Saving Abel (Rocker Series) (16 page)

“Abel, we left the spreader on your bed. You should put it away before Chance sees it. I’d be mortified if he saw.” A cleft smile graced his face. I wanted to grab it and kiss him to death or ride it hard. Good God, either one would do.

“Babe, who do you think bought it?” he asked, walking to the elevator.
No!
He put his key into the elevator, pressing the down arrow. We stood silently for a few minutes, enjoying the nothingness. There was a lot left to learn about Abel. But what I
did
know, already, was that he had a heart—a big one. He wasn’t as impervious as he would have people think. Yes, he was a famous hot-as-fuck rock star, but he was also passionate about everything he touched. I could see myself having a great life with him. I would join him on the road, party the night away, shop until I dropped—and get my mother off my back. I would do just about anything short of committing murder to get that bitch off my ass.

We took the limo. Security explained to us that the traffic from the festival this weekend would make it a nightmare for us if we took his Harley instead. They wouldn’t be able to protect him in all the commotion. And that meant he couldn’t protect me. And all of a sudden that seemed to be paramount. After a moment of posturing, Abel readily agreed, saying he didn’t want to take any chances with me.

I had never felt this adored in my life. My heart was full, and I wasn’t exactly sure how I felt about that. I wanted this … this
feeling,
but I couldn’t help the guilt that crept into the smallest fissures of my being. He sat with his legs gaping wide open, with his fingers threaded through mine. I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience. I was there in my body, but my spirit was floating somewhere above. It seem heartache had always followed me wherever I went. Some of it I had caused, but most of it I had not. I only prayed to God I’d be able to keep this feeling forever. But my mind knew better. My heart already ached for the potential hit it would take.
Fuck it.
I would live in the moment. We weren’t guaranteed tomorrow, were we? Today was all we had. I was certainly here with this famous rock God. And I had certainly shared his bed tonight. And that was all I knew for sure.

On the way to our late-night snack, he kept mad-texting someone. That had me wondering and feeling insecure. I tried not to focus on the angry faces he was making as he returned the text. However, I couldn’t help it. Finally, we arrived at a local Italian restaurant with a gorgeous view of clear starry skies with snow-capped mountains in the distance. I was introduced to the owner, a family friend. The restaurant catered to the wealthy. Not many of us locals could afford a few hundred dollars for a meal. Apparently, the staff was willing to stay late as a favor for their A-list clients. The owner never refused. He was happy to accommodate.

The dining room was draped in baby blues and creams with a ceiling painted akin to the Sistine Chapel
.
We were shown to our table set with neatly pressed linens, Noritake china, and Edwardian chairs that looked to be heirlooms. The place had a very Renaissance meets New World feel. It was really quite beautifully elegant, and was definitely the most chic place I had ever been in. The Maître de moved in back of me to pull out my chair—until Abel stopped him.

“I’ve got it. Thank you,” he said, pulling out my lushly fabricated chair.

“Of course you do,” the thirtyish-year-old handsome man responded. Something passed between them. For the life of me I didn’t know what. So I decided to
not
be one of those annoying girls who questioned everything. Arte de Dello’s restaurant didn’t exist for my kind. This certainly wasn’t where normal people went for a late-night bite. But, then again … this was in no way normal, was it?

His gaze never left me. I couldn’t help but blush. He was just so intense. I usually played a better game. But with him I had to work on my game constantly. How in the fuck was I going to swing the momentum back my way?

While I pondered that, the same Maître de poured sparkling water. I thanked him kindly. He licked his lips, his gaze burning into me. Not good. Tension rolled off Abel with hurricane force. My breath came in light pants. I didn’t understand: it wasn’t like I had done anything wrong. And yet I felt as if I had. With a crash of his fist on the table top, Abel stood up.

“Where is Frank?” he barked, his face red with fury.

“In his office, Sir,” Handsome responded. “Would you like for me to get him? He did say he’d be out in a moment. But, again, I can let him know you’re asking for him.” He was polite, but his undertone was slightly sardonic.

“What I do want is someone who’s respectful of my girl. Respectful of me. You are not. Now unless you want that tongue ripped out of your mouth, I’d put it away. But, then again, I don’t have a problem doing that either.” Abel leaned into Handsome’s personal space. Holy Alpha Father of God. Damn, it was fucking tense in here. To distract myself I drank my water, then grabbed a breadstick, looking everywhere around me but at them. Abel sat back down with a sigh.

