Gabriel's Inferno 01 - Gabriel's Inferno (67 page)

Erotic whispers and murmured adorations filled her ears. He had not cursed. She was far too distracted to focus on this surprising fact. She could not know that he was a vocal lover who groaned and shouted expletives to match his urges and satisfactions. But in this space, sacred or otherwise, his spontaneous utterances had been clean and pure.

“I love you. I love you. I love you,” he chanted above her, in time with his movements.

Julia was enjoying the feeling of intense, unparalleled
fulfillment
as it flowed through her. It was like nothing she had ever experienced before. And before she could find her way through her orgasm, she felt him push in deeply and cry out her name.

Gabriel collapsed, careful to distribute his weight to his elbows, a wave of emotion coursing through him as he came down from his climax. He held her close, whispering sweet words in Italian, waiting for her to open her eyes.

I love this woman. More than I love my own life…

His beautiful Beatrice was not a virgin anymore. He’d taken—and given—what Dante never had. He prayed silently that she wouldn’t live to regret the decision that brought her to his bed, or her choice of first lover.

He shifted so that he was beside her and reached a finger to trace her chin. Only then did he notice the flush that had spread across her neck and chest and further down. The skin of her inside thighs had bloomed pinkish red, and Gabriel choked back a sick regret.

Oh God, I’ve hurt her.

“Julia?”

Now her eyelids opened. At first her gaze was wide and unfocused. Then in an instant it shifted. She saw him and the prettiest slow smile played across her lips, exposing her white teeth. She felt like she was a feather coasting on a summer breeze. It was so much better than anything else…to see and hear him, to touch and taste him and then finally, gloriously, the naked, raw, and rare climax.

He exhaled and kissed her deeply. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she purred.

“I love you. I just want to make you happy, to watch you smile. Forever.”

“You’ll make me cry.” Julia couldn’t continue; she was beyond words. She kissed him, eyes closed, reveling in the arms of her lover. Her first. And last.

“Don’t cry, my sweet, sweet girl.” He kissed her eyelids, caressing her cheek with his hand.

Suddenly, he was gone, and Julia found herself alone in the large bed, made larger still and colder by his absence. The aching loss was immediate, but her mind was still slow, numbed as it was by her first taste of this ecstasy. Before she could slide a hand across the sheet to reach for him, he was pressing near her.

“Just let me look, darling.” His whisper was hesitant.

She had no idea what he was asking, so she simply hummed her permission. Then tentative fingers grasped her knees and a gentle hand lifted one, angling and spreading her wide, but not too wide. Now her eyes were open.

Gabriel froze as their eyes made contact. “Just a quick look to make sure you’re all right.”

When he’d attended himself in the washroom, he hadn’t noticed any blood. The realization had relieved him more than he could express. His eyes flickered down, and soon he was sighing, his shoulders relaxing. He pressed something warm and soft between her legs.

She flinched.

“I’m sorry.” Again he pressed the damp cloth to her sensitive flesh. There were a couple of pinkish spots on it, but nothing alarming. In truth, he wished there had been no pink at all, but pink was infinitely better than red.

“I’m fine. You just surprised me.” Julia’s voice shook, but only because she was still floating, and the feeling of him touching her
there
had intensified her sensations.

Gabriel picked up a glass of water from the nightstand and placed it in one of her hands, shaking two a little white pills from a medicine bottle into the other.

“Ibuprofen,” he explained, hastily. “For the pain.”

“It’s not that bad, Gabriel. I wouldn’t call it
pain.”

“Please,” he begged.

She was puzzled by his overreaction but elected not to be stubborn, popping the pills quickly into her mouth and downing the entire glass of water. She was thirsty.

When he’d soothed her and cleaned her up, he scooped her into his arms, kissing her forehead over and over. He carried her across the threshold of the bathroom.

Julia heard the water running before they walked through the door. “What’s happening?” she managed, holding her head up.

“Let me care for you, baby.” He kissed her forehead and gently placed her in the large and inviting bathtub.

The hot water and rose scented bubbles were comforting. She was still dreamy, but things were slowly coming into focus. She opened her eyes and saw Gabriel standing over her, still naked, still glorious, checking the temperature of the water with his fingers and adjusting the taps.

“Are you still thirsty?”

She nodded.

He disappeared for a moment and returned with a garnet-colored liquid in a wine glass.

“Cranberry with soda,” he said. “It’s good for you.”

She arched an eyebrow at him, wondering how he became an expert at warding off female problems, but once again, decided not to pursue the question. She drank greedily and passed him the empty glass.

“You changed the music. What is it?”

“Sogno
by Andrea Bocelli.”

“It’s pretty,” she murmured.

“Not as pretty as you.”

