Chapter 13
13
SOFIA
I sleep twelve hours straight. I’ve always been a good sleeper, but this is abnormal, even for me.
Sitting up, I glance around. Through one of the windows I glimpse the first rays of sunshine appearing behind the trees. There are no cats in sight, but their indentations are still there.
It takes me several minutes to get up. At some point during the night, I grabbed hold of the corner of the covers and pulled them over me. Even that isn’t enough to dispel the chill. If I had known I’d knock out like this, I would have gotten a fire going in the hearth.
My body protests every move as I drag myself out of Gideon’s bed and go out to the balcony where it’s warmer. I bask in the morning sun like a lizard, needing the heat to mobilize my muscles. Why is this house do damned cold?
Only when the heat from the sun has penetrated my soul, do I realize I’m still wearing Gideon’s hoodie. I slept in his bed while wearing his clothes. It feels like I betrayed myself. Did he watch me through the cameras? If he did, he’s probably got a grin from ear to ear. He must think I did it on purpose.
Didn’t you, Little Bird?
As if he actually spoke the words in my ear, I startle and whirl. He’s not there, of course, but it doesn’t matter.
“Get out of my head,” I grit through my teeth, my fingers tugging at my hair. I screw my eyes shut and repeat it. “Get out. Get out.”
But he won’t. Absent or not, he’s messing with me, driving me insane. I can almost hear his chuckling, deep and silken and so fucking amused.
Ugh. I need a distraction.
From his drawers, I pull out a white T-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs. I made a note of where they were earlier, though I did my best to repress the mental image that came with their discovery. Gideon, in a pair of these and nothing else, sleeping on his bed with all those cats curled up beside him. Sexy. Adorable.
It’s dangerous to think of him that way.
Once again, I repress those images and focus on my plan for the day instead.
Working out has never been my thing, but I crave it now. Anything to release stress and focus my energy. Since Gideon doesn’t believe in anything but silk and cashmere for my wardrobe, I’m left with no choice but to procure something from his.
What I don’t consider is the way it feels as I slip them on. The sensation of the material of his shirt on my breasts and against my thighs suddenly seems too intimate.
It’s what you wanted, isn’t it, Little Bird? To feel me like this?
I ignore him and head to the gym in the basement. All I can do is half an hour on the treadmill, but I run like the Devil is at my heels. Probably because he is. He’s whispering. Murmuring devilish things that, to my horror, make me want to do wicked things. Dirty things.
Devilish things, Little Bird? Could it be I was right? You’re. Not. Good.
“Shut up!”
I jump off the treadmill and run to the garage door. Almost desperately, I punch the numbers. My first attempt.
666 .
Red light emanates from it and the word Error appears and I instantly regret the impulse. I’ve wasted a try even though I knew, I fucking knew, it wouldn’t be so obvious. But he’s gotten in my head and is manipulating me from afar. Which only drives my point further.
Gideon is the Devil.
Several hours later and hunger finally forces me to emerge from the dark room. For at least one hour of that, I’ve studied the image I took of the keypad. To my disappointment, there’s nothing in it that would give away what digits Gideon punches in. No wear on the numbers or fingerprints.
As I’m heading up the stairs with the intent of finding food, I hear the front door shut. I freeze, my foot on the step, as I listen intently for any other sound.
Is Gideon back? It’s just after two and he said he wouldn’t return until the evening.
I continue up, through the kitchen, and the hall that leads to the foyer.
“Hello?” I call out. There’s no answer, however, when I check the front door it’s unlocked.
Once again, I say, “Hello?”
There’s a strange sort of moan and I turn to the great room. Other than the unusual chill due to the fire being out, there’s nothing else amiss.
“Winter? Autumn? Anyone?” I expect to find a cat from the sound of it, but again, nothing.
“Damned cold house.” I tug Gideon’s hoodie tighter against my chest and go to start a fire. It’s a good thing I lived in an old house and had to do this or freeze to death in the winter since none of the men seemed to get as cold as I did.
