“Oh, hell no! You have me for breakfast every morning. Annnd this curvy girl needs all the kinds of delishiness he has on his cart,” I said with air quotes and ran to the door beating him. Oh, hell to the no. I wanted to have my crepes.
All wide-eyed, he smirked at me. That’s right motherfucker. I’m in charge this morning. As if he were in my head, he raised an eyebrow. He needed to stay out of my head. That’s the thing with living together. He was a proficient mind-reader. Argh.
“You can set up right over there. I want to watch how you make these. I’ll be over here on my curvy chair,” I told the nice Italian man, then stuck my tongue out at Abel. I didn’t worry whether the chef understood me or not. English was a requirement at the big hotels.
“Il mio piacere bella signora,” he said, moving into the suite.
I loved the way whatever he said sounded. Sigh. I sat in my curvy chair watching him set up. The broody alpha, as per usual, stared him down obnoxiously.
“Take it down a notch, will ya? You’re messing with my juju. And I don’t want you messing with his. He’s feeding us,” I said, elaborating with my hands.
Abel squinted at me suspiciously. “That right there…is Chance. You can’t hang out with him anymore. I’m not going to have you acting like a bratty-gay-man,” he said, picking his phone off the charger.
“Don’t you dare text him and tell him he can’t hang out with me. He’s my only girlfriend here.” I pouted.
“He’s a man. He’s not a girlfriend.” He huffed.
The chef giggled to himself. Hmm. He was a cutie and Chance’s type. I sat there tapping on my chin, lost in thought.
“Don’t even think about playing match-maker, Beauty. You have enough to deal with,” he said, opening the Italian newspaper. Jackass.
“Oh, yeah? What do I have to deal with?” I knew he didn’t have logical answer. I did absolutely nothing but shop and spend time with him.
“Me.” He smiled beautifully, a twinkle of mischief behind his sooty lashes. The morning sun created a halo behind him. He was anything but angelic. Him and his perfectly long sooty lashes. He was a walking-talking-orgasm.
“You’ve got that Amy Dunne look,” he kidded.
“Christ, ever since we watched that movie, you say that about every girl.” He was being ridiculous and paranoid. Not a good look.
He laughed. “That’s because she fucked with my head. One-big-mind-fuck, Gia. Thanks.”
“She was just pissed he cheated.” I snorted. “He did the same lip in the snow/sugar thingy. So she’s justified. He was a prick.” I shook my head. He was, and I stand by that. If Abel ever did that… I shudder to think what I would do to him and her.
He put the paper down just in time for our crepes. He removed me from my chair, carrying me to the outside table. It was my usual spot where I sat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. His lap. He had a fixation where I sat and a heavy food fetish. He insisted on feeding me. At first, I was embarrassed by it. Now, it was my reality.
“Umm,” I moaned as he fed me my first bite of lemon crepe. I heard the inside door opening. “Thank you, Pasquale,” I yelled over Abel’s shoulder.
“E Strato un piacere. Godetevi,” he answered, closing the door behind him.
“Whatever he said sounded great.” I couldn’t care less. As long as he came back later.
“He said you’re very welcome. Enjoy,” Abel explained.
“Now you know Italian?” I wiped my mouth. Funny. I mean, I shouldn’t have been surprised and yet, I was. Ha.
“Dopo questa fascia MI mangio che pussy,” he responded in perfect Italian. I knew pussy. However, what was the rest? Did I want to know?
“Tell me,” I asked as he placed another piece into my mouth. Sigh. Heaven…
“After this crepe, I’m going to eat that pussy,” he translated.
Sounded good to me. I nodded. “Kay. I’m totally in.” I chewed, enjoying my last bite. I didn’t get to wipe my mouth. He used his talented tongue to lick the sugar from my lips.
He picked me up, whisking us to the bedroom where he opened the French doors to the terrace to let the warm breeze in. His hands unwrapped me like his favorite present. His eyes were dark with thirst. His scent was potent. I could smell when he was turned on. If I ever repeated that to another human, they would hardly believe me. However, I noticed a change in smell. My nose was super sensitive to all scents. I could smell his heady fragrance. It made my legs quiver. My body knew it was time to prepare for the dragon. As of late, I was beyond wet. It was kind of embarrassing. He loved it. I suspected he’d say that about anything sexually related to us. He fucking loved everything.
