Page 98 of Finding Gideon

“Only all day?”

He grinned, bit at my neck. “Okay. Every hour.”

He shoved the bedroom door open, then we were tumbling onto the mattress. My hands roamed—his shoulders, his back, the ridges of his ribs. Every inch of him felt familiar and still somehow new. Like I could know him a hundred different ways and still not know enough.

This was ours now. Not just the bed. The whole room. His scent had settled into my pillow. His shirts were slung over my chair. His toothbrush leaned against mine in the cup by the sink.

His thigh slid between mine, his hips pressing down, and I gasped at the friction, the sheer contact. The contrast between my dark skin and his lighter skin, his hands gripping my thighs like he never wanted to let go, was something so achingly beautiful. Like proof that two opposites could fit, could belong.

I must’ve been quiet for too long, because Gideon leaned down, brushing his nose against mine. “What?” he whispered.

“Just thinking how good we look together,” I said, my voice low, unsteady with truth.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “We do.” His smile curved soft, tender, as he kissed me again.

It would’ve been easy to get lost in the kiss. In the way he moaned into my mouth, in the way he moved. But something tugged at the edges of that pleasure. A quiet insistence.

There were still things he didn’t know.

I hadn’t told him I loved him.

And I hadn’t let him all the way in—not like I wanted to.

He kissed down my neck, fingers slipping under my waistband. “You good?” he murmured.

I nodded. Then stopped.

He stilled. Lifted his head, eyes searching mine. “What is it?”

I hesitated, heat crawling up my throat at the weight of everything.

“I want you to… fuck me.”

For a beat, he went still, breath catching—not from shock, but from something softer, heavier. Then his mouth curved slowly, eyes warm. “Yeah?”

I nodded again, slower this time. “Yeah. I mean—I want to give you that. Giveusthat.”

His whole face lit with awe… with affection. It was as if he was seeing me for the first time all over again.

He kissed me. Gentle, then deep, like he was saying thank you with his mouth. My fingers trembled slightly as I tugged the rest of my clothes off. He followed, shedding his clothes one piece at a time, his eyes never leaving mine for long.

When I laid back against the pillows, he reached across to the drawer, pulled it open, and held up the plug. It was small, black, silicone—nothing intimidating. But the sight of it still made my pulse jump.

He caught it. “Too fast?”

“No. Just... nervous,” I admitted, heartbeat thudding in my throat.

“Okay. We’ll go slow.” He set it on the nightstand along with the lube, then leaned in and kissed me again. “You’ll tell me if anything doesn’t feel right.”

I nodded.

The bed dipped as he moved between my knees. His palms slid up my thighs, warm and grounding. Then he bent down, lips brushing my inner thigh, and whispered, “You’re so fucking beautiful like this.”

My breath caught. His voice was low, reverent. The kind of voice that made a man feel worshipped.

He kissed my hip, my stomach, my ribs—like his hands and mouth were working in tandem to calm the nerves buzzing through me.

“Still okay?”