Gael's Naughty Angel: A Mafia Prince Romance
Half an hour later, Gael and Rick were pulling up on the driveway of his house. He didn't get out of his car right away, keeping his hands on the steering wheel and his head thrown back on the rest. Sensing Rick waiting for him on the side of his car, he alighted and headed to the front door.
"Everything okay, Boss?" asked Rick.
No.
"Yeah. Just tired. Didn't get much sleep last night." Gael opened the front door. Before he entered, he turned to Riccardo and questioned, "Have you heard anything from the borders?"
"Nothing on their end, Boss. Leos could be coming in by air."
"Keep our men awake. We don't want any surprises." He stepped into the foyer and entered the living room, his eyes scanning the empty place. It had always been empty before Angela, but it felt even emptier without her here now.
Gael took the stairs, stripped off his shirt on the way, and pushed the door to his bedroom. A curse escaped under his breath when Angela's perfume invaded his nose. His bedroom was in order as if she hadn't been here for days yet her scent lingered in the air like she'd taken permanent residence—even if she was no longer around or her stuff wasn't here. He couldn't tell if he was going crazy and it was just all in his head, or that she did this on purpose to make him suffer. But after last night, he couldn't blame her, really.
Stalking towards the bathroom, he turned the tap in the sink and collected cold water on his palms, splashing himself on the face and repeated this one more time. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, the memory from last night clawing its way to the front of his head—and suddenly, she was here again, right in front of him in her unzipped dress. His body remembered everything he did to her—the way he pressed himself on her back, touched her skin, ran his nose up her neck, and inhaled her delicious scent.
The muscle on his jaw popped when he remembered what he said to her.
"My dreams are better than reality."
When he said those words last night, it came out without much thought. But right after he left, he realized how it must have sounded. It was too late to take it back. The damage had been done. And maybe, he didn't want to clarify it even if the truth in his words wasn't what she probably thought.
His dreams were indeed better than reality. But it was far from disappointment in what he saw in her. Fûck no. Not in a million years. She was perfect. Though it didn't change the fact that while he wanted to be around her, he couldn't really stay. At least, in his dreams, they were together. In his dreams, Angela was his—no crazy exes, no mafia, no reservations. So yes, his dreams were definitely better than reality.
'You're still an ass for making her think differently,' his inner voice said.
Exhaling a sigh, he tossed the shirt that hung on his shoulder into the hamper. Gael stopped in his tracks when his eye caught something pink on the bottom of the mirror—above the socket. 'What's this? Angela's?' He drew his brows together and reached for the flap, taking the piece of paper and reading it.
[ My BOB is actually a gorgeous bunny in hot pink. ]
He blinked. He swallowed. BOB as in Battery Operated Boyfriend—her friggin' device was a hot pink bunny. A huff escaped his lips, and then a broad smile formed on his face. She must have remembered their conversation the other day while she cleaned her stuff from his bathroom—probably when she was putting away that hair thing he thought was her vibrator. Hot damn. "A pink bunny, huh?"
At first, he was smiling...and then he wasn't. He clenched his jaw tight, and his underwear became snug. Damn it. Now the image of Angela using that thing was in his mind. She was bold in admitting that she owned one, and he liked it.
Taking a deep breath, her scent was also in the bathroom, and it only made his situation worse. His thumb ran on the note, and then he placed it back where he found it instead of throwing it in the trash. He wanted to keep it.
Gael needed a cold shower after that. Hooking his thumbs on his waistband, he shoved his pants and underwear down and tossed them into the hamper. He stepped inside the shower, turned on the handle, and let the cold water from the ceiling fall on his head. Lifting his chin upward, his eyes were closed as the drops of water rained on his face, cooling him down while he tried thinking about other things in an attempt to soften himself up.
Angela. 'No, not that,' said the voice in his head.
Rotten tomatoes. 'Good. Keep going.'
Angela. 'What the fûck! Go back.'
An old person's whole set of false teeth. Ugh.
Okay, that worked.
His eyes opened, and they landed on another pink sticky note on the showerhead on the wall.
[ I didn't bring my BOB. But this one did the trick. ;-) ]
Gael rubbed his scruff. His relief was short-lived, and it didn't help that there was another note just several inches away from the showerhead. A pink one was stuck on the wall just above his body wash.
[ I like to use your body wash on me so I'd smell like you when I crawl to your bed at night. ]
Those notes did it. He was hard again. His manhood was so stiff; it was actually becoming painful. Angela probably wanted to kill him. This was payback for what he did to her last night, and she was winning. His nose flared as he leaned a hand on the wall for support. This was not good. He was going to break.