“Open those gorgeous thighs and let me smell you, Beauty. I want to taste what is mine.” His chest rumbled. The vibration I was sure was heard throughout the hotel. It wasn’t even human. I swear.
Mouth closed, eyes on him, and legs open while Master feasted. I knew the drill as I chased Alice down the never-ending-rabbit-hole-of-orgasms. My hands always went to my head. Yeah, I basically ripped my hair out. Thankfully, it was growing like crazy. No impending baldness there. I was positive he opened the terrace doors for Pasquale and any other chefs to hear what he was doing to his. I couldn’t pay that any mind at the moment. The never ending orgasm barreled hard and fast. Before the quake stopped, he shoved his cock in, riding it out with me as he sent me into another. His arms were under my knees, spreading me wide for him. I loved that position. I could watch each and every set of his perfect eight-pack engage. It was like sexual pinball for my eyes. Lord, and that V divot. When his pants hung low, my eyes were never far behind, and neither were Chance’s. True story.
“Oh, God please.” I couldn’t help but scream. He was a God. A fucking sex God.
“Do you know what your screams do to me, Beauty?” he growled mid-pump. “I want to come all over that bare pussy and parade you around, showing everyone what’s mine.”
Oh, so not happening. I was afraid he’d consider it the way he’s been acting lately.
“On your knees, baby girl. Open that mouth and show me that pink tongue,” he said, throwing a pillow on the tile for me. I kneeled down, sticking out my tongue while keeping his gaze. “Fuck, you’re my wettest dream.” He worked his cock while I patiently waited for him to explode in my mouth. I could tell by his shoulder movements that he was twisting his shaft hard while the other hand pulled his sac. Three, two, one….
He shot a thick rope of cream on my tongue. “This is for that bratty mouth.”
“Thank you, Sir.” He shot another on my cheek. Another rope across my tits. And finally all over my chin. He liked to watch it drip. I wasn’t allowed to wipe. His hawk-like eyes watched as his come slowly dripped from my chin, down my tits…to my stomach. When he was satisfied, he scooped me up to shower me, singing “Say Hello to Heaven.”
That was the Italian version of many a mornings with my broody alpha. However, after the beautiful day and evening we spent enjoying each other, I woke up to a fucked up mess of epic proportions. It started innocent enough. I had to pee for like the fifth time. I had candy on my mind and remembered we never opened the basket the hotel sent up. While enjoying my mid-night snack…I noticed a paper underneath the front door. Curiosity got the best of me. Plus, I’m a nosey bitch. I walked over, picking it up. Italy’s version of the celeb enquirer had Abel with a young girl across the front cover.
“What. The. Fuck!” I yelled. I flipped on the lights, needing to be sure my eyes were seeing what the fuck I was seeing. I was. I thumbed to the article featuring yours truly. I didn’t need to read Italian to understand the pictures of him. A girl laid out on a pool table with her skirt pulled up above her panties. His fucking hand on her skirt or leg or panties. I couldn’t tell. I rolled the magazine into a roll stomping to the bedroom. He slept like the dead. Not that I was being quiet.
“Wake up, motherfucker.” I whacked him in the head with the magazine.
“What the fuck, Gia?” He batte
d my hand away. “I’m not trying to fucking play with you.” He rolled over. Yeah, I don’t think so.
“I kicked the side of the bed so hard it rebounded me on my ass onto the floor. I was pissed. I got to my feet. “Get your lying ass up, motherfucker,” I screamed, flipping on all the lights.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” he yelled at me.
“Oh, he’s not here to help you, fucker. Don’t you fucking pray to him.” I threw the magazine at him. With his sleepy hands, he rubbed his eyes awake.
“What. The. Fuck. Is this?” he bellowed. Oh, hell no to the alpha thing. I didn’t want to be dissuaded by his Don-juju. I knew it would do nothing but get me off track. I was so angry I was shaking. “Okay, Beauty. Sit down. You’re shaking. Please. I can explain,” he begged. I watched as he threw on his sweats, driving his hands constantly though his hair. God, that was annoying and distracting.
“Don’t you what-the-fuck me, Abel,” I roared. He was stunned. That’s right; it was my turn. He went right for his phone.