He turned off the water and climbed in behind her, placing his long legs on either side of her body, pulling her to his chest. They each sighed in contentment. She leaned her head back on his shoulder, and he stroked her hair, his touch light and gentle.

“Was it—okay for you?” she whispered.

That’s an understatement
, he thought.

“Like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. You were perfect. You are perfect.” He pressed his lips to the top of her head, and she snuggled into his arms. “And very, very sexy. How about you?”

“It was even better than I imagined. Thank you.”

He began to run his hands up and down the slick, wet skin around her ribs.

“Why the bath?” she asked, shifting against him slightly, feeling his new arousal against her backside.

His lips found her ear. “I wanted to care for you.”

“Thank you, Gabriel, for your kindness to me. I know things would not have been as pleasant if I was with someone else.”

He kissed her hair. “You deserve far more and far better than me, Beatrice,” he whispered.
“La gloriosa donna della mia mente.
The glorious lady of my mind.”

“My Dante.” She turned to kiss his wet chest. “When can we do that again?”

Gabriel smiled. “Not until tomorrow. You need to heal first.”

She squirmed slightly. “But it isn’t that bad. You were very careful.”

“After all that we’ve shared, I just want to hold you and be close. Rest in my arms and know that I love you. We’ll be making love again very, very soon.”

Julia felt comforted and let herself relax wholly against his body. She silently thanked the gods of large bathtubs, handsome, sexy lovers, and rose-scented bubble bath. (Not necessarily in that order.) And she thanked the gods of virgins who were about to have sex with their sex-god (no blasphemy intended) boyfriends for the mother of all orgasms. Thrice over.

In the wee hours of the morning, the Edenic lovers wound themselves around each other, flesh against flesh, sleepy and sated in a large, white bed. Lightness and darkness, innocence and experience, kissed and caressed in the warmth and acceptance created by their love. The dark angel whispered to his muse in Italian until she fell asleep in his arms, happier than she had ever been. She was loved.

The End

Coming Soon

Follow the continuing story of Gabriel and Julia in the highly anticipated sequel to Gabriel’s Inferno, coming soon from Omnific Publishing
.

Prologue

Florence 1290

The poet dropped the note to the floor with a shaking hand. He sat silently for several moments, motionless as a statue. Then with a great clenching of teeth he stood to his feet and swept agitatedly through his house, ignoring tables and fragile items, disdaining the other inhabitants of his home.

There was only one person whom he wished to see.

He strode quickly through the city streets, almost breaking into a run on his way to the river. He stood at the end of the bridge, their bridge, his moist eyes eagerly scanning the adjacent riverbank for the barest glimpse of his beloved.

She was nowhere to be found.

She would never return.

His beloved Beatrice was gone.

Acknowledgments

I owe a debt to the late Dorothy L. Sayers, the late Charles Williams, Mark Musa, my friend Katherine Picton, and The Dante Society of America for their expertise on Dante Alighieri’s The Divine Comedy, which informs my work. In this novel, I’ve used the Dante Society’s conventions of capitalization for places such as Hell and Paradise.

I’ve been inspired by Sandro Botticelli’s illustrations of the Comedy, which present Dante and Beatrice as I have always envisioned them.

In the course of writing this story I’ve found several electronic archives to be quite helpful, especially the Digital Dante Project of Columbia University, Danteworlds by the University of Texas at Austin, and the World of Dante by the University of Virginia. These portals will prove valuable to those readers who wish to delve more deeply into Dante’s life and works. I’ve also consulted the Internet Archive site for its version of Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s translation of La Vita Nuova along with the original Italian, which is cited in this book.

A debt of a different sort is owed to the University of Toronto and its city, both of which serve as a backdrop to this story.

I would like to thank Jennifer, who read the very first draft of this story and offered constructive criticism at every stage of the process. Her support and encouragement was invaluable, as was her keen eye. I am grateful also to Nina for her technical support, creative input, and wisdom.

Thanks are due to the fine staff of Omnific, especially Elizabeth, Lynette, CJ, Kim, Coreen, and Amy. It has been a pleasure working with you.

I would also like to thank those who read a previous version of my manuscript and offered criticisms, suggestions, and support, especially the Muses, Tori, Kris, and Erika.

Finally, I would like to thank my family. Sustained encouragement for the first time novelist over the course of two years is no easy thing to offer, especially when there are other important things to be done. Without their support, this project would not be.

-SR

About the Author

Sylvain Reynard is a Canadian writer with an interest in Renaissance art and culture and an inordinate attachment to the city of Florence. (Parenthetically, it should be noted that the snarky narrator of “Gabriel’s Inferno” was contracted to write this biographical description, and he can attest that SR is, in fact, real, and has an enviable collection of argyle socks.)