Page 30 of Gideon (Finding Home #3)

Chapter

Eleven

Even cranky porcupines need a cuddle

Gideon

Later that night I wake with a start, my pulse racing, and sit bolt upright in bed. “What the fuck?”

Then the banging on my front door, which has obviously woken me up, starts again. Panic settles in. Is it Milo? Has something happened to him?

I bound out of bed and promptly fall straight over my shoes that I’d kicked off carelessly earlier. “Shit!” I groan, rubbing my elbow which has connected painfully with the bedside table. “Shit, that hurts.”

The banging begins again. “Okay,” I bellow. “What the fuck? Hold on a second.” I look around for some clothes helplessly, since the bedroom is covered with clothes strewn in colourful piles as if waiting for a body to come along and reanimate them.

Shaking my head, I pull on the nearest pair of shorts and a T-shirt, realising they’re inside out and back to front just when the banging on the door starts again.

Dismissing the state of my clothes, I race out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

I fumble with the door’s stiff lock, cursing under my breath until it turns, and I fling the door open.

“This had better be an emerg–” I gulp the words back as I struggle for breath. “ Eli !”

He leans against the door post as casually as if he’s calling in for a cup of sugar. Dressed in grey joggers and a burgundy hoodie, the moon sends his shaggy mess of hair white-blond and darkens his eyes, so for a second I wonder if I’ve conjured him up in a dream.

Then his lips quirk hesitantly. “Is it okay that I’m here?” he asks, and I break my stasis, grabbing his arm and hauling him over the threshold.

He laughs and follows willingly, his body hot under my palm.

I switch the hall light on and gape at him.

He’s tanned a smooth golden brown from being under the Dubai sun, his hair is a sun-drenched mess, and the freckles dotted wildly over his nose make it seem like he’s been dusted with cocoa powder.

“Oh my God,” I say hoarsely. “You’re really here. I only emailed you tonight.”

He hitches his duffel bag over one wide shoulder almost nervously. “I was already back in the country when I contacted you. When you said to come to you, I set out immediately.” He stares at me, the silence stretching out like spun sugar, soft and silken. “Are you pleased?” he asks abruptly.

I stare back, all my defences down for once. Right about now I’d normally be dismissive and sarcastic. Ready for sex but keeping my guards up. They’re nowhere to be found now, and I swallow. It’s almost like being naked in front of him, but scarier. Nevertheless, I smile at him.

“So pleased,” I say hoarsely and we reach for each other at the same time, his bag thudding to the floor as I wrap my arms around him and bring him into me. The relief I feel is almost painful.

He’s all slim build and hard muscles in my arms, the scent of coconut in my nostrils and a sweet smell from his shampoo. “God,” I mutter. “I missed you so much.”

He frames my face in his big hands, the fingers curiously gentle. “I missed you too. So much.” I inhale sharply, feeling his words as a pleasure-pain in my belly. I don’t think anyone has ever said that to me before. His smile turns sad as if somehow he knows what I’m thinking.

I’d normally lash out, hating to be vulnerable, but instead I stay still, touching the feelings of vulnerability and safety that run in a soft dichotomy in me when he’s holding me.

Then, moving slowly and savouring the moment I’ve been thinking about for so long, I draw his mouth to mine, running my tongue over that full bottom lip and biting gently.

He groans under his breath and opens his lips, letting my tongue slide in. He meets it with his own, rubbing it gently against mine before pulling back a slight bit and sucking softly on it. My cock pulses in my shorts, the head wet and damp at the motion, and I suck in a breath.

He pulls back, releasing my mouth. “You sure?”

I trace my hands over those high, wide cheekbones and let my fingertips run over his freckles, something I’ve been wanting to do for months. “So sure.” I pull back and hold out my hand. “Come on.”

He looks at my outstretched palm, and somehow when he joins his hand with mine the movement has a gravity to it, like it’s a ritual we might be lucky enough to always perform.

We don’t speak as I pull him up the winding, narrow stairs. He has to lose my hand to walk behind me, and my breath stutters as his hands grab my hips and curve down and round my arse. “So gorgeous,” he mutters, his voice deep and low.

“Wait until you see it naked,” I tease, my voice hoarse but happiness suddenly bubbling in me. He’s here and he’s about to be all mine. I still for a second at that outrageous thought, and he bangs into me.

