Page 38 of Gideon (Finding Home #3)

“Is this a less than tactful way of telling me that I smell?”

“When have I ever been tactful?”

I laugh. “Point taken.” He shrugs, looking uneasy, and my focus intensifies. “What’s going on?”

“I want you to take a shower while I cook something.”

“ You cook something?”

“I have taken cookery lessons here.”

“So I read in your emails. But I have seen no sign whatsoever of this culinary expertise. Unless we’re counting toast or croissants, and I’m pretty sure they’re not on the menu at Le Gavroche.”

“Well, now I’m cooking, smart arse. Have a shower and don’t put any clothes on when you get out.”

I stare at him and rub my hands. “This is already shaping up to being a tidy afternoon. I like your thinking.” Gideon smiles but it fades, and he almost looks bashful. “What is it?” I ask softly. “You can tell me anything.”

“I know that ,” he says in a slightly aggrieved manner that says it’s incomprehensible that I have to point it out. It warms my heart, as do his next words. “I just want to look after you,” he says softly.

I step into him, drawing him into my arms and hugging him tight. “You do look after me.”

“Not like I want to,” he says stubbornly. “You take such good care of me, Eli. I want to do the same.”

“Okay then,” I whisper. I step back and smile at him. “I’m going for a shower.” He kisses me, his lips soft against mine.

I take my time in the shower, enjoying the cool water. I pinch his body wash, relishing having the scent of spicy vanilla on me. A little piece of him. I close my eyes and shake my head. What the hell?

I wander into the bedroom when I get out, rubbing my hair dry, and come to a halt when I see Gideon waiting by the bed wearing only a pair of black sports shorts. “What’s going on?” I then inhale at the scent of food coming from the table by the window. “That smells lush. What is it?”

“Bit of everything that we had left in the fridge,” he says gloomily. “Turns out you actually need ingredients to cook.”

I laugh. “Who knew.” I hug him and wander over to the plate. “I’d rather have this anyway,” I say, looking at the food. “Hummus, pitta breads. Stuffed peppers. All my favourites.”

“I think I got that when you practically had an orgasm in the deli. We really will have to do a food order at some point this week.”

I slap his arse. “Man cannot live on sex.” I pause.

“Although we’ve really given it a bloody good go this week, Gid.

” He laughs as I grin at him. “I don’t mind takeaways, but they’re not very good for us.

I’d like to eat some proper meals too, and it would be good for you.

” I tear off a piece of pitta bread that’s steaming softly and dip it into the golden-brown hummus.

I gobble it down, only realising how hungry I am when I practically inhale the first piece.

“Good?” he asks, laying a towel down on the bed.

“So good,” I groan. I watch him for a second as I eat. “Are you intending to murder me?”

He blinks. “Not right this minute. Why?”

“The towel.”

“Oh no, that’s for a massage.” He pauses. “But I’ll put it to one side with the saw just in case I need them later.”

“There’s good thinking.” I laugh and eat another pitta bread, watching him potter about the bedroom. I pop a stuffed pepper into my mouth.

“You finished?” he says, standing by the bed with a brown glass bottle in his hand. “It’s probably best that you don’t eat too much right now. You can eat afterwards.”

“After what? This all sounds interestingly seedy.”

He chuckles, the lines at the sides of his eyes lengthening in a way that always makes me want to kiss him. So I do. I step into him, holding his hip and kissing him deeply and thoroughly. When I pull back, we’re both breathing heavily.

He steps back. “Lie on your stomach on the bed and make sure you lose the towel.”

I raise my eyebrow. “Gid, this is all so sudden. I’m not that sort of boy.”

“You are definitely that sort of boy,” he says affectionately. He shoves me down onto the bed. “I’m going to give you a massage,” he says, unscrewing the top on the bottle which lets out a sharp lemony scent.

“Massage. Have you done that before?” I ask doubtfully.

He shakes his head and smiles. “I may not have massaged anyone for pleasure before, but I do know how to do it. I had to take a course in it for a film I did a few years ago.”

“Which film?”

“Something that hopefully sank deep into the ether and never rears its head again,” he says fervently.

My interest sparks. “Porn?” I ask and he shakes his head.

“Of fucking course not. Porn . What part of hiding my sexuality for years and being a selfish lover makes me a candidate for porn?”

“You are most definitely not a selfish lover with me,” I say throatily.

“Yes, well, that’s just between us,” he says as I settle on my front.

“It bloody well is,” I say, and the fervency sounds loud in my voice. For a second there’s a startled silence and then his hands touch my shoulders. He starts to rub them firmly, working those long, thin fingers into knots I didn’t know were there. I squirm.

“Shit, that’s so good,” I mumble, burying my head in my arms and melting into his hands. “Hurts and is good at the same time.”

“It’s because you carry your stress and tiredness in your shoulders. I’ve noticed before how tight they get.”

“I need you to do this for forever,” I say blissfully, and then still. Fuck, what did I just say? I cringe and wait for the sound of him belting down the stairs and making a Gideon-sized hole in the door.

Instead, to my amazement, he chuckles, and his voice is light and full of laughter. “I think I could actually make you say or do anything when I’m doing this.”

“I think you could.”

“Even that I was good in the Oliver remake?”

I snort. “You’re not that good a massager, Gid. Nothing could make me say that.”