“Sorry, babe. I don’t normally lose my shit. But, what the fuck? He was undressing you with his eyes. And that’s even with my clothes on! Can you imagine if you had that dress on? Christ, I would have kicked that fucker’s ass up and down this street.”

He smiled apologetically. I nodded, smiling back. I really didn’t know what to say. So why say anything at all? Abel clearly was sensitive. I just wanted to move on already. Tomato sauce and basil filled the air. I hummed appreciatively. Now I was ravenous. I wanted whatever the hell that was.
Now.

“Beauty, you keep humming like that and I’ll take you right here. Clear the fucking place out. Fuck you right in that delicious pussy. On the table. Then on the floor, and up against the wall. And then we’ll give it a go in the bathrooms—both of them.” I sighed. I wouldn’t mind doing any of that in the least. I was grinning like an idiot. His possessiveness and sexual appetite were contagious.

However, the sound of a man clearing his throat interrupted our eye-fucking. It was a sweet silver-haired older gentlemen in a crisp black suit. He nodded to me, then addressed Abel.

“Nice to see you, Mr. Gunner. It is our honor to have you here. As always, I have everything just about ready. All your favorites. I will personally be waiting on you,” the kind Geppetto-looking man said. His blue misty eyes reminded me of Frank Sinatra’s. Abel reached across the table linking our fingers. Geppetto’s eyes followed curiously until meeting mine and then they traveled back to Abel’s.

“Frank this is Gia, my girl.” He winked at me, then turned to Geppetto, who seemed morbidly fascinated by Abel’s fingers laced together with mine. I wanted to remove my hand. I had a strange feeling I couldn’t quite put my finger on. There was definitely something to it, though. My hackles were raised. Was it me? Was I not good enough, even at 3 a.m.? Oh, shit, maybe it was the way I was dressed. Of course, that had to be it. I was wearing a man’s sweatpants and tee-shirt that hung from my body like a loose-fitting dress. I was feeling very self-conscious. And then I thought:
fuck this
. I belonged here as much as anyone else. If I was to live in his world, I’d better start getting used to being treated differently—to being doted on. I moved to excuse myself to wash my hands when Gepetto went to get our food.

“Sit!” Abel commanded sternly. He was so abrupt, I couldn’t help but flinch at his tone.

“I’m going to wash my hands.” I raised them to him. “You know I’m not dressed for this place. There’s got to be a dress code. No wonder they are looking at me. I can imagine the models you bring here. They’re all probably dressed in the latest runway fashions. Then here I am in sweats and a tee.”

Jealousy reared its ugly head. Who had he brought here? What in the world was I fucking thinking? He grabbed my hand across the table. I pulled it back, only for him to tighten his grip. My eyes tilted upwards to catch his fierce, heated look. Something moved behind his eyes. I couldn’t read this dude for shit. I was fucked. He pulled my hand around the table for me to sit on his lap.

“While I love sitting on your lap, I don’t think this is the time or place. Not to mention Geppetto will have a stroke.” I turned my head until our noses touched. He tilted his head, bringing our lips a hair’s breadth apart. Then he licked my lips and bit them lightly. I pulled away, but he didn’t let go. I opened my eyes in panic. His eyes were filled with light-heartedness, with just a touch of sex in them. My mouth was watering now. I tried slurping my spit back before I drooled on him—which got him laughing again.

“Let me hear you say: ‘I’d be happy to let you feed me with my ass perfectly perched on your cock,’ “ he murmured playfully, my bottom lip still in his grasp.

“Seriously?” I murmured back, followed by a slurp. His shoulders shook with laughter. “I’m going to drool in your mouth. And down your face,” I said in my most threatening voice.

“I had my tongue deep in your pussy. Do you think I’m worried about spit?” he insisted. In the meanwhile someone was filling our table with what smelled like my favorite Italian dishes. Oh God, it was Geppetto. He was going to think I was an under-dressed hoochie.

“K kay.” I tried to nod. But still nothing would come out of my lips—except spit.

“Say it,” he repeated, biting slightly harder.

“I’d be happy to let you feed me with my ass perfectly perched on your cock.” There, I had said it. Release me, please
. Slurp.
He let go of my lip after he gave it a good suck. I melted into him, wanting more than a kiss. I wanted his talented fingers. I was now perched on his perfectly hard tatted and pierced cock. I sighed. Would I, could I, ever resist this man and go back to being the cool chick I was before this? I was unraveling quickly.