“You okay?” he asks quickly.

I look back, the shadows over his face casting him in darkness.

“I’m perfect,” I say, and I mean it. This here is perfect no matter what happens because he is mine.

I don’t know how or why it’s happened but it has, and on a twisting narrow staircase it seems oddly appropriate for me to have that epiphany.

My life, after all, has been twisted and narrowed by other people’s and my own expectations. Well, no more.

So, when I reach out and switch the light on it’s with a sense of optimism that’s completely alien to me. I grin at him and then bite my lip as he looks around the chaos of the room.

“Oh my God,” he says faintly. “Were you burgled?” He pauses. “Could they find anything? Did you have to help them look?”

I laugh helplessly. “Shut the fuck up. I’m messy. Deal with it.”

“I can see now where the not keeping lots of clothes comes in. The ship would have probably sunk under the weight of all this.”

I shove him as I laugh and then push him against the wall, kissing him lustily. At first I can feel the laughter in him, almost like when you pet a cat and feel the purr, but then he takes my mouth in turn, forcing his tongue in and groaning in his throat.

He moves suddenly, reversing our positions so I lean into the wall. He holds my hands out to my sides and for a second I struggle against his strength which, unlike mine, isn’t gym-honed but forged by moving people’s bodies around so he can care for them.

The thought sends a wave of heat rushing through me, and, against my brain’s urgings, I melt back against the wall, feeling the strength holding me captive in the grip of his hands and the weight of his body.

“Oh God, yes,” I moan and he stays still for a bright second of realisation.

Then his face seems to both harden in determination and soften with tenderness, so I stare at him.

“Gideon?” he whispers, and I nod frantically.

“Yes, like that. Yes, please.” The begging notes drip between us, soft and bubbling like hot jelly, red and pulsing.

He looks hard at me, a flush spreading over his tanned cheeks, and then he’s stripping me, tearing my shorts off and ripping the neckline of my T-shirt until I’m naked in front of him. “God,” he groans. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

I have a second of vulnerability. I’m twelve years older than him. He must be used to lovers with young bodies, not ones who are still a bit too thin. I have lines at the sides of my eyes and grey specks are starting to appear in my hair.

Then my thoughts scatter as he pushes me back into the hard surface of the wall. “Yes, you are,” he says firmly. “So gorgeous, and if I say that, it’s the truth. I want you so fucking much. I’m going to push you against this wall and I’m going to fuck this gorgeous arse so hard that we both come.”

I should be panicking right about now because no one has fucked me since Niall. Instead, my cock pulses and I grab the base of it hard, feeling the pain chase my orgasm back a step.

His eyes sharpen. “You nearly came then?” I nod, caught in his hot gaze, the green in his eyes eclipsed by blown pupils. “God, Gid, I’m going to make you come so hard.” He steps back and kicks off his Nikes, leaving him barefoot. “Strip me. Get me naked.”

I stare at him, struck for a second by the reversal of the usual norms. When I’m with a man, I’m the dominant one.

I give the orders. I fuck them, and I’m always in charge.

I wonder when that became tiring and repetitive or whether it always has been.

“Now,” he says demandingly, and I feel the buzz in my blood and cock thrumming throughout my body.

“Fuck!” I groan and he grins ferally.

“I’m waiting.” He seems somehow to have changed. He’s firmer and more autocratic, with an arrogant tilt to his head that makes my blood run fast. But at the same time, he’s still Eli of the warm eyes and soft mouth who makes me feel safe with him.

“You’re bossy,” I mutter, pulling off his hoodie and the T-shirt underneath and letting them fall to the carpet unheeded.

“God,” I mutter, tracing my fingers along the body revealed to me.

His chest is wide and hairless, his nipples dark brown discs.

I rub my finger roughly over one, watching it rise and pebble.

I do the same to the other and he groans.

“I’m still dressed,” he murmurs, and I smile slowly before reaching for the waistband of his joggers.

I pull them down, the elastic catching on the heft of his cock before I lift it out and push the joggers down his legs.

I gasp when I see his cock. He’s erect and huge, and unable to resist, I step closer and grab it gently.

My hand barely reaches around him as his cock thumps into my palm.

The head is wet and slick, the smell of pre-come acrid in the air and making my mouth water.