His Mafia Queen

A Gift

Riley

I wake up the next morning, alone in Gabriel's bed. Unlike most mornings, I'm still clothed in the lingerie that I went to bed in.

Usually, Gabriel and I have sex before we go to sleep, then once in the middle of the night or in the morning. But he hadn't initiated at all, and neither did I, instead preferring to cuddle and spoon. Perhaps that was his way of giving me space from our difficult conversation.

It's nine in the morning, and I don't have to be at work for hours. This feels like a gift, because normally I'd be staggering into the newsroom right about now.

I stretch and take up space in the bed. Although I'm still feeling conflicted about the details revealed last night, it does feel amazing to lounge in bed. Even though I get up early for work, and earlier still when I stay with Gabriel, my default is to sleep in.

Maybe it's the two drinks I had last night, or the fight I had with Gabriel, but I'm feeling physically off this morning. Not horrible, but not a hundred percent, either. Thank goodness I have time to bounce back before work. I'm dozing back to sleep when my phone vibrates on the nightstand. When I check it, I laugh.

It's Gabriel, texting me from downstairs.

You up, beautiful?

Kinda, I respond.

A few minutes later, he walks in carrying a glass of pineapple juice. I've come to love the stuff, and he keeps the tropical fruit in the kitchen so I can drink fresh juice. My mouth waters at the sight, and I sit up.

He sits on the edge of the bed and hands me the glass. I drink it greedily, but I can't help but notice how funny he looks today — he's wearing a businesslike, button down shirt that's open at the neck, and his gray sweatpants.

"I really need to stop drinking alcohol," I say in between sips. "Maybe I need to work out with you, or go to that yoga place that's not too far away."

Gabriel smiles. "I've done some no-alcohol months. Dry January. It's definitely worth exploring to see how you feel."

I survey him over the rim of my glass. How can he be so responsible, talking about Dry January, when he also murders people? It's such a mindfuck.

After finishing the juice he takes the glass from me and sets it on the table, next to my cell.

"I didn't expect you to be here this morning." I hold my arms out and he moves to hug me.

"I didn't, either, but one of my meetings ended up being a video call."

"So that explains the business on top and casual on the bottom."

He laughs. "Might as well be comfortable if I'm working from home. I rearranged the rest of my schedule so I could be here with you until the afternoon."

I make a dissatisfied noise. "Now I feel bad about sleeping in. We could've done something together."

He sweeps my hair aside and nuzzles my neck. "We still can, blondie."

As certain as I was about not wanting to fuck last night, I'm as sure now that I do. Maybe a good orgasm will cure this slight hangover. My hand snakes between his legs, and I find what I'm looking for: his cock, which is already hard.

He slides his hands over my body, skimming them over the silky fabric of the camisole.

"I love this little pajama set. I don't think I've thanked you for it yet."

He groans into my neck as his hand finds my breast. "I know of a way you can thank me."

"Oh yeah? Show me." I move my head back so I can look at him, and kiss him gently on the lips.