Gabriel's Inferno Trilogy by Sylvain Reynard
“Yes, Professor.” She bristled slightly at his condescension, but truth be told, she found his grumpiness sexy. She wanted to tease it out of him. To seduce him into doing unspeakable things to her, to—
“Any more abuse directed toward MA students will be brought to the attention of Professor Martin, the department chair. I believe you are well aware of the regulations governing the behavior of graduate students. I don’t need to remind you about the prohibitions against hazing, do I?”
“But I wasn’t hazing Julia, I was—”
“No sniveling. And I doubt that Miss Mitchell gave you permission to use her first name. You will address her properly or not at all.”
Christa bowed her head. Threats of the sort he was making were not sexy. She’d worked very hard to get into the PhD program at the University of Toronto, and she wasn’t about to let it all slip through her fingers. Not for some pathetic little bitch who had something cooking with the Professor’s research assistant.
Gabriel saw her reaction but said nothing, slowly sipping his espresso. He felt no remorse and was beginning to wonder what else he could do to make her cry.
“I’m confident you are well aware of the university’s policies governing harassment. Those policies work both ways. Professors can file a complaint if they believe they are being harassed by a student. If you cross the line with me, I’ll drag you to the Dean’s Office so quickly your head will spin. Do you understand?”
Christa lifted her chin and gazed at him with wide, frightened eyes. “But we—I thought—”
“But nothing!” Gabriel snapped. “Unless you’re delusional, you’ll realize that there is no we. I won’t repeat myself. You know where you stand.”
He glanced at Julia and Paul one last time. “Now that we have dispensed with today’s pleasantries, I’d like to tell you what I thought about your last dissertation proposal. It was rubbish. In the first place, your thesis is derivative. In the second, you’ve made no attempt to provide a literature review that comes close to being adequate. If you cannot amend your proposal to address these issues, you will need to find another director. If you choose to submit a revised proposal, you will need to do so within two weeks. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting that is actually worth my time. Good afternoon.”
Gabriel departed Starbucks abruptly, leaving a rather shell-shocked Christa staring off into space.
She heard part of his speech, of course, but her mind was focused on other things. First, she was going to do something to get back at Julia. She didn’t know what and she didn’t know when. But she was going to shank that bitch (metaphorically speaking) and cut her (also metaphorically speaking).
Second, she was going to rewrite her dissertation proposal and hopefully win Professor Emerson’s academic approval.
Third, she was going to redouble her efforts at seduction. Now that she had seen Professor Emerson angry, there was nothing she desired more than to see him angry with her—while naked. She was going to change his mind. She was going to break through his harsh exterior. She was going to see him kneeling before her, begging for her, and then…
Clearly, the four-inch heels and the Bordelle lingerie weren’t enough. Christa was going to head over to Holt Renfrew, and she was going to buy herself a new dress. Something European. Something sexy. Something by Versace.
Then she was going to Lobby to set her third scheme in motion…
Chapter 4
In the penthouse of a boutique hotel in Florence, clothes had been tossed haphazardly across a sitting room floor, trailing like breadcrumbs from the doorway toward a wall that was no longer blank. Groans and obvious rhythms floated in the air, wafting over a man’s fine handmade shoes, a black bra, a tailored suit tossed wantonly over a coffee table, a taffeta dress puddled into a Santorini-blue pool…
If one were a detective, one would notice that the lady’s panties and shoes were missing.
The air was thick with the smell of orange blossoms and Aramis, mingled with the musk of sweat and naked flesh. The room was dark. Not even the moonlight streaming in from the terrace reached the wall where two nude bodies clung to one another. The man stood upright, supporting the woman, who had her legs wrapped around his hips.
“Open your eyes.” Gabriel’s plea was punctuated by a cacophony of sound—skin sliding over skin, desperate cries muffled by lips and flesh, quick gulps of oxygen, and the slight thud of Julia’s back against the wall.
She could hear him as he groaned with every thrust, but her ability to speak had withdrawn as she focused on a single sensation—pleasure. Every movement of her lover pleased her, even the friction between their chests and the grip of his hands as he held her aloft. She danced on the very edge of satisfaction, breathless with anticipation that the next movement would push her over. Building, building, building, building…
“Are—you—okay?” He was breathing hard, his last word leaving his mouth as a cry as the slightest turn of her ankles pressed her sharp heels into his flesh.
Julia threw her head back and let out a few incoherent sounds as she climaxed, intense waves radiating out from where they were joined and speeding along her nerves until her entire body vibrated. Gabriel felt it, of course, and followed soon after; two deep thrusts and he cried her name into the crook of her neck, his body shaking.
“You worried me,” he whispered afterward. He lay on his back in the center of the large, white bed while his sleepy beloved curled into his side, her head resting over the surface of his tattoo.
“Why?”
“You wouldn’t open your eyes. You wouldn’t speak. I was worried I was too rough.”
She moved her fingers along his abdomen to the few hairs that trailed down from his navel, tracing the texture lazily.
