Taming the Bitch (COMPLETED)

Chapter II - Gabrielle Ralph Davis

Waking up beside Adrian was hardly unusual for Gabrielle. They had been "official" for half a year now, though truthfully, he had been part of her life long before that. A loyal schoolmate, a companion through all the prestigious clubs of junior high, and—at times—a makeshift older brother. She'd had none of her own, of course. She'd been raised alone in a vast ancestral estate, attended to by nannies, security personnel, and the dreary silence of inherited wealth. Playmates were limited to cousins she barely saw and a handful of friends like Ade. But even then—none of them were siblings. Girls at school approached her simply because she was known, because she was the ridiculously wealthy heiress to a multi-billion-dollar empire. Loneliness wrapped in luxury.

Adrian pulled her closer in his sleep, and she pressed her face into his bare chest with automatic familiarity.

"Cook for me, Ade... I want an omelette and French toast," she murmured, voice muffled against him.

"That was not part of the contract for becoming your boyfriend, little tyrant," he chuckled—right before groaning as her fingers found a painfully sensitive bit of his ribs.

"You menace," he hissed, making her laugh.

"And that," she retorted, "was not part of the agreement either—this attitude when I ask for breakfast." She shoved his chest and lobbed a pillow at his face.

"For God's sake. You're insufferably cruel. You don't need a boyfriend—you require a servant."

"Oh do stop whining, Ade. You know very well you're a dreadful boyfriend yourself." She stood, still swaying slightly from last night's excesses, caught the pillow he threw back at her, and stuck her tongue out. He looked increasingly exasperated. Anyone watching would think they were an endearing couple. They both knew better.

"Now get out of bed and cook for me."

"Why don't you do it for once, you little beast?" he teased, stepping toward her in nothing but his boxers. With the windows open across the London skyline, several spectators from the opposite building were undoubtedly enjoying the morning spectacle.

"Cook what, exactly...?" she asked, mouth curving as she bit her lip. Before he could answer, his arms had circled her waist; her legs wrapped instinctively around him as he pinned her gently to the wall and kissed her hard.

"You're exquisite..." he whispered, mouth brushing her ear before trailing behind it.

"Yes, I know," she breathed. "But I become monstrously unpleasant when hungry..." She nudged him back slightly, her gaze flicking toward a glimmering shard of mirror in the corner before returning to his eyes. She leaned down and kissed him once more.

"Save me, Ade..." she whispered, burying her face in the warm space between his shoulder and jaw. Adrian tightened his hold on her, his hand smoothing her hair as his throat went dry. He would do anything—anything at all—to save her.
But saving her meant the certain destruction of both of them—and many others besides.

"Save you from what, precisely, my dear daughter?"

Gabrielle froze, arms constricting instinctively around Adrian. That voice—icy, familiar, hated.

The room darkened as one of her father's bodyguards drew the curtains closed. Gabriel Davis approached with clinical calm, tapping Adrian's back with his cane as though he were an inconvenient piece of furniture.

"Peter," he drawled to his guard, eyes analysing Adrian's legs with a predator's interest, "have you ever witnessed a model with a limp?"

"That would certainly be a spectacle, sir," the man replied with a smirk. Gabrielle felt Adrian's chest tremble with nerves; he knew exactly what that threat meant.