Sal Gabrini 4: I'll Take You There (The Gabrini Men Series Book 7) (19 page)

Sal
nodded.
 
“Sounds good to me.”

“Good.”

“So
let’s get started,” he said, cranking up the car.

“Get
started?” Gemma asked.
 
“What do you
mean?”

“Let’s
get this show on the road.
 
We have a
massive mansion to furnish.
 
If we start
today, we just might finish before the wedding.”

Gemma
laughed.
 
It shouldn’t be even close, but
she understood.
 
Sal couldn’t wait to get
started.
 
And neither could she.

But
as soon as they arrived at the upscale furniture store, Sal headed for the
entertainment department.
 
He agreed to
help her pick out furniture, but only after he furnished his man cave.
 
A man cave that would include a pool table, a
bar, and a movie theater.
 
Gemma gladly
let him go.

She,
instead, began with living room furniture.
 
After walking around for nearly half an hour in the massive store, she
began to find what she was looking for.
 
“This is so lovely,” she said when she eyed the pearl white Tuscano
leather sofa.
 

But
the Salesman, a wiry-haired, older man, shook his head.
 
“I’m afraid it’s quite expensive,” he
said.
 
“But downstairs, in our scratch
and dent department, could satisfied your needs, and your pocketbook,
admirably.”

“And
the matching chair,” Gemma said, ignoring the Salesman and visualizing both
pieces in her new home.
 
“That could
work.
 
Maybe not for the living room, but
I could see them in one of the rooms.
 
This could really work.”

“Perhaps
it could,” the Salesman said.
 
“We have a
set just like this one downstairs, in our scratch and dent department.”

“Do
you?”

“Yes.”

Gemma
kept walking, kept looking, kept ignoring the Salesman not-so-subtle
assumptions.
 
By the time Sal left the
entertainment department and made his way near her, the Salesman was still at
it.

Gemma
was now looking at a cherry finish Queen Anne desk.
 
“Now that’s what I call gorgeous,” she said
when she saw it.

“Yes,
it is,” the Salesman agreed.
 
“But again,
far too expensive.
 
I don’t want to waste
your time, or, quite frankly, my own.
 
We
don’t have anything exactly like it in our scratch and dent department,” he
added, “but I’m sure, if you would only go down there, you will find something
more to your taste.
 
And budget.”

Sal
looked at Gemma.
 
She’d better respond,
he thought to himself.
 
She’d better not
think for a second about letting that man get away with insulting her like
that.

But
Gemma kept talking.
 
“It could be perfect
for our home office,” she said, visualizing again.

“And
as I said,” the Salesman said again, “you won’t find a Queen Anne in our
scratch and dent department, but I do have similar desks downstairs.”

“Do
you?” Gemma asked.

“Yes,
we do,” the Salesman said.

“Then
I suggest you go down there and take it to your home.
 
I’m purchasing the new stuff for mine.
 
And in my home, scratch and dent need not
apply.”

Sal
smiled.
 
That’s how you handle those old
farts, he thought.
 
“That’s my girl,” he
said aloud as he approached them.

“Oh,”
the Salesman said with a smile when he realized Sal was with Gemma.
 
“Well hello, sir.”

Sal
placed his arm around Gemma.
 
“Find
anything you like?” he asked her.

“Oh
yes,” Gemma said, to the Salesman’s delight.
 
“Many things.
 
But I won’t be
getting any of them from here.”

The
Salesman’s smile left.

“Let’s
find a store that loves green more than it hates black,” Gemma said.

“Great
idea,” Sal said as they began to leave.
 
But he turned back to the Salesman and pointed his finger.
 
“See what your pettiness, your need to feel
superior cost you?
 
This lady here has a
mansion to furnish.
 
And you could have
been her supplier.
 
But instead you had
to prove your so-called superiority.
 
But
I’d bet you any amount of money you don’t feel so superior right now.
 
Fucking prick!”

And
Gemma and Sal gladly left him to his scratch and dent, and the rest of his
furnishings.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Instead
of going back to Gemma’s house, they went dancing.
 
Not to any club, but to their new home.
 
Sal had the utilities turned on while they were
at closing, because he knew, at some point that day, they’d be too excited not
to spend time at their new house.
 
And
now they were there.
 
Standing in the
middle of the huge, empty ballroom.
 
Sal
turned on music from his cell phone, where Carrie Underwood was singing
Jesus Take the Wheel
.
 
And then he, who was dressed in his suit and
tie as if he was actually on a ballroom floor, pulled Gemma, who was dressed in
her pencil skirt that highlighted every curve on her body, into his arms.
 

“Country
music, Sal?” she asked with a smile.