“You didn’t hurt me. It felt different this time—more intense. Every time you moved, the most incredible feeling passed through me. I couldn’t open my eyes.”
Gabriel smiled to himself in relief and pressed his lips to her forehead.
“That position is deeper. And don’t forget all our foreplay at the museum. I couldn’t keep my hands off you during dinner.”
“That’s because you knew I’d lost my panties.”
“That’s because I want you. Always.” He offered her a half-smile.
“Every time with you is better than the last,” she whispered.
His expression grew wistful. “But you never say my name.”
“I say your name all the time. It’s a wonder you haven’t come up with a pet name you’d rather I use, such as Gabe, or Dante, or The Professor.”
“That’s not what I meant. I mean you never say my name—when you come.”
She lifted her chin so she could see his face. His expression matched his tone, wistful and momentarily vulnerable. The confident mask had slipped.
“For me, your name is synonymous with orgasm. I’m going to start calling them Emgasms.”
He laughed loudly, a hearty, chest-bouncing chuckle that required Julia to sit up. She joined him in his laughter, grateful that his moment of melancholy had passed.
“You have quite the sense of humor, Miss Mitchell.” He tilted her chin upwards so he could worship her lips once more before relaxing into the pillows and drifting off to sleep.
Julia stayed awake a little longer as she contemplated the anxious, insecure little boy who revealed himself at rare and unexpected moments.
The following morning Gabriel treated Julia to her preferred breakfast at Café Perseo, a fine gelateria in the Piazza Signoria. They sat inside because normal December temperatures had returned and it was rainy and cool.
One could sit by the square all day, every day, and watch the world walk by. There were old buildings on the perimeter—the Uffizi was around the corner. There was a tremendously impressive fountain and beautiful statues, including a copy of Michelangelo’s David and a statue of Perseus holding the dismembered head of Medusa in front of a lovely loggia.
Julia avoided look
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a taste? Raspberry and lemon are great together.” She held out a spoon where the two flavors commingled.
“Oh I want a taste. But not of that.” His eyes glinted. “I prefer something a trifle more exotic.” He nudged his espresso aside so he could take her hand in his. “Thank you for last night and this morning.”
“I think I’m the one who should be thanking you, Professor.” She squeezed his hand and busied herself with her breakfast, such as it was.
“I’m surprised there isn’t an outline of my body vaporized onto the wall of our room.” She giggled, holding out a small spoonful of the frozen treat.
He allowed her to feed him, and when his tongue darted out to lick his lips, she found herself light-headed. A bevy of images from earlier that morning flashed through her mind. And one remained.
O gods of sex-god boyfriends who enjoy pleasuring their lovers, thank you for this morning.
She swallowed hard. “You know, that was my first time.”
“It won’t be your last. I promise.” Gabriel licked his lips provocatively, eager to make her squirm.
She leaned over to give him a peck on the cheek. But he was having none of that. He snaked a hand to the back of her neck and pulled her closer.
Her mouth was sweet with gelato and the unique taste that was Julia. He groaned when he released her, wishing he could take her back to the hotel for a repeat of last night’s performance, or perhaps to the museum…
“Can I ask you something?” She busied herself with her bowl so she didn’t have to meet his gaze.
“Of course.”
“Why did you say that I was your fiancée?”
“Fidanzata has multiple meanings.”
“The primary meaning is fiancée.”
“Ragazza doesn’t express the depth of my attachment.” Gabriel wiggled his toes in his new, tight shoes. His mouth twitched as he contemplated what to say next, if he should say anything at all. He elected to remain silent, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
Julia noticed what she perceived to be his physical discomfort. “I’m sorry about my heels.”
“What’s that?”
“I saw the marks on your backside when you were getting dressed this morning. I didn’t mean to injure you.”
He grinned wickedly. “Occupational hazard for those obsessed with high-heeled shoes. I wear my love scars with pride.”
“I’ll be more careful next time.”
“No, you damn well won’t.”
Julia’s eyes grew wide at the sudden flash of passion in his eyes.
He captured her lips with his before whispering in her ear, “I’m going to buy you a pair of boots with even higher heels, then I’m going to see what you can do with them.”
As they strolled across the Ponte Vecchio under a shared umbrella, Gabriel persisted in pulling her into shop after shop, trying to tempt her into accepting an extravagant gift of jewelry—Etruscan reproductions, Roman coins, gold necklaces, etc. But she would only smile and decline, pointing to Grace’s diamond earrings and saying that they were more than enough. Her lack of attachment to material things only made him want to heap them at her feet.
When they reached the center of the bridge, Julia tugged at his arm and led him to the edge so they could gaze out over the Arno.
“There is something you could buy for me, Gabriel.”
He peered over at her curiously, the crisp Florentine air flushing her cheeks. She was goodness, light and warmth and softness. But terribly, terribly stubborn.
“Name it.”
Julia paused to run her hand over the barrier that separated her from the edge of the bridge. “I want my scar removed.”
He was almost surprised. He knew that she was ashamed of Simon’s bite mark. He’d walked in on her applying concealer that morning, and she’d grown teary when he asked about it.