“Stop thinking. Let’s eat,” he announced, as Geppetto served up healthy portions of Mozzarella en Carrozza, Arugula Tomato Salad, Chicken Scarpariello and fresh Pesto Gnocchi. Umm. Best date ever. Wait until Cindy hears this.

“This is ridiculous. Look at all this food. There’s only two of us. We won’t even put a dent in these dishes,” I said in total amazement, shaking my head.

“So you take the leftovers. Problem solved.” He stuffed a piece of the freshest fried Mozzarella in breadcrumbs into my mouth. And for the next forty-five minutes a whole lot of sighing, humming, and belly rubbing went on. Gepetto dutifully packed up our leftovers as I begged Abel not to order dessert. I couldn’t eat another stitch. My stomach was just one burp away from vomiting all over him.

After the meal, as promised, he dropped me off at my apartment, giving me a swooning kiss to end the night. We got out of the limo as he helped me carry the cartons to the door. I was just getting my keys out when Cindy opened the door with brute strength, nearly ripping it off its hinges. We both jumped.

“Christ, you two. Could you do that licking-kissing-moaning thing any louder? Another minute of that and the whole building will be fucking.”

“Yeah, and you have the strength of the unstoppable rebel force. You nearly ripped the door off and scared the fuck out of us,” I laughed. She rolled her eyes and Abel watched the dynamic between us, clearly entertained.

“Ew, why do you reek of garlic?” she asked, pinching her nose. Of course she would say that. I was going to punch her face in. Abel lifted the cartons up toward her.

“Brought you leftovers, Cin.” He handed them to her, and she willingly accepted them. We said a final goodbye with the promise to text and call. Once I was back inside the comfort of my apartment and saw what time it was, exhaustion descended fast.

“Nice outfit, chick,” Cindy said, packing the fridge with our goodies. I grabbed myself a water before offering her one. I knew that look on her face. She wanted the deets.

“Not now, Cin, but tomorrow. I promise I’ll give you all the details then. I swear.” I held my hand over my heart. I could barely keep my eyes open. Besides, the sooner I closed them, the sooner I would see him again. I knew he would be running on a loop reel throughout my dreams.

“Whatever you say, chick. I’m beat, anyway.” She said goodnight, retreating to her room.

I fell asleep to the All-American Rejects’ “It Ends Tonight.” What little sleep I got was interrupted by Medusa’s ringtone. I had given her the Darth Vader theme song.

“Hello, Medusa. To what do I owe the pleasure of this 8:30 a.m. call?” I snapped, annoyed.

“Don’t you call me Medusa, you unlovable little bitch! Get your ass over here. I want to know what’s going on with the Gunner kid,” she roared, hanging up.

My eyes burned with rage. My brain surged past full-function mode to pissed-the-fuck-off wrath. My entire existence had been about her, her needs, her wants and selfish desires. I decided to get this house call over with. I was determined not to be daunted all day by her wickedness. My limbs screamed in protest as I dragged myself from the comfort of my bed. I took a three-minute shower, slicking my hair afterwards into a ponytail and throwing a cap on with some lip gloss. Then out my bedroom door I went.

Cindy’s door was still closed. With any luck, she wouldn’t be up for another few hours. I didn’t want to get into it with her about visiting my mother. Girls from nice homes in nice neighborhoods with nice families didn’t understand the incessant need for acceptance. We would argue constantly about my need to please Medusa. “Why don’t you kick Broom Hilda to the curb,” she would say. It didn’t make sense to her. Things had to make sense to Cindy. She just didn’t get the abusee/abuser conundrum. People who grew up like I did knew the score. We smelled it on each other: the shame, disappointment, and the lack of courage that change required. I was not only a product of my abuse, I would now become what I knew: the abuser. And that I hated. The lack of control I had over it unnerved me. I understood it plainly, as all children of abuse do. However, it was changing that was the tricky part. And let’s face it: it took too much work. It was easier being who I was than it was to try to be a better person. But that also made me an enabler, as most abused children are. That was all we knew. Medusa had always been the only one in my corner. She might have been hate-filled, and it might have been the darkest corner, but it was something, right? Anything from her was better than nothing.