Chapter 15
Belle
The dinner plates sat untouched between us. Cooling. Forgotten. Nothing about this meal had ever been about food.
Gideon stepped toward me with that deliberate, predatory certainty I'd come to dread. The kind of movement that announced intention before he ever laid a hand on me.
I pressed back against the table. Told myself I wouldn't react. Wouldn't want. Wouldn't give him the satisfaction of watching me break.
But he touched me anyway—not aggressively, not cruelly, but with an unbearable confidence that said he already knew how this ended.
His hand cupped my jaw. Tilted my face up.
And my resolve shattered like glass.
His mouth found mine before I could mount a defense. Before I could remember all the reasons I was supposed to hate this. Hate him.
The kiss wasn't gentle. Wasn't asking permission. It claimed. Consumed. Took everything I'd been trying so desperately to hold back.
And my body—
God, my body—
It betrayed me completely. My hand fisted in his shirt without conscious thought. Pulled him closer instead of pushing away.
A gasp escaped me—soft and helpless and damning.
His tongue swept into my mouth and I whimpered against him like I'd been starving for this. Like six months of denial had been carved into my bones.
"Tell me," he murmured against my lips.
I shook my head. Couldn't form words.
Wouldn't.
His hand slid lower. Found the edge of my jeans.
"Tell me what you need."
The command was wrapped in velvet but edged with steel.
I hated that I wanted more. Hated that my hips rolled forward seeking friction I shouldn't crave. Hated that when his fingers finally—finally—found where I burned hottest, I gasped his name like a prayer.
I wouldn't say anything wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
His fingers hooked into the waistband of my jeans, dragging them down my thighs with infuriating ease. The cool air hit my bare skin, and I jerked back—but his grip on my wrist was iron.
"Be a good girl," he murmured, already shifting beneath me, adjusting himself with one hand while the other yanked me forward. "Sit on my face."
My stomach twisted. "You're sick."
He only smirked, dark and knowing, before pulling me down hard. My knees hit the tile on either side of his head, my breath leaving me in a sharp gasp as his hands locked around my thighs. I tried to push away, but his fingers dug in—bruising, unyielding.
"Gideon—stop—"
His tongue dragged up the inside of my thigh, slow and deliberate, and my traitorous body arched into the touch before I could stop it. A shudder ran through me, humiliation and heat twisting together in my gut.
"Fight all you want," he murmured against my skin, his breath hot. "But you’re going to come for me."
I clenched my jaw, my nails digging into his shoulders as I tried to leverage myself away. But he was stronger. Always stronger. His grip tightened, his mouth finding me with cruel precision, and my hips jerked despite myself.
A broken sound tore from my throat—not protest, not surrender, but something raw and desperate in between. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling hard enough to hurt, but he only groaned, the vibration sending another jolt through me.
I hated him. I hated that I couldn’t stop. I hated that when his tongue did that again, my back bowed and my breath came in ragged gasps.
"Such a good girl," he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. "Now let me hear you."
His mouth was relentless.
I clenched my teeth, nails digging into his shoulders, trying to hold back the sound building in my throat.
My body betrayed me—arching, trembling, wanting—when I should have been shoving him away.
His tongue moved in ways that made my vision blur, slow and deliberate, like he’d memorized every place I was weak.
Then his finger slid inside me.
I jerked, a broken noise escaping before I could stop it. How—?
He knew exactly where to press, exactly how to curl his fingers to make my hips stutter against his mouth.
My thighs shook, my breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.
I hated the way my body responded, the way my muscles tightened around him, the way my back bowed despite every instinct screaming at me to resist.
His free hand gripped my hip, holding me down as I tried to pull away. "I need to stretch your pussy out," he murmured against me, his voice rough with satisfaction. "You won't be able to take my cock."
I couldn’t.
I wouldn’t.
But my body didn’t care.
His fingers curled inside me, stretching, twisting, and my body betrayed me completely. A broken sound clawed its way out of my throat—not pleasure, not protest, but something ugly and needy that I couldn’t swallow back down.
You won’t fit my cock.
The words should’ve made me recoil. Should’ve snapped me back to sanity. Instead, my hips rolled forward, chasing the pressure, the burn, the way his fingers filled me just enough to make me ache for more.