Quickly as I can, I toss in fresh wood from the stack next to the fireplace. But when I go to grab the matches from the mantle, I hear that ghostly moan right behind me.
Nearly jumping out of my skin, I whirl around and have to stifle a gasp when I see Gideon lying on the couch. “Must you creep around like a fucking vampire?”
His lids crack open just a sliver as he shivers and moans again.
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask suspiciously. “Are you sick?”
Sweat’s beads across his forehead and upper lip. His face is flushed and his eyes are glassed over.
“Worried about me, Little Bird?” He lifts his head and attempts, but fails, to give me one of his wolfish grins. It comes out more like a grimace and he drops his head back onto the couch.
“Jesus, you really are sick.” I place my palm on his forehead and snatch it back immediately. “You’re burning up.”
His trembling worsens and he wraps his arms around himself. “Bit cold, isn’t it?”
“The fire went out.” I look at the fireplace, then back at him. “When did you get back?”
“I…” His teeth begin to clatter and his eyes roll to the back of his head.
“Gideon. Gideon!” I slap his cheek.
He startles awake, but almost as fast, he’s out once more.
Shit. I touch his face again. Clammy. Hot. Definitely sick. And with something nasty enough to knock a man like him out.
“Actually, it’s probably nothing more than a man cold,” I tell him. “You’re all the same. Big babies.”
Pushing off the couch, I’m about to grab the matches off the coffee table when something on the floor catches my attention. I bend down to grab the cell phone that Gideon must have dropped.
It takes me a moment to truly grasp what I have, probably because of how impossible it seems. I have a phone. A way to communicate with the outside world. Call for help. Call Luca and beg him to come for me even if it means I have to swallow my pride and tell him I was wrong. That I do need him to protect me.
I’ll do it!
My hands tremble nervously as I fumble with the cell. Unlike my phone, it doesn’t have the capability for an emergency call while locked. The digital touch screen turns on when I swipe my finger across it. It pulses when it scans my features and doesn’t recognize them.
I face it toward Gideon, and try again. But once more, it denies me access.
“It’s your eyes,” I whisper. Dropping down to my knees, I slap his cheek. “Gideon. Open your eyes. Look at me. Gideon!”
He does so, but it’s clear it takes a lot of effort. The second I see the blue of his irises, I aim the screen at his face. A checkmark appears, indicating it’s accepted his features, but then, to my horror, it requests a secondary form of identification.
“Dammit!” It’s asking for a numeric password. An inconvenience, to be sure, but if I can figure it out, I might also get access to the garage.
Maybe it’s his birthday, which I have no doubt is on Halloween. The question is, what year.
“How old are you?” I ask Gideon and speculate.
He’s not old enough to be my father, but there’s at least a decade between us. His dark hair is sporting the tiniest bit of silver near his ears, and thin lines have begun to form around his mouth and eyes.
“Ugh.” It makes me sick how those things, signs of aging, only serve to make him that much sexier.
Thirty-five. He’s at least that old. Maybe thirty-eight.
It occurs to me then, that his phone might have fallen out of his pocket. Which means, his wallet could be there too.
I’m digging in there before I can stop myself. Sure enough, I find his wallet.
“Black snake skin. How appropriate.”
I pull out his New York driver’s license. Well, I was partly right. He’s thirty-five. Or he will be soon. But to my surprise, he was actually born on Christmas day.
“Now, that doesn’t make sense at all.” I shake my head as I punch his birthday digits into the phone.
Day, month, year. Year, month, day. Only the day and month. Month and year. None of the combinations work.
“Okay, so not your birthday.”
Several tries later, I’m ready to toss the phone into the fireplace and set the damn thing ablaze.
“What’s your password?” I demand and shove him. “Gideon!”
All I get from him is a groan.
I fall back onto my knees and start to cry. Not small tears, but big fat ones accompanied by loud sobs. I’ve never felt so helpless, so utterly tiny.
