Page 81 of Finding Gideon

And in the quiet that followed, I thought it, clear and simple:

I already do.

Chapter 26

Gideon

Steam curled around us, softening the light and fogging the mirror behind the glass. Water ran in slow rivulets down Malcolm’s chest, catching on the curve of his pecs, trailing lower. I’d washed him before—dozens of times now—but it still hit me, this quiet awe. The trust in how he let me touch him. The ease in the way we moved together, slipping in and out of reach, fingers brushing skin slick with soap.

He turned slightly, letting me lather his shoulders, his back. My hands moved with care, kneading tension from his muscles. I pressed my mouth to the space between his shoulder blades. He hummed, low and quiet.

“Gideon,” he said, voice blurred by water and warmth.

I didn't answer right away. My fingers drifted down his spine, over the dip of it, resting on his hips. Heart thudding. Mouth dry despite the steam. I swallowed.

“Can I—” My voice came out rough. I tried again. “I want to try something.”

Malcolm turned, water slipping down his face, beading in his stubble. He didn’t joke or tease, just searched my eyes.

“What is it?”

My pulse fluttered like wings under skin. “I want to… go down on you.”

A moment passed. “Are you sure?”

I nodded, then bit my lip. “I’ve never done it before. To anyone. But I want to. I want it to be you.”

“You don’t have to prove anything, Gideon.”

“I’m not trying to.” I touched his chest. “I think about it. I want to know what it’s like to—taste you. To give you that.”

His hand curled gently around the back of my neck. “Okay.”

I kissed the center of his chest, then his stomach, sinking slowly to my knees.

Cool tile beneath me. Steam curling up, clinging to my skin. Water pattering steadily, but muffled now by the pounding in my ears. Malcolm’s scent—clean and fragrant—wrapped around me until I couldn’t breathe anything else. I looked up. He was watching. Eyes darkened, lips parted, like each breath carried my name.

Fingers trembling a little, I touched him first. Just to feel the weight of him in my palm. It was a weight I knew well. He was already halfway hard, skin hot and silken, and my stomach fluttered with nerves and anticipation. My tongue flicked out, tentative, tasting salt, skin, soap.

Malcolm let out a breath. “That feels good.”

I wrapped my lips around him, careful, reverent. My jaw ached slightly as I took more of him in. Tried again, slower. Every inch tasted like something I couldn’t name but wanted to feast on for the rest of my life.

He groaned softly. His fingers curled but didn’t tighten. “Jesus, Gideon.”

I pulled back to catch my breath, looked up again. Water ran down his stomach in lazy streams. His eyes met mine—half-lidded, molten, and something like wonder flickered there. That look gave me courage.

I tried again. Deeper. Let myself explore, adjust. My tongue mapped him like a devotion. He twitched slightly when I dragged it along the underside. I did it again. Felt him throb. Heard the sharp breath he took in.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he murmured, voice gone rough. “You don’t have to take all of me. Just… ughh… this is perfect.”

The praise made my face burn in the best way. My fingers squeezed his thighs. I found a rhythm—slow, deliberate, learning what made him moan, what made him mutter my name like he’d forgotten everything else.

And when his body tensed, when his breath came short and sharp, he warned me—voice ragged. “Baby, I—I can’t hold back. You don’t have to?—”

For a second, I wondered if I could handle it. What if I didn’t like it? What if I disappointed him? But then I remembered that this moment was above me, him, us. I tightened my grip, meeting his eyes for a heartbeat, letting him see the answer there:I want this.

And when it happened, when he shuddered and gave in, all I felt was the rush of warmth, the startling intimacy of it, and the pulse of pride that I hadn’t pulled away. That I hadn’t let fear win.