

  “When you are a horseman, you are a horseman for life. I grew up riding Paso Finos in the mountains of Puerto Rico. Later, I rode Andalusians at Uncle Juan’s finca in Jerez.”

  * * * *

  Gabriella mounted and waited for Miguel. They rode down the driveway past the pond to the gated entrance. There was a narrow horse gate located next to the large electric gate. Miguel nudged Quixote to the side and opened it for her. Gabriella had to admit it was neatly done. Opening a gate without getting off the horse was a tricky maneuver, and both horse and rider had executed it with grace. Miguel sat his horse as though they were one entity. His long legs hugged Quixote’s barrel, and his fine butt was relaxed and moved with ease in the heavily tooled western saddle. They turned onto Mustang Trail and rode side by side to the corner of Hancock Road, which they followed to Old Sheridan Street.

  “Where are we going?”

  “There’s a horse park out this way with some nice trails.”

  “Sometime, maybe we can trailer over to Tree Tops Park. I love it there. It’s not a bad ride along the canal from Fox Run. Kaylin and I often spend a few hours there and then ride into town to the McDonalds and then back home. We also like to ride around Wolf Lake. It’s nice and shady in the summer, and the horses like to walk through the water or swim. Of course, we usually unsaddle first. Ollie likes to splash and get everything wet.”

  “That sounds like fun. I’ve heard about the McDonalds with the corral, but I’ve never been there.”

  “Then we’ll definitely have to check it out. It’s near the Bergeron Rodeo Grounds. As far as I know, it’s one of a kind.”

  “Like you, querida. You are one of a kind.” She knew her cheeks were getting pink. His compliments seemed to always get that reaction from her. He leaned across the space between the two horses and kissed her hard and fast and then righted himself. The horses took the romantic interlude in stride and continued down the road at a “going somewhere” walk.

  When they reached the park, they took the mulched trail to the right. It was cool
in the dappled shade of the live oak trees, and the sun was sparkling off the water in the pond. The park was deserted on Christmas morning, and they had the facility to themselves. “Are you up for a nice canter, querida?”

  Instead of answering, she lifted up off Ollie’s back into three-point, spurred him into a hand gallop, and left Miguel in her dust. He quickly followed, and when Quixote caught up to Ollie, he deftly cut him off. Miguel grinned as he turned and said over his shoulder, “You will pay for that disrespectful exhibition later, querida. Those full-seat leathers won’t save you.” She just laughed at him. They continued along the trail at a comfortable walk. The sun felt good on her shoulders, and she could feel herself beginning to relax. Being in the saddle always did that for her. The last weeks at work had been rough. Her thoughts turned back to the office and the upcoming trial. She had a huge responsibility resting heavily on her shoulders.

  “What else can you tell me about the Toros and Panteras that I might not know from the discovery and evidence in the case?”

  “The gang proliferation and the escalation of gang violence began in Los Angeles during the 1960’s and 1980’s when the civil war in El Salvador resulted in the displacement of large numbers of Hispanic youths, many of whom were trained in guerilla warfare. The gangs spread out to other cities on the Eastern Seaboard. Many of the current members are second generation illegal immigrants, and they are extremely dangerous individuals often affiliated with the Mexican Mafia and Columbian cartels for whom they run drugs, guns, and stolen cars. They also participate in human trafficking and provide muscle for the cartels. They maintain strong ties to gangs in Central and South America with contraband flowing in both directions. I’ve heard it estimated that eighty percent of the cars driven in El Salvador were stolen in the United States. There are no female members, but women are routinely used to carry weapons, act as decoys, and provide sex for the members. The gangs may also charge a weekly tax in exchange for protection to local prostitutes. They have no fear of law enforcement and will not hesitate to kill police officers.”