His muscles rippled on his torso as his breathing became heavy. Images of Angela lying in the tub with the detachable showerhead between her legs flashed in his mind—her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted, one hand holding the showerhead while the other grabbing her tit. Shît. This was too much.
Reaching for his body wash, he squirted thick white liquid on his palm and began slathering it on his chest, neck, and abdomen. Another image of her flashed, and this time, he could hear her moans. Her breathing was ragged, both of her hands now touching her apex.
"Fûck." He reached further south and fisted his cock, closing his eyes as he continued watching her pleasure herself. 'That's right, Angel. Rub it,' he thought, his hand gliding up and down his shaft slowly at first until he picked up his pace.
He was a sick fûck who fantasized about the woman of his dreams when he'd left her last night. 'You're sick.' He pumped faster, groaning as images of her calling his name while she writhed as she climaxed danced in his head. 'Don't stop,' he told her. 'Keep going. Ride it out.'
A guttural sound he barely recognized came out of him as he released, jets of cum hitting the wall in front of him while he convulsed and tightened his abdomen. He had never come so fast and hard in a long time like this as if he was a horny teenager who couldn't stop thinking about his crush and then rubbing one off the moment he was alone in his room.
Gael chuckled, shaking his head for what he just did. 'You should be ashamed of yourself,' he thought. When it came to her, his control was barely hanging. And the second she was gone, here he was, jacking off from an image of her that he created in his mind—all because of the damn sticky notes.
Slightly relieved from his heated excursion, he finished his shower and grabbed a fresh towel from the floating cabinet. After drying himself, he hung it on the wall. Just when he thought it was over, another note was stuck next to the double towel rod. It was directly beside a hanging towel—obviously Angela's. And it said:
[ I used this towel on me, wiping myself dry after I used the showerhead. ]
"Oh, for Christ's sake. Sorry, Jesus. But this woman is going to be the death of me," he spoke under gritted teeth. His fingers itched to touch the towel, but he already sinned just a minute ago.
Gael shook his head as he strolled out of the bathroom and quickly changed into a T-shirt and shorts. It was still early in the day, and he had nothing to do until after lunch. With heavy eyelids, he decided to take a nap to recharge, so he dove on his bed and nuzzled on the pillow that still smelled like her. Lying on his stomach, a long exhale escaped his lips and he lazily blinked.
Holy mother of all naughty girls like Angela! There was another pink note on the other pillow next to him. He dreaded to read it but he had to see just what it was she did this time.
[ I wish I brought my BOB instead of using my hands and this pillow between my legs. Good night and sweet dreams, Gael. ]
His face hardened as he muttered under his breath, "Angel… You're wicked."
Chapter 158: Naughty Angel Gets Her Revenge
"Everything okay, Boss?" asked Rick.
No.
"Yeah. Just tired. Didn't get much sleep last night." Gael opened the front door. Before he entered, he turned to Riccardo and questioned, "Have you heard anything from the borders?"
"Nothing on their end, Boss. Leos could be coming in by air."
"Keep our men awake. We don't want any surprises." He stepped into the foyer and entered the living room, his eyes scanning the empty place. It had always been empty before Angela, but it felt even emptier without her here now.
Gael took the stairs, stripped off his shirt on the way, and pushed the door to his bedroom. A curse escaped under his breath when Angela's perfume invaded his nose. His bedroom was in order as if she hadn't been here for days yet her scent lingered in the air like she'd taken permanent residence—even if she was no longer around or her stuff wasn't here. He couldn't tell if he was going crazy and it was just all in his head, or that she did this on purpose to make him suffer. But after last night, he couldn't blame her, really.
Stalking towards the bathroom, he turned the tap in the sink and collected cold water on his palms, splashing himself on the face and repeated this one more time. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, the memory from last night clawing its way to the front of his head—and suddenly, she was here again, right in front of him in her unzipped dress. His body remembered everything he did to her—the way he pressed himself on her back, touched her skin, ran his nose up her neck, and inhaled her delicious scent.
The muscle on his jaw popped when he remembered what he said to her.
"My dreams are better than reality."
When he said those words last night, it came out without much thought. But right after he left, he realized how it must have sounded. It was too late to take it back. The damage had been done. And maybe, he didn't want to clarify it even if the truth in his words wasn't what she probably thought.
His dreams were indeed better than reality. But it was far from disappointment in what he saw in her. Fûck no. Not in a million years. She was perfect. Though it didn't change the fact that while he wanted to be around her, he couldn't really stay. At least, in his dreams, they were together. In his dreams, Angela was his—no crazy exes, no mafia, no reservations. So yes, his dreams were definitely better than reality.
'You're still an ass for making her think differently,' his inner voice said.