He pinches me, and I moan as his fingers move to the base of my back, digging in and pushing upwards. “You could make me say anything,” I finally say softly.

He pauses, and his hands still on my back. “I don’t want to make you,” he eventually says in a low voice. “I want you to always do what makes you happy.”

“That’s why I’m here,” I say and smile when he leans down, and I feel a kiss soft on my shoulder. “Oh God ,” I moan as he starts to massage again. “That’s so fucking good.”

“Your muscles are very tight. That’s probably this afternoon.” He pauses. “It must take a lot of brute strength to break some poor fucker’s ribs.”

I snort, feeling my body melt into the mattress.

“I’m alarmed by the relish in your voice.

Perhaps I should go out tonight and break ribs left and right in St Austell.

” He snorts. “In the interest of honesty, anyone could have done what I did today. Anyone with a rudimentary first-aid knowledge could have been talked through that procedure.”

“But not as good as you,” he says stubbornly. “You didn’t hesitate. Just got straight in there. I’m not interested in anyone else anyway. It was you I was very proud of. Nobody else.”

“Thank you.” I grab his hand as he touches my shoulder and kiss the fingers. “You look after me so well,” I whisper. “Thank you.”

“You should be looked after,” he says gruffly. “Always.”

I try to think of something to say that won’t freak him out but can’t find anything and settle for lowering my face into the mattress. As if agreeing with me he steps up the massage, digging into knots.

The massage turns slow after a bit when the knots and tight spots have eased, and his strokes seem more languid, as if he’s relishing the feel of my skin. I feel my cock rub against the rough towel as my body senses the change in mood.

“Gid,” I moan as his fingers lower to my arse, and he squeezes the cheeks, his fingers warm with the oil. “Oh fuck,” I choke out as he spreads the cheeks, and I feel the first touch of his tongue. “Gid!”

“Let me,” he says low. “I’ve never done this before for anyone.”

“You don’t have to,” I whisper.

“I know,” he says, his voice expressing his utter incredulity that anyone could make the great Gideon Ramsay do anything he doesn’t want to. Incredibly I smile, but it dies as he licks a path from the back of my balls to my hole. “I want to,” he whispers.

Then all I can do is moan and rub my cock against the towel as he sends catlike licks around the sensitive rim before suckling the hole. Shit! I groan and rut harder against the mattress. “That’s so good,” I hiss. “Keep going.”

He moans and steps up the pace, coming down on the bed behind me and spreading my cheeks with his big hands.

He suckles and kisses me, sending the tip of his tongue inside once the hole slackens a little.

I can hear the slurping noises and groans he gives loud in the silent room.

A spurt of pre-come dampens the towel. “Oh God, I need …” I stop. “I can’t think,” I finally admit.

“You don’t need to.” He rolls me over and, before I can say anything, he takes the head of my cock into his mouth and starts to suck.

“Oh shit!” I cry out and arch up. “Sorry, sorry,” I whisper frantically as he gags. “I’m so sorry.”

Gideon lifts his head, his face red-cheeked and intent and his eyes dark.

“Don’t be,” he says in a low voice. “I like it.” He licks a stripe down my cock before sucking at the base, his hand jacking my length, the way eased by the moisture from his mouth and the oil on his hand.

“I’m not very good at this,” he mutters, looking slightly embarrassed.

“It’s always been done to me. I didn’t reciprocate very often. ”

I stroke his hair back, feeling the dark strands slip through my fingers like rough silk. “You’re doing so well,” I whisper fiercely. “Do anything you like, and I promise I’ll love it.”

He nods, his face intent and focused on me, and I stretch languidly under him, feeling his gaze hot as warm honey on my body.

Then my thoughts vanish as he takes me into his mouth further this time and sucks hard.

“Oh shit, like that,” I hiss and then there’s no more talk as he sucks my brains out through my cock, jacking it in his warm fist and sucking and licking.

I’d be embarrassed at what a short time I last for, but I’ve got no brainpower left as I feel my balls draw up. “Gid,” I groan. “Coming.”

I intend it to be a warning, but he seems to take it for encouragement, and then I can’t think anymore as I shoot into his mouth, feeling his throat work greedily as he swallows my jizz.

He pulls back when I’ve finished. “Oh God,” I say weakly, raising a feeble hand and feeling it flop back down onto the bed. “I’ll do you when I get back my muscle coordination.”

“What a charming offer,” he says dryly. “Eli, you silver-tongued charmer.”

I laugh. “No, seriously,” I slur. “Give me your cock.”

“No need,” he says, drawing the cover up over me.

I force my eyes open. “What?”

I’m stunned when he leans down and kisses my forehead. “This was about you, not about me. I don’t want to come now. I’m going to make you a plate of food and bring it back to bed so we can have a cwtch .” He pronounces the word perfectly. “I want to look after you at the moment.”

“You do that so well,” I say, grabbing his hand and kissing the fingers. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” he says solemnly, and I’m quite sure he isn’t expressing gratitude for me coming down his throat. There’s too much emotion in the words.

I know he won’t say any more, so I reach up pleadingly and we kiss softly, emotion underplaying everything as the afternoon fades into a golden evening and we lie on the bed gilded by the sunlight, cuddled close and talking softly.

This is what a cwtch really means, I think as I look at his happy face and feel his arms around me.