Then, I laugh because this is just so ridiculous, there’s nothing else to do. I’m not foolish enough to believe I’ll ever actually find an impossible code. It was just something to hope for.
Leaving isn’t a possibility either. Doesn’t matter that Gideon is sick. He could be dying and I still doubt the guards would let me off the property.
I’m stuck in hell with the Devil.
Don’t give up, Sofe. Fight. Do something!
Suddenly, that desperate part of me that makes me unable to think straight takes over. There must be a clue on him!
I carelessly dig through his pockets, searching for anything. The only other thing I find is a single penny. Doesn’t he always use them in pairs? Either he dropped its mate, or he killed someone with one eye.
Dull and old, minted in 1987 , the penny looks nothing like the ones I saw in his room. It could be a simple coincidence that this was in his pocket, but something tells me Gideon isn’t a change-in-his-pockets sort of man.
On a hunch, I grab the cell phone and enter the year as the code. To my surprise, it unlocks. So shocked am I that it worked, that it takes me a moment to realize what I’ve done. What this means!
Before I can find the button to make a call, strong fingers wrap around my wrist. In one quick move, I’m dragged under him and onto my back. I lose my grip on the phone, too stunned to find myself trapped beneath Gideon’s massive body.
“What are you doing?!” I demand as he pins my hands by my head. “Let me go.”
Gideon blinks, as if he’s surprised I’m here. However, his surprise quickly turns to something else. He trails his glassy gaze over my face, and to the place where his hands are holding me tight.
His releases my hands, but doesn’t get off me. He pushes up so that he’s on his knees between my legs.
Again, he rakes me with that silver stare, slowly, as if his brain is lagging and he’s having trouble processing what he’s seeing. Then, he zeroes in on the hoodie and something heated and raw comes over his expression.
“You’re wearing my sweatshirt,” he comments, his nostrils flaring slightly.
“You stole mine, so I took yours.”
He remains quiet for a moment, his focus solely on my chest. “What are you wearing under it?”
My mouth goes dry as I realize what he’s noticed and why he’s so intent on it. I’m not wearing anything under it. Why would I? I have small boobs and the lacy bras he got me itch. Besides, it didn’t occur to me that I’d end up in this position, with the cold of the manor to make my nipples stiff and visible through the material.
A groan escapes him when I don’t answer him, because that’s answer enough. He brings his fingertips to the hem of the sweatshirt and pushes it up, exposing my midriff. I gasp at the contrast between the cool air and the heat of his skin.
“I need to fuck you, Little Bird.” His eyes lift to mine, seductive and hungry. “If you don’t stop me, I’m going to fuck you.”
Some form of a protest is on the tip of my tongue. Because I should stop him, shouldn’t I? This is wrong. He’s a monster and I hate him for what he’s done to me. I should stop him.
Except, that when he pushes the material farther up my chest, I can’t speak. He exposes my nipples, and I stop breathing.
“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs as he bends down to take one into his mouth.
“Oh God.” I let out a desperate cry. Of their own accord, my hips buck upward seeking the hard ridge of his cock. As if he senses my need, he pushes back against me, creating a delicious friction that makes me suck in a breath.
When he moves to my other nipple, his fevered kiss upon it is so deep I feel it in my core. An ache begins to form there, one I’m not wholly unfamiliar with, but have never experienced like this.
I’ve never thought of my tiny breasts as beautiful or sexy. In my view, my asset has always been, well, my ass. But the way he grabs them, pulls them together and moans as he suckles me has me thinking otherwise.
Instead of pushing him away as I should, I hold him to me. I thrust my fingers into his thick hair and heave my tits at him, wanting his mouth and hands all over them.
He pulls away and throws off his clothes, leaving only a knife holster around his ankle. I’m as dazed as he looks, almost drugged, as I watch him reveal his perfect body. How his lithe muscles ripple beneath his tan skin and the matting of dark hair on his chest that trails down to his erection.
