Page 58 of Finding Gideon

Something softened around his eyes, the kind of shift you feel before you see it. “You want the truth?”

“Always.”

His hand left my knee only to settle warm and sure on my thigh. The contact sent a slow ache curling through me. “When you kiss me,” he said, voice low, “it’s not just about the kiss. It’s the way you look at me before it happens. It’s as if you’re making a decision. And once you’ve made it, you’re all in. No holding back.”

Heat crept into my face, but I didn’t look away.

“It’s the way you taste,” he went on, “and it’s like you’ve been holding your breath for years and finally let it out. The way you don’t try to be anyone else in that moment. Just you.”

My chest pulled tight, and I swallowed hard.

He drew in a slow breath, quieter now. “I don’t just mean the feelings. I’ve kissed people I cared about before—women I dated, my ex-wife—and those moments were real. I don’t take that back. But this…” His hand stayed on my thigh, grounding.

“But this—” His eyes stayed on mine. “This is different. You’re different. We’re different.”

“Because I’m a guy?” My voice was careful, curious.

“Partly, yeah,” he said. “It’s new, kissing a man. The angles. The pressure. The way you kiss me back. It’s not better or worse. Just—undeniably not the same.”

I held still, heart thudding.

“But it’s not just about your body,” he added. “It’s about you. The way you listen. The way you look at me like you actually see me. The way I feel when I’m with you—like something in me that’s been locked away for years is finally waking up.”

The breath I’d been holding slipped out.

“I didn’t expect this,” he said, brushing his thumb over my cheek. “And I didn’t go looking for it. But I’m not sorry it found me. It’s like the ground shifts under me every time I touch you, like something I never thought I’d want but can’t stop wanting.”

I leaned in until our foreheads touched. “So the difference isn’t kissing a guy.”

“No,” he whispered. “The difference is kissingyou.”

I didn’t mean to kiss him again.

It just... happened.

Maybe it was the way his voice dropped when he saidyou. Or the way his hand lingered at my jaw like he didn’t want to let go. Or maybe it was that thing behind my ribs again, catching fire.

Either way, I leaned in—and Malcolm met me halfway.

I shifted closer without thinking, one hand bracing myself on the cushion, the other finding his chest. He made this small sound in the back of his throat, and the heat spiked instantly in my belly.

His fingers slid to my waist, pulling me just enough that I straddled his thighs. We both stilled for half a second. Not from nerves—just…noticing. Noticing the heat, the way we fit, the way our breath hitched.

And yeah. The way I was pressed against him. Hard.Wanting.

I pulled back a little, forehead touching his.

Then his eyes flicked down and back up, and he gave me a look that was somehow both serious and a little amused. “Hi again.” He shifted, hips tilting just enough to make me feel his erection fully.

Heat flashed through me, sharp and wild. “Uh—hi,” I said, barely managing the words through the grin spreading across my face. “I was debating whether I should pretend I didn’t notice.”

“Appreciate your discretion,” he deadpanned.

We both burst into laughter then—soft and breathless and stupidly giddy.

It felt sonormalandgoodandright, and for a second I forgot every reason I’d ever given to deny myself joy. I used to run rather than enjoy even the simplest of pleasures. But now? I didn’t want to go anywhere. I just wantedthis—his hands on my waist, our bodies warm and tangled on his couch, my heart hammering for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.

“Malcolm?” I asked.