I don’t think so. I ripped it out of his hands. “Calling for backup? Not.” I threw it across the room.
“Gia, I’m trying to figure out what the fuck is going on. I’m not doing anything but looking for answers, like you.” He came at me with his hands up.
“Don’t you touch me, scumbag.” I batted his hand down and away from me. I wanted to hurt him. Like he hurt me. He needed to hurt. I palmed my face, digging my fingers into my eye-sockets. Fuck. My. Life. “I knew you were too good to be true. I knew it,” I cried. I didn’t want to cry. I was a mess of snot and tears. Fuck. I looked up at Abel. Tears ran down my face like a facet of sorrow.
A knock at the door came swiftly and he ran for it. Oh, no you don’t. I ran ahead of him, shielding the door. “No one comes in here until you tell me why you’re such a lying motherfucker.
“Stop calling me that. I’m not lying to you. I swear,” he pleaded.
“Baby girl, open the door and let me in,” Chance begged. “I know what happened. Do you want to know?”
I didn’t know what I wanted. My brain was going to explode. I held my head in my hand in an effort to stop it from happening. I didn’t help. The pressure was too much.
“I need to sit down,” I said aloud.
Abel frowned, moving closer to me.
“I don’t need you.” I moved the opposite way from him.
He let Chance in and closed the door with a slam. Good. He was pissed. How’d he think I felt? I sat on the sofa, putting a pillow next to me. It was juvenile but I didn’t want him sitting near me. Fuck. My stomach hurt. I leaned over onto my arm in an effort to stop the cramps. One breath in. One long breath out…
“Sweetie, remember the night in Amsterdam when you woke up and Abel was out? It was only a short time. We had ginger snap tea…” He nodded like he wanted me to remember. I did remember that night. So?
“What’s this wag the dog? I don’t want to hear all the conspiracy theories you two are going to spin. I don’t!” I was so mad I started to cry again. Jesus, what was going on with me? I face-planted in my palms. I didn’t want to look at him. I needed to hide and think.
“Answer me, please,” Chance asked again.
“Yes. And?” I said through gritted teeth.
“Okay, well that night, Ender had a soiree,” he explained. And?
“Party,” Abel offered.
I peeked through my fingers. “Really, we’re going to do this now?” Chance asked him. I shook my head. Did he ever stop?
“A fete, celebration, affair, or fucking soiree,” Chance amended. He rarely cursed. I wanted to smile, but I didn’t.
“Anyway, there was a girl who was intoxicated. She threw herself, offering herself to not only the broody alpha, but to Woody, Ender, Jack, and everyone else. Our broody alpha only helped cover her back up after she pulled her skirt up, showing her goods to everyone. I know, really trashy.” He shook his head.
I dropped my hands but started picking at my cuticles. I needed something to bleed. So what if it were my fingers. A loud bang sounded in the direction from the door. What the fuck?
Abel went to see. Woody. Of course. Backup. The relief pitcher to close the game. Our version of Mario fucking Rivera. Abel stepped aside letting him in. His face was white with worry.
“I just floated a serious air biscuit,” he stammered. Ugh, I wanted to gag. Gross. Just fucking gross.
“Lovely.” Chance’s face the epitome of disgust. Now, that I wanted to laugh about. Chance was such a girl.
“Why ya fanny-farts waking me up at this ungodly hour?” His voice still slurred from sleep.
Abel went to the bedroom to retrieve the magazine, throwing it at him. He caught it…eyeing it thoughtfully. No doubt the Irish wheels were spinning, looking to help a brother out.
“Fucking hell,” he said, walking over to bar. There wasn’t anything but seltzer back there. Abel didn’t drink anymore…and well, I umm…I chose not to as well. “What the fuck? No libations? Chance, make yourself useful, and call the lad. Have him bring it up straight away.”
Chance hopped on the phone, ordering up whatever the Irish closer wanted.
The brawny Irishman came to rest next to me, removing the pillow blockade I built. He grabbed my hand. “I want to tell you a little story, sweets.” His tone was serious. He was very much awake. “Before I get started. I have to say. All that beer last night is really tugging on the old fart-strings, Lad.” He looked at Abel, cracking a smile.
