Gael's Naughty Angel: A Mafia Prince Romance

[ We always long for the forbidden things, and desire what is denied us. -Francois Rabelais ]

After a quick wash-up, Angela was finally able to change from a coffee-stained top into a comfortable white shift dress that stopped to her mid-thigh. It had a sequined design of a glass of red wine with a Santa hat in sparkly silver and red color. She was in a festive mood, and she thought it was a cute outfit paired with brown over-the-knee boots to complete the look. Checking herself out in the mirror, a small smile ghosted her lips. It was good to be home. To top it all off, Gael was here—he was literally right next door.

Just as she thought of him, her phone beeped from the dresser, and she read the message.

[ Gael: ]

The empty text got her all confused. Her thumb hovered over the reply button, but she was unsure what to even say to the baffling text. She looked at the wall where his room should be on the other side and looked at her screen again. He didn't send anything else after that.

Seeing as she was already done prepping anyway, she decided to head out of her room and knock on his door. Perhaps he was done and was shy to go out? Nah. Gael didn't get shy. That's absurd.

Angela knocked once. "Gael?"

She waited for a few beats, but there was no response. As she was about to shoot him a text, the door suddenly opened. A large hand hauled her in, closed the door, and then pushed her against it. The belligerent had his arms on either side of her, caging her in. This son of a gun was an expert, and she had no way of escaping. Not that she was planning to.

At the moment, no one in their right mind would do so when he looked this tempting. Wet, uncombed hair falling before his eyes while water dripped down—some to his shoulder and to the carpet. He had nothing but a fluffy white towel that hung lowly on his hips, his muscles defined and sculpted his V. With tattoos strategically placed on his physique, he was the epitome of 'run or get wrecked'. She was afraid she's leaning to the latter more.

"Eyes up here, Angel," he teased.

She shifted her gaze up—reluctantly—and met his stormy grey eyes. He didn't seem angry. Those were the eyes of someone who's aroused. 

"What are you doing here?" he pressed when she didn't say anything.

"You sent me an empty text." She gripped the hem of her dress. Her voice was thin and slightly breathy. He was close, but not too close that she could still see most of his upper body.

Gael turned to the side and scanned the bed, remembering that his phone was under his clothes. A look of understanding crossed his face. "Wasn't on purpose."

"Oh."

It was all she could utter despite the million things running through her head. If it wasn't on purpose, why did he have to pull her in the room like that and then get all sexy by trapping her and making her thoughts go wild?

He turned back to face her, his eyes dipping down and checking her out. Angela wasn't wearing anything revealing; her dress was loose and tunic style. Although her dress was short, her long boots made up for it. But the way he was looking at her caused her blood rush to her face, and her heart began to race.

"You smell nice." His gaze pierced through her, and her toes curled inside her shoes. "I—"

"Angie?" a male's voice called out in the hallway.

Angela was stunned. It was her brother's voice, and they could hear him knocking on her bedroom door. Her eyes nearly bugged out when the towel—the only thing that's covering Gael—decided to drop to the floor unceremoniously, and it pooled around his feet.

He seemed surprised, too, as he looked down at his erection and then back to her face. She couldn't tell his overall expression because it took her longer than she should have to tear her gaze away from the angry cock he was sporting.

"Anj?" Oliver called once more.

To her shock, she gasped, and Gael immediately placed a hand over her mouth. The scent of fresh ocean breeze from his cold hand permeated her nose. He looked collected as they exchanged stares, and she thought it was unfair. Here she was, her chest about to explode, but this man—this totally naked man—wasn't the least bit nervous. How so? The corner of his lips curled upward into a crooked smirk as if he enjoyed that they were in this situation.

Her family knowing that she was dating Gael was one thing, but to be caught with him naked in the guest room of her father's house with her brother just outside the door was another. How the hell did they come to this?

Footsteps from outside faded out until they could no longer hear it. Oliver must have already left.

Gael slowly removed his hand from her, and she let out a sigh of relief. Angela placed a hand over her chest and her brows furrowed deeply. "Why are you doing this?"

Instead of answering, he cocked a brow in question.

"This." She waved a hand up and down his body and then between them. "You and I… This can't happen. We can't."

Taking his time, he gently swept a lock of hair away from her face and traced the length of her neck, causing her to shiver. "Why not? It's clear to me that you want me as much as I want you. Why are you fighting this?"

Angela briefly closed her eyes, and there was more bite in her words than she intended to. "It's not as simple as I like you, you like me, let's fûck, Gael."

It was probably not the right time, but his cock just bobbed when the word 'fûck' flew out of her mouth.

"I agree. But dismissing your desires isn't simple either. You can't deny that this chemistry we have is so strong it's driving me crazy. I see you everywhere, and all I can think about..." He huffed. "Baby, I want you."

The crease between her brows deepened, and he was a total asshat for pushing her buttons, but hell—sexual frustration was a bitch, and he couldn't help it.

"I'm not going to be your fûckbuddy." She averted her gaze, her chest rising and falling as she tried not to snap at him.

Gael's head hung, regret wrapping around his chest—the pressure making him grit his teeth. Why couldn't he just hold it in and stop driving her away? She turned around and was ready to leave the room. "I'll see you downstairs," she said, and then she felt him against her back.

He nuzzled into her hair as his hand swallowed hers. "I'm sorry, Angel. I just fûcking miss you."

Her shoulders relaxed, and Angela couldn't help but lean against him. She missed him too.

When she didn't push him away, he squeezed her hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing the back of it. "It's only been a few days, and it's so damn hard. I need you back. I want you back."

Shifting her body so that she was facing him diagonally, her voice softened. He could see the pained look in his eyes. He was clearly longing for her, and it hurt that she had to keep him at arm's length. "Let's talk later. I'll be downstairs." She left the room before she could change her mind.

The door closed in front of him, and he felt the urge to punch a hole into it—not the wisest thing to do when it was made out of solid wood and he was a guest in her father's house. He glared at his erect length that still refused to calm down. "You just had to ruin it, didn't you?"

Picking up the towel off the floor, he walked back to the bed and quickly changed into a new set of clothes. As he was arranging his stuff in his bag, he pulled out a flat velvet case the size of a passport and ran his thumb over it. He had to give it to her before leaving tonight, and he hoped she would accept it.

His phone's screen flashed, and the caller I.D. showed his father's number. Gael stared at it for a few seconds before turning it off, shoving it into his pocket with the velvet case, and then walking out of the room. Angela came first… His father would just have to wait.