Page 60 of Finding Gideon

“Only because you’re here.”

That slow tide inside me surged. My fingers flexed against his side, drawn without thought. Our faces were close enough that one small shift brought our mouths almost together.

He hesitated. Just enough to make it a choice.

I made it.

Our lips brushed, soft and tentative, then again, firmer. His hand curved around the back of my neck, guiding me closer. My fingers tangled in the hem of his shirt. We kissed like we had nowhere else to be, like the day could wait, like whatever was blooming between us didn’t need to be named yet.

Then our knees knocked, legs tangling in a way that made the whole thing awkward instead of heated. I pulled back with a breathless laugh; he let out a playful groan.

Malcolm pressed his forehead to mine, grinning. “Bed?”

I nodded. “Please.”

His hand found mine, fingers lacing tight. We moved as one, clumsy and quiet, navigating the short hallway like we were still half dreaming. By the time we reached his bedroom, I was wide awake in every way.

His room was dim, the blinds drawn, but I didn’t need to see clearly. I could feel everything I needed to in the way his hand tightened around mine as the door clicked shut behind us.

Malcolm paused by the edge of the bed like he wasn’t sure if he should let go.

I took a breath and stepped closer, resting my free hand on his chest.

“I want this,” I said, quietly but firmly. “I want you.”

He didn’t answer right away. His throat worked, and his thumb rubbed slow circles against my hand.

“Is this okay?” he asked, voice low.

“More than okay.”

That was enough. His other hand cupped the side of my face, thumb grazing my cheekbone. I leaned into the touch like it had been waiting for me. He kissed me again.

I let my fingers wander, slipping under the hem of his shirt, feeling warm skin and solid muscle. He inhaled sharply through his nose but didn’t stop me. Heleanedinto it, like he needed the contact as much as I did.

His shirt went first. I peeled it over his head, and he let me, arms raised, bare chest rising and falling once it was gone.

We undressed in pieces. Not in a rush, not for show. Just one layer at a time, each one revealing something we hadn’t known before. His skin against mine felt… right. Grounding. Like being pulled fully into the present.

When we were both down to boxers, I took him in—broad shoulders, a small scar near his ribs. All of him.

He hesitated again. His hand hovered near my hip, waiting.

“Still okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.” My voice came out stronger than I expected. “I want to keep going.”

His eyes warmed. “I want that too. We’ll go as far as you want, as long as you want. I’m just grateful to be here with you.”

My breath caught. God, how could words like that feel better than any touch? He had no idea the way his sincerity undid me.

His hands were warm, exploratory, mapping me with care. He watched every reaction I had—my breath hitching, my muscles tensing, the sounds I didn’t mean to make. Like itmattered. Like I mattered.

I touched him too, learning the shape of him, the texture of his skin, the way he arched slightly when I ran my fingers along his side. The low, quiet sound he made when I kissed the hollow of his throat. His breath came quicker when I traced a line down his stomach. He whispered encouragements—that’s it, feels good, keep going—and each one settled deeper into my chest.

This wasn’t about what came next. It was aboutbeing. Close. Seen. Accepted.

Suddenly feeling emboldened,I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of his boxers. My breath stuttered, but I didn’t stop. The sound of fabric sliding down his legs seemed too loud in the quiet room.