Oh, I got it. He wanted to defuse Nuclear Abel. Humor went a long way between the boys. I shook my head. Unbelievable. I set out a long sigh. I was in a nightmare and he was telling fart jokes.
“Sorry, my dear,” he continued. “That wasn’t part of my story. Just a side-note,” he explained. Ah, yeah. Great. This is what I have to deal with being surrounded by men. They were really just big toddlers who still laughed about farting. “He didn’t have intercourse with that betty,” he continued casually.
“Oh, thank you fucking God. Really, Woody?” I grabbed the pillow, throwing it at Abel’s head. Fucker. He caught it, putting in down carefully on the other coach.
“Let me start again. The girl was a fucking mess. She offered herself to anyone who wanted a sniff. We were not interested.” He looked at Abel, nodding. Abel nodded back in agreement. Christ, these two were parrots of each other. I started cracking my knuckles. I did that when I got anxious.
“Don’t do that. My mum did that and had knuckles like a fucking bloke,” he clarified. Great, now that that’s out of the way… He was stalling until he thought of something I’d bite. No thank you. I sat back, closing my eyes.
A long sigh escaped me. “Why were his hands on her?” I asked. This should be good.
“They were on her skirt technically. I asked the fella to help me right her. She was a mess. I have a heart. She’s someone’s daughter, right?” he asked, trying his best to convince me.
Oh, my God. He was going for that angle. Now they were good Samaritan’s. Typical. Why had I thought this might go any other way?
I stood from the coach. I had enough bullshit from them. “Sit your ass down. We’re not done here. Not by a motherfucking longshot,” Able roared.
I sat. I didn’t want to, but his angry face scared the fuck out of me. Chance opened the door, cheerfully greeting the server who brought Woody’s beer.
He handed Chance a bottle. “Aye, thank you, lad.” He cheered Chance with his bottle. Chance being Chance, smiled appreciatively. Mental eye-roll to the highest order. I’d remember to kick him down a flight of stairs.
“He boxed off her…umm box. And I covered her fun-bags,” he continued. Well isn’t that interesting. Fun-bags. I nodded to Abel, who was whiter than white.
“Just shut the fuck up, Wood. Your translation’s making it worse.” He knelt before me. “Beauty, why would I ever want another? Ever?” he asked.
Good point. Why? I crossed my leg, putting as much distance between us.
“I pulled down the slut’s skirt. She was all exposed. Woody closed her top. Someone must have taken the picture just as my hands were on her skirt. Her skirt—not her. I’d never touch another. I swear it.”
“And the other pic with the blonde?” I asked, waiting for his explanation.
His hand now rested on the back of his neck. “On my way out, a girl asked me to take a picture with her. That’s the honest truth. I did it because I was being a prick to everyone the whole time I was there. I felt guilty. You know I haven’t been doing press. I can’t be bothered by those whores. You’re my life now.” Simple, but it doesn’t mean it isn’t true. I don’t need elaborate explanations. The truth’s on my side.
“That right there was beautiful.” Woody pointed at Abel. Chance agreed readily. Oh, brother. Well, he certainly sounded sincere. But was he?
“Swear to me?” I asked, looking him dead in his chocolaty eyes. It was the true test. I didn’t know him to be a bold faced liar. Funny, right? It was if you thought about it. Yet, there I was, demanding it from him.
“I swear it.” He crossed his heart. He crossed his heart so he had to be telling the truth. “Beauty…” He grabbed my face with both of his ringed hands. “I plan on showing you really soon, baby.” He pressed his lips to mine.
“Goodnight, pricks.” Woody abruptly got off the couch. “Not you, my dear. These other two lads.” He pointed at Abel and Chance.
Chance beamed essentially. He was thrilled that Woody was even talking to him. He usually took a wide birth.
“It’s the way of my people.” Woody bowed, closing the door behind him
“You good? You need me to stay? I could stay out here if needed,” Chance continued fretting.
“No, I’ll be fine. I’ll text you in the morning.” I got up to kiss his cheek. He really was a dear friend. But what I wouldn’t give for a little Cindy-time. We walked him to the door. “Goodnight.” I squeezed his arm, silently thanking him. I decided to leave the two of them for a few minutes. I just wanted to crawl into bed and think…
Forgiving Gia (Rocker Series Book 2) Page 17