“Hell
yeah.”

She
studied him.
 
“What else don’t I know
about you?”

“I
was country,” Sal said with a smile of his own, “when country wasn’t
cool.”
 
She laughed.
 
And they began to slow-drag.
 

Gemma
closed her eyes and laid her head on his shoulder.
 
He held her as if he was holding precious
cargo.
 
His look was serious.
 
“This is where we’re going to have it, Gem,”
he finally said.

Gemma
looked up.
 
“Here?”

“Here.
 
In our own ballroom.”

“Trina
has been talking about how they’re going to decorate the PaLargio’s
ballroom.
 
And I haven’t said anything
because I assumed that was where it was going to be too.”

“On
any other day it would be.
 
But not on
our day.
 
This is going to be our
day.
 
We’re doing it our way.
 
No.
 
We’re getting married here.
 
In
our home.
 
In our ballroom.”
 
Sal studied her.
 
“Good idea?” he asked.

“Oh,
Sal,” Gemma said, with joy in her eyes.
 
“Great idea.”
 

He
smiled and she laid her head on his shoulder again.
 
That was what she loved so much about
him.
 
Behind that gruff exterior; behind
that toughness that was always misconstrued for meanness, Sal Gabrini was the
most romantic man Gemma had ever known.
 
She felt as if she was the most fortunate woman on the planet.

But
when Carrie Underwood’s song ended, and Merle Haggard started singing yet
another song that had so much country twang in it that she could barely
understand the words, enough was enough.
 
She took Sal’s phone, became the Deejay herself, and turned to old
school R & B: Sam and Dave singing the decidedly more upbeat
I’m a Soul Man
.

Sal
smiled and started moving his feet.
 
“Oh,
okay,” he said.
 
“You want a little
soul.
 
I can do that too.
 
I got that covered too!”

“You’re
a soul man too, Sal?”

“I’m
a fucking renaissance man!” Sal shot back.
 
“I can do it all!”

And
he danced in a way that put Gemma to shame.
 
And then he did the James Brown split.

“Wow!”
Gemma said, impressed.
 
“Not bad for a
white boy!”

Until
Sal continued to remain there.
 
And then
he reached up his hand.

When
she realized he needed her help to get back up, she started laughing.
 
And acting dumb.
 
“What?” she asked him.

“Come
on, Gemma!” Sal said, the pain in his thighs becoming excruciating.

“You
want me to join you?
 
Is that why you
want me to take your hand?”

“Stop
playing, Gem!
 
Help me up!
 
This shit painful!”

Gemma
laughed so hard she could barely get him up.
 
But she did.

And
after she did, he started smiling and then laughing too.
 
But then he grabbed at her, to show her what
he was going to do to her for playing around while he was in pain, but Gemma
was quick.
 
His outstretched hand just
missed her when she realized what he was trying to do, and she took off
running.

“Come
back here you,” Sal yelled, and took off after her.
 
This was serious for him.
 
This was a contest of wills for him.
 
But Gemma was laughing.
 
This was no contest for her.
 
This was the best fun she’d had in years!

And
she ran.
 
She ran up one of the dual
staircases, and then down the other one.
 
Sal was quick too, but he couldn’t outrun her.
 
But the more he ran after her, and saw that
tight ass bounce beneath her tight skirt; and the more he saw her big breasts
bounce with every step down, the less he tried to overtake her.
 
It wasn’t the fun of it for him, but the view
of it.
 
He started enjoying the
view.
 

But
the longer she bested him; the longer she ran from room to room downstairs and
eventually out onto the grounds, his mood changed.
 
The competitiveness overtook his lustfulness,
and he began to overtake her.
 

By
the time they were back inside the empty home, running into the kitchen from
the patio, he finally grabbed her so hard from behind that both of them crashed
against the massive marble-top center island.

Gemma’s
back was to Sal, and his pants-clad dick was ramming into her skirt-clad ass,
but he had her now.
 
He had her in a
squeezing bear hug.
 
She tried to wiggle
free, but he was far too strong and she was far too giddy.

But
Sal was serious now.
 
“You think this
shit funny?” he asked her as he pressed harder against her, flung up her skirt,
and placed his hand inside of her panties so deftly that it seemed like one
fluid motion.

But
Gemma was still laughing.
 
She was
overjoyed.
 
“It is funny!” she
proclaimed.
 
“Old man like you trying to
do the split!”

He
took his fingers and pinched her pussy.
 
She screamed.
 
“Think it’s funny
now?” he asked her.

And
that one move, more than any other, changed the mood for Gemma.
 
Because after he pinched her, he started
massaging her.
 
