Page 111 of Finding Gideon

“For real.” I threaded my fingers through his, the warmth of his hand pulling me firmly into the present.

Joy didn’t fully capture the enormity of my feelings about the second chance that life had given me. Relief didn’t either.

I wasn’t running anymore. Not from grief. Not from love.

I’d found my sanctuary.

And it had a name.

Malcolm.

Epilogue

Malcolm

Two-and-a-half years later…

We stumbled into the bedroom still laughing, still drunk off each other—off sweat and skin and whatever the hell this thing was that kept pulling us in, again and again, like it had a mind of its own.

Gideon shoved the door shut behind us, and I backed him into it, caught his mouth again. That grin of his—cocky and reckless—melted into something darker the second I bit at his bottom lip. His fingers tugged at the hem of my shirt, impatient, like he needed me bare just to breathe.

Clothes hit the floor in messy trails. My jeans first. His socks tossed halfway under the bed. The moment his hoodie came off, I couldn’t help but stare because—God—every single time I saw him felt like the first. The neat fade framing his face, the damp glow along his chest, the heat radiating from the strong column of his neck.

“You’re staring,” he murmured, voice low and teasing as he nudged my waistband down. “Should I flex for you?”

“You do and I’ll never let you live it down.”

I pressed him backward until his knees hit the edge of the mattress. He fell with a rough laugh, pulling me down with him, mouths finding each other again, hands everywhere at once. There was nothing soft about it—except for the parts that always were. The way he tilted his head when I kissed that spot under his jaw. The way his breath hitched when I dragged my fingers over the curve of his hip.

He made a sound—half curse, half groan—and arched into me.

“You always—fuck—you always know how to drive me crazy,” he muttered.

“I try.” I kissed him again, slower this time. “Want to do more than that tonight.”

There was sweat between us already, our skin slick and hot, friction building with every shift of our hips. My hands moved on instinct, knowing what he liked, what made him gasp. I loved the way his body trembled, the way he gripped my shoulders.

The words in my chest started to burn. Not justI love you—but everything that came with it. The awe of finding him. The gratitude that someone like him even looked my way, let alone stayed. It was too big for three small words.

His eyes met mine, all glassy and hungry. “What?” he asked, voice hoarse.

I wanted to tell him he looked like home. That every version of my future had him in it, and that it scared the shit out of me in the best way.

But instead, I kissed him again.

And that was enough—for now.

We moved like we’d done this a hundred times before—because we had—but somehow, it never felt the same. I knew the shape of his back, the rhythm of his breath, the way his body arched when he was right on the edge. But even now, three years in, I still found new ways to lose myself in him.

His hands gripped my sides, dragging me closer. Our mouths met again, open and hungry, like we were trying to memorize each other all over again. Maybe we were.

Gideon tugged me down until our bodies were flush, and I felt him, hard and ready, pressed right where we both needed it. I rolled my hips against his and swallowed the groan that came out of him. God, that sound. I’d never get enough of it.

“You good?” I murmured, brushing my nose against his cheek.

He nodded, breathing ragged. “Always, with you.”

It was easy to believe him in moments like this.