She avoided his eyes and continued. “I don’t like looking at it. I don’t like the fact that you have to look at it. I want it gone.”
“We could find a plastic surgeon in Philadelphia, while we’re home for Christmas.”
“Our time at home is so short. I couldn’t do that to my dad. Or to Rachel.”
Gabriel shifted the umbrella to his other hand and pulled her into a hug. He kissed her, trailing down to her neck until he made contact with the mark.
“I will gladly do this for you and more. You just have to ask. But I would like you to do something for me.”
“What?”
“I would like you to talk to someone. About what happened.”
Julia lowered her eyes. “I talk to you.”
“I meant someone who isn’t an ass. I can hire a doctor who will remove the scar from your skin, but no one can remove the scars on the inside. It’s important for you to realize that. I don’t want you to be disappointed.”
“I won’t be. And stop calling yourself names. It upsets me.”
He conceded her point with a nod of the head. “I think it would help if you had someone to talk to—about everything. Tom, your mother, him, and me.” He gave her a pained look. “I am a difficult man. I know that. I think if you had someone to talk to, it would help.”
She closed her eyes. “I will, but only if you agree to do the same thing.”
He stiffened.
She opened her eyes, speaking quickly. “I know that you don’t want to, and believe me, I understand. But if I’m going to do this, you need to do it too. You were really angry last night, and even though I know you weren’t angry with me, I had to bear the brunt of it.”
“I tried to make up for it afterward.” He gritted his teeth.
She reached up to stroke his agitated jaw. “Of course. But it bothered me that you were so upset over an unsolicited pass from a stranger. And that you thought that sex would relieve your anger and mark me as yours.”
Gabriel’s face registered shock, for he had never interpreted his actions in that way.
“I would never hurt you.” He squeezed her hand.
“I know.”
Gabriel looked upset, and the panic in his eyes didn’t abate when Julia reached up to pet his hair a little.
“We’re quite a pair, aren’t we? With our scars and histories and all our problems. A tragic romance, I suppose.” She smiled and tried to make light of their situation.
“The only tragedy would be losing you,” he said, kissing her lightly.
“You’ll only lose me if you stop loving me.”
“I’m a lucky man then. I’ll be able to keep you forever.”
He kissed her once more before wrapping his arms around her.
“Therapy was required when I went into rehab. I continued meeting with a therapist for a year or so afterward, in addition to going to weekly self-help meetings. It isn’t as if I haven’t gone down that road.”
Julia frowned. “You’re in recovery and you don’t go to meetings. I haven’t said much about it before, but that’s a serious problem. On top of that, you still drink.”
“I was a cocaine addict, not an alcoholic.”
She paused, searching his eyes. It was as if she’d uncovered an old medieval map that outlined the edge of the world with the words here there be dragons.
“We both know that Narcotics Anonymous strongly suggests that addicts don’t drink.” She sighed. “As much as I will try to help, some things are beyond me. As much as sex with you pleases me, I don’t want to become your new drug of choice. I can’t fix things.”
“Is that what you think? That I use sex to fix things?” His question was in earnest, and so Julia resisted the urge to respond with sarcasm.
“I think that you used to use sex to fix things. You said as much to me once, remember? You used sex to combat your loneliness. Or to punish yourself.”
A dark shadow passed over Gabriel’s fe
“But when a person is upset, old patterns of behavior emerge. It’s true of me too, except my coping mechanisms are different.” She kissed him softly but long enough for his panic to recede and for him to kiss her back.
When they pulled apart they stood wrapped around one another until Julia decided to break the silence. “Your lecture last night reminded me of something.” She pulled her phone from her purse and quickly scrolled through some pictures. “Here.”
He took the phone from her hand and gazed at an exquisite painting. In it, St. Francesca Romana cradled an infant child with the assistance of the Virgin Mary, while an angel looked on.
“It’s beautiful.” He returned her phone.
“Gabriel,” she said softly. “Look at the painting.”
He did. And the strangest feeling passed over him.
She began to speak in a low voice. “I’ve always loved this painting. I thought it was because there are similarities between Gentileschi and Caravaggio. But it’s more than that. St. Frances lost some of her children to the plague. This painting is supposed to portray one of her visions of what happened to those children.”
She searched Gabriel’s eyes to see if he grasped her meaning. But he hadn’t.
“When I look at this painting, I think of your baby, Maia. Grace is holding her, surrounded by angels.” Julia pointed to the figures in the painting. “See? The baby is safe and loved. That’s what Paradise is like. You don’t have worry.”
Julia looked up into his face. His pained, beautiful face. Gabriel had tears in his eyes.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was trying to comfort you.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, gripping him tightly.
Eventually, he wiped at his eyes. He hid his face in her hair, feeling grateful and relieved.
The following afternoon, the rain stopped. So the couple took a taxi up to the Piazzale Michelangelo, which provided a sweeping view of the city. They could have taken a city bus like regular people, but Gabriel was not like regular people.