Last time I left you hanging about 25% into Gabriel’s Inferno by Sylvain Reynard…sorry about that…Ok not really. There’s just so many great sentences to share with you that I just can’t rush it. Let’s pick up where we left off last time kay?
I am a selfish and self-absorbed bastard who rarely notices the concerns of other human beings.
Gabriel stood up very straight, released her chin, and strode to the taxi, slamming the car door behind him.
(One can only imagine Gabriel’s reaction to that suggestion, but it ran along the lines of no fucking way.)
“He can take his messenger bag and shove it up his I’m-too-good-for-domestic-items ass”
Oh gods of all pretentious pole-in-keister Dante specialists, send him a rash on il pene.
There was no rush of blood, no humming, no explosion of fire across her skin.
In almost half a heartbeat, a great wave of sadness washed over her as she cursed herself for having tasted of something long ago that she could never have after or again.
Gabriel was halfway through a very elaborate imagining of what an Easter fetish might include before he came to his senses.
The sight of his name written lovingly, albeit randomly, several times in her notebook beckoned to him like a soft Siren call and sent a thrill coursing up and down his back.
Lifting her onto the desk and pressing himself between her knees, her hands tugging at his hair, his sweater, his shirt, undoing his bow tie and flinging it to the floor.
He would wonder if they were close enough, would their heartbeats synchronously…or was that simply a poet’s fancy?
Their tongues would tangle and tango together desperately, as if they had never kissed before.
Soon she would be naked and open before him, thinking only of him and his rapt admiration, and not the feel of the carrel air against pale, pink flesh.
His other hand would flex across her lower back, the sweet expanse of arched skin, and he’d gaze into her large and liquid eyes as she gasped and moaned.
Tasting. Taking. Sucking. Sinning. Draining. Abandoning.
All thoughts of mad, passionate fucking on desks and chairs, against walls and bookshelves and windows, immediately gave way.
And perhaps out of love for the memory of his former self, before all the sin and vice took root and grew, like a patch of thorns turning and twisting and choking out his virtues.
The Angelfucker strikes again, Gabriel growled to himself.
He despised sneakers on women, for they were a waste of a perfectly good podiatric opportunity.
“And wouldn’t you rather drink one of this rather than two bottles of Budweiser, which really is like drinking apalling bath water?”
“You must accept it, or this injustice will remain unresolved between us, and I won’t believe you’ve forgiven me for my verbal indiscretion in front of one of your peers.”
Gabriel’s blue eyes burned into hers with something akin to passion and admiration.
She was undoing him slowly, bit by bit, and he did not understand how.
O…My…I didn’t get us very much farther did I? At this rate I’ll still be giving you sentences from Gabriel’s Inferno after the sequel comes out. Ah, well…like I said before…fantabulous things just can’t be rushed. See y’all next Saturday for more.