She had never been able
to resist Sal’s touch, and tonight was no exception.
 
Just as filled with giddiness as she was, she
was now filled with sensuality.
 
And just
as competitive as he was, he was now lusting after her.
 
He wanted her right here and right now.
 
Alone.
 
In their new home.

And
he took her.

He
took his free hand from around her and turned her face as far toward him as he
could turn it, and he began kissing her as he massaged her.
 
Her eyes were closed as he kissed her, and he
stared at her dark and lovely face.
 
What
always made it special for Sal was the fact that it was Gemma.
 
Her toughness, her intellect, her sweetness:
all were turn-ons for Sal.
 
And her
body.
 
No woman could match it.
 
Her kiss always felt more sensual to
him.
 
Her pussy always felt more silky to
him.
 
He fucked women all his life.
 
Fucked some until they nearly passed
out.
 
But it wasn’t just animalistic when
he was with Gemma.
 
It was soulful.
 
It was deeper than deep.

And
that was what he wanted now: to go deep down on her.

He
backed off, and removed her skirt and her panties, and then her blouse and bra
too.
 
As she turned around, her breasts
bouncing with the turn, he began undressing himself.
 
By the time he stepped out of his briefs,
revealing his ultra-serious erection, they both were naked and beyond ready.

He
lifted her and laid her lengthwise onto the wide center island.
 
His plan was to immediately get on top of
her.
 
But his breath caught when he saw
her beautiful black body on that countertop: her taut breasts; her flat
stomach; her long, slender legs.
 
And
when he opened those legs, and saw that silky sweetness, he knew his dick would
have to wait a little longer.

He
slid her down, horizontally, toward the edge of the countertop, and with his
own body waiting at the edge, he moved in between her legs.
 
And began to lick her.

Her
chest lifted off of the counter with his very first lick.
 
It felt like a spark of electricity to
her.
 
When his tongue began to move in
deeper, and she felt his movement on every ridge of her pussy, her breathing
became labored.
 
But when he opened her
folds as wide as they could be opened, and he began to eat her, she thought she
was going to faint.

She
screamed with a kind of unbridled joy as he ate her with a gusto that wasn’t
pretending to be a tease.
 
It was the
real thing.
 
He wasn’t going easy or
soft.
 
He was going hard.
 
And Gemma’s body was reacting to his hardness
with a hard scream, with a guttural release of elation of her own.

 
He looked up at her.
 
He was already sweating.
 
He was already breathing especially
hard.
 
“Ready?” he asked her.

“Yes,”
she said, her voice even more breathless than his.

“Get
in place for me,” he ordered her.
 
And
she moved her body back up onto the countertop.
 
As soon as she did, as soon as she was back in place, he didn’t waste
another second.
 
He got on top of her,
put his dick inside of her, and began to fuck her long, slow, and hard.

Gemma
wrapped her arms around him as he made passionate love to her.
 
His penis was in a rhythm as soon as it
entered her, moving in and out of her womanhood with the mastery of a Bolshoi
ballet, and the fluidness of oil.
 
He
floated inside of her.
 
He made her feel
that everywhere his dick slid, it was hitting her special place.
 
It was a rhythm all his own.
 
It was a feeling he gave her that no man ever
could.
 
A feeling of control, and danger,
and excitement all rolled into every stroke he took.
 
It was his rhythm.
 
And he stayed in that rhythm the entire time
he fucked her.
  

Sal
held her face with his hands and kissed her on the mouth as he did her.
 
He was heady with sensuality. He was moving
his body all over her, and sliding his dick deep inside of her, and kissing the
sides of her face, her ears, her mouth again so hard that she could barely
breathe.
 

They
were alone in their new home.
 
Alone in
their new palace.
 
Enjoying the sound of
their music.
 
Their love music.
 
His balls slapped the bottom of her ass like
the sound of the drum.
 
His pre-cum mixed
with her vaginal juices like the bass of a guitar.
 
And when they came it was like cymbals in
their ears.
 
It stopped the show
cold.
 

He
rammed into her and began to jerk.
 
She
lifted up against him and began to throb.
 
Their movements stopped, but the sound of those cymbals still rang in
their ears.
 
Because they were cumming in
a way they had never cum before.
 
It wasn’t
just the feeling of the cum, but the emotions behind that feeling.
 
This was their new home.
 
This was their new life.
 
This was them together.
 
They came long, and they came hard.

But
later, when Sal drove Gemma’s BMW onto the driveway of her home, he felt as if
his peace was about to be shattered.
 
It
wasn’t just that an SUV was parked on the driveway.
 
Although that was surprising too.

“Expecting
somebody?” he asked Gemma as he stopped beside the SUV.