His tongue didn’t stop. Relentless. Knowing. Like he’d memorized every inch of me in the dark, like he’d spent years learning exactly how to unravel me.
I clenched around him, my nails digging into his shoulders, my thighs trembling. Don’t—don’t let me—
But he did.
He knew.
His free hand slid up my stomach, pinning me down as his fingers crooked deeper, hitting that spot that made my vision whiten at the edges. My back arched, a sob tearing from my throat as the first wave crashed over me, violent and unwilling.
"Good girl," he murmured against me, his voice rough with satisfaction. "Now take another."
My thighs burned from the strain of fighting him, my muscles trembling as I tried to pull away. But Gideon’s grip was iron, his mouth relentless, and every time I jerked back, his fingers curled deeper inside me, dragging another shameful gasp from my lips.
No. No, no, no—
His tongue swirled, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to unravel me.
The sounds he made—low, rough groans of satisfaction—vibrated against my skin, sending another jolt through me.
My stomach twisted. Why does that turn me on?
My body was traitorous, slick and aching, my hips rolling in tiny, involuntary circles despite my brain screaming at me to stop.
I clenched my teeth, my fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to bruise. "I hate you," I hissed, but my voice broke, my body arching into his touch before I could stop it.
Gideon only chuckled darkly, the vibration making my thighs clench. "Liar."
His fingers twisted, stretching me in a way that burned and oh God—my back bowed, a broken sound tearing from my throat.
His free hand slid up my stomach, pinning me against him as his mouth worked me over, his tongue flicking in ways that made my vision blur.
I hated how good it felt. Hated how my body responded, how my breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, how my hips rocked forward despite every instinct screaming at me to resist.
"Such a greedy little thing," he murmured against me, his voice rough with satisfaction. "You’re dripping for me."
I whimpered, my face burning with humiliation. This isn’t me. I don’t want this. But my body didn’t care. My thighs shook, my muscles tightening around his fingers as he curled them deeper, hitting that spot that made my vision whiten at the edges.
"Gideon—please—" The word slipped out before I could stop it, and I hated myself for it. Hated that it sounded more like begging than protest.
His groan vibrated against me, his grip tightening. "That’s it. Let me hear you."
I shook my head, my nails digging into his skin, but my body betrayed me completely. Another wave crashed over me, violent and unwilling, my back arching as a sob tore from my throat. My thighs clenched around his head, my muscles locking as pleasure ripped through me, sharp and shameful.
And the worst part?
He didn’t stop.
His mouth didn’t leave me. Didn’t give me room to breathe, to think, to remember why this was wrong. His tongue moved like he owned me—like he’d been waiting a year to taste me and now that he had, he’d never get enough.
"Fuck," he groaned against me, the vibration sending another jolt through my nerves. "You taste better than I imagined."
I tried to pull away, but his grip on my hips was iron. His fingers curled deeper, stretching me in a way that burned and oh God—my skin was on fire, a broken sound tearing from my throat.
"You’re so damn wet," he murmured, his voice rough with something dark and hungry. "I could live on this. I could fucking drown in you."
My face burned. I wanted to scream at him, to shove him away, but my body was traitorous—arching, trembling, wanting—and when his tongue did that again, slow and deliberate, my thighs clenched around his head.
"Another one," he demanded, his fingers twisting inside me. "Give me another, and I’ll let you come on my cock later."
I shook my head, my nails digging into his shoulders, but my body didn’t listen. Another wave built, sharp and relentless, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
"No—" The word broke, my voice cracking as my muscles tightened around his fingers. "I won't—"
His chuckle vibrated against me, sending another jolt through my nerves. "We’ll see."
His mouth didn’t stop. His tongue moved in ways that made my vision blur, slow and deliberate, like he’d memorized every place I was weak. His fingers curled deeper, hitting that spot that made my hips jerk, my back arch, my breath stutter.
"I want my face dripping with you," he growled, his voice rough with obsession. "I want to taste you three days from now and still know exactly how sweet you are."
The words should’ve made me recoil. Should’ve snapped me back to sanity. Instead, my hips rolled forward, chasing the pressure, the burn, the way his fingers filled me just enough to make me ache for more.
And then—