Exhaling a sigh, he tossed the shirt that hung on his shoulder into the hamper. Gael stopped in his tracks when his eye caught something pink on the bottom of the mirror—above the socket. 'What's this? Angela's?' He drew his brows together and reached for the flap, taking the piece of paper and reading it.
[ My BOB is actually a gorgeous bunny in hot pink. ]
He blinked. He swallowed. BOB as in Battery Operated Boyfriend—her friggin' device was a hot pink bunny. A huff escaped his lips, and then a broad smile formed on his face. She must have remembered their conversation the other day while she cleaned her stuff from his bathroom—probably when she was putting away that hair thing he thought was her vibrator. Hot damn. "A pink bunny, huh?"
At first, he was smiling...and then he wasn't. He clenched his jaw tight, and his underwear became snug. Damn it. Now the image of Angela using that thing was in his mind. She was bold in admitting that she owned one, and he liked it.
Taking a deep breath, her scent was also in the bathroom, and it only made his situation worse. His thumb ran on the note, and then he placed it back where he found it instead of throwing it in the trash. He wanted to keep it.
Gael needed a cold shower after that. Hooking his thumbs on his waistband, he shoved his pants and underwear down and tossed them into the hamper. He stepped inside the shower, turned on the handle, and let the cold water from the ceiling fall on his head. Lifting his chin upward, his eyes were closed as the drops of water rained on his face, cooling him down while he tried thinking about other things in an attempt to soften himself up.
Angela. 'No, not that,' said the voice in his head.
Angela. 'What the fûck! Go back.'
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Rotten tomatoes.An old person's whole set of false teeth. Ugh.
Okay, that worked.
His eyes opened, and they landed on another pink sticky note on the showerhead on the wall.
[ I didn't bring my BOB. But this one did the trick. ;-) ]
Gael rubbed his scruff. His relief was short-lived, and it didn't help that there was another note just several inches away from the showerhead. A pink one was stuck on the wall just above his body wash.
[ I like to use your body wash on me so I'd smell like you when I crawl to your bed at night. ]
Those notes did it. He was hard again. His manhood was so stiff; it was actually becoming painful. Angela probably wanted to kill him. This was payback for what he did to her last night, and she was winning. His nose flared as he leaned a hand on the wall for support. This was not good. He was going to break.
His muscles rippled on his torso as his breathing became heavy. Images of Angela lying in the tub with the detachable showerhead between her legs flashed in his mind—her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted, one hand holding the showerhead while the other grabbing her tit. Shît. This was too much.
Reaching for his body wash, he squirted thick white liquid on his palm and began slathering it on his chest, neck, and abdomen. Another image of her flashed, and this time, he could hear her moans. Her breathing was ragged, both of her hands now touching her apex.
"Fûck." He reached further south and fisted his cock, closing his eyes as he continued watching her pleasure herself. 'That's right, Angel. Rub it,' he thought, his hand gliding up and down his shaft slowly at first until he picked up his pace.
He was a sick fûck who fantasized about the woman of his dreams when he'd left her last night. 'You're sick.' He pumped faster, groaning as images of her calling his name while she writhed as she climaxed danced in his head. 'Don't stop,' he told her. 'Keep going. Ride it out.'
A guttural sound he barely recognized came out of him as he released, jets of cum hitting the wall in front of him while he convulsed and tightened his abdomen. He had never come so fast and hard in a long time like this as if he was a horny teenager who couldn't stop thinking about his crush and then rubbing one off the moment he was alone in his room.
Gael chuckled, shaking his head for what he just did. 'You should be ashamed of yourself,' he thought. When it came to her, his control was barely hanging. And the second she was gone, here he was, jacking off from an image of her that he created in his mind—all because of the damn sticky notes.
Slightly relieved from his heated excursion, he finished his shower and grabbed a fresh towel from the floating cabinet. After drying himself, he hung it on the wall. Just when he thought it was over, another note was stuck next to the double towel rod. It was directly beside a hanging towel—obviously Angela's. And it said:
[ I used this towel on me, wiping myself dry after I used the showerhead. ]
"Oh, for Christ's sake. Sorry, Jesus. But this woman is going to be the death of me," he spoke under gritted teeth. His fingers itched to touch the towel, but he already sinned just a minute ago.
Gael shook his head as he strolled out of the bathroom and quickly changed into a T-shirt and shorts. It was still early in the day, and he had nothing to do until after lunch. With heavy eyelids, he decided to take a nap to recharge, so he dove on his bed and nuzzled on the pillow that still smelled like her. Lying on his stomach, a long exhale escaped his lips and he lazily blinked.
[ I wish I brought my BOB instead of using my hands and this pillow between my legs. Good night and sweet dreams, Gael. ]
His face hardened as he muttered under his breath, "Angel… You're wicked."
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