I swallow nervously as he approaches me once more, my gaze locked on his dick. My objections remain lost as he undoes the button and fly on my slacks, and tugs them off, underwear and all. I’m left there, exposed but for the bit that his hoodie covers.
For a brief moment, I wonder what’s happened here. If somehow he managed to drug me. Or perhaps he’s passed whatever illness he has, his man cold, onto me. Because I’m fevered and my brain is muddled and I obey him when he sits on the couch and says, “Spread your legs, Little Bird.”
My pussy opens, exposing my wetness to the cold. I shiver, however, it’s not the air that does it. It’s Gideon’s intimate visual exploration of me. He takes in every detail, his gaze burning a trail as it goes.
“You’re glistening.” He reaches between my legs and runs his fingertips over my slit, where he gathers some of the moisture and brings it to his lips. His tongue darts out and his eyes shut momentarily as he tastes me on his fingers. “So sweet. But I prefer to drink from the source.”
He bends forward and presses his mouth to my center. I’m unable to glance away as he licks me. In fact, I can’t do more than moan as I watch him burry his face in my cunt, the small patch of dark hair I leave there against his nose.
The way he eats my pussy, as if he’s making love to it, claiming it for himself, is beyond erotic. And not once does he look away. His stare remains locked on mine as his hot mouth brands me.
I’ve touched myself hundreds of times, but it’s never provoked the desire to be filled. I’m suddenly aware of the emptiness inside. I begin to tug at Gideon’s shoulders, wanting something I haven’t had but know instinctively.
Unrelenting, he doesn’t budge. But he’s aware of what I want, because in the next moment, his fingers are at my entrance and then they’re inside. I drop my head back as he touches a spot in me that has me crying out, “Don’t stop!”
I’m so close that even if he did, it wouldn’t keep me from coming.
I buckle and writhe, and still his mouth remains firm, until he’s wrung out every last pulse from me.
“Mmm.” He gives me one last kiss. “You’re so good.”
No, I’m not. This is anything but being good. I’ve just let my brother’s enemy taste me, let him see me fall apart.
I’m still reeling from the effects of the high when I realize what he’s doing. He’s scooted up between my legs and is now pressing his cock to my sensitive nub.
“What are you doing?” I breathe. God, even his dick is scorching.
He grips my legs behind my knees and pushes them back against the couch. “You’re mine, Little Bird. You know that.” It’s not a question, a mere statement of fact.
“Gideon. I—” I don’t finish whatever I meant to say. A sharp pain tears the barrier no one else had broken through and I cry out.
Sweat beads on his forehead as he forces himself to stop, his cock inside me pulsing. Even the most minute movements are painful as he stretches me.
He studies my face, his brows furrowed. Then slowly, he pulls out of me as he looks to the place between us. “Blood.”
“I’ve never…” I trail off and shake my head. “There was never a chance.”
I’m not sure what I expected him to do as the realization that I was a virgin hits him. Did I think he’d slow down? That he’d regret taking my virginity on his ivory couch?
His reaction is the complete opposite. There’s no regret or gentleness. If anything, the idea that I have never been with a man seems to light a match to his already ardent touch. He’s rough in an out of control sort of way. As if being the first has somehow pushed him beyond reason and the primal part of his brain has taken over.
He begins to pound into me hard, his fingers digging into my legs as he holds me in place. It hurts, but I don’t stop him. I can’t. Not when beyond the pain there’s another kind of ache growing deep inside with each thrust.
It’s mating. Biology. I tell myself that my body was made for this primal response, where I want more. Where when he lifts me off the couch and walks us to his room, I cling to him and kiss his neck and wrap my arms around him tightly.
When he drops me onto his bed, I pull my own legs back and moan as he enters me again.
Yes, I was made for this. It’s natural to enjoy it.
But as I watch him fuck me, and I revel in the wickedness of being with the Devil, of having him fill me with the very last drop of his cum, I realize that’s not it at all. And the truth is terrifying.
I was made for Gideon.