Chapter 23 #2
The question hung between us, heavy and dangerous. A test. A challenge. A line in the sand.
I should’ve said yes. Should’ve pushed him away, should’ve remembered every reason this was wrong, should’ve—
But then his fingers hooked into the waistband of my jeans, tugging them down just enough to expose the lace of my underwear, and my breath hitched.
"Let’s test that theory, hmm?" His voice was rough, dark with something that wasn’t just desire—something raw, something real.
He didn’t wait for an answer. Just slid my jeans down my hips, my thighs, until they pooled at my ankles.
Then his hands were back, gripping the lace, and with one sharp tug—
"Goddamn," he groaned, his breath hot against my skin as he looked at me. "Your pussy is a masterpiece."
The words should’ve been crude. Should’ve made me flinch. Should’ve reminded me of every reason to hate him. But the way he said it—like he was worshipping, like he was drowning—sent a rush of heat straight through me.
His fingers traced me, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing every inch. I should’ve stopped him. Should’ve screamed, should’ve fought, should’ve—
But then his thumb pressed against me, just there, and my hips jerked forward without permission. A broken sound tore from my throat.
Gideon’s smirk was dark, triumphant. "Still think you want me to stop?"
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
Because the truth was, I didn’t.
And that was the most terrifying thing of all.
"I think I'm going to fuck you today," he drawled. "I think I'm going to come so deep into your pussy that you taste me on your tongue."
His words hit like a blade between my ribs.
A whimper tore from my throat, raw and helpless, as he sank to his knees in front of me. His gaze locked onto mine, dark and heavy-lidded, like he was already imagining exactly how this would end.
"You're so damn wet." His voice was a growl, rough with something that wasn’t just hunger—something deeper, something that made my stomach twist. His fingers slid inside me before I could protest, before I could even breathe, and the sound that left me wasn’t mine. It was needy. Broken. His.
Then his mouth was on me.
Hot.
Relentless.
His tongue moved in slow, deliberate strokes, like he was savoring every second, every tremor, every gasp I couldn’t hold back.
My hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands, gripping tight—not to pull him away, but to keep him there, because the pleasure was too much, too sharp, too good, and I hated myself for it.
"Gideon—"
His name came out as a plea.
A warning.
A surrender.
He groaned against me, the vibration sending a jolt straight through my core. His fingers curled inside me, hitting a spot that made my knees buckle, and his free hand shot up to grip my hip, holding me steady, keeping me exactly where he wanted me.
"You taste like fucking sin," he murmured, his breath hot against my skin. "Like you were made for me."
I should’ve told him to stop. Should’ve remembered every reason this was wrong, every reason I was supposed to hate him, every reason I’d fought this from the beginning.
But then his teeth grazed my clit, just enough to make me gasp, and his fingers twisted inside me, and my body arched into him, my hips rolling against his mouth like I was begging for more.
Because I was.
God help me, I was.
His chuckle vibrated against me, dark and knowing. "That’s it. Take what you need."
I came with a broken cry, my fingers clenched in his hair, my body trembling so hard I could barely stay upright. He didn’t stop. Didn’t let me catch my breath. Just kept licking, kept touching, kept owning me in a way that made my vision blur.
When he finally pulled back, his lips were slick, his eyes burning into mine with something that wasn’t just satisfaction.
It was possession.
His fingers trailed up my stomach, slow and deliberate, like he was claiming every inch. My breath hitched as he reached the hem of my shirt, his knuckles brushing against the underside of my breasts.
And then his hands were there, palms warm against my skin, thumbs hooking into the neckline of my shirt. One sharp tug, and the fabric gave way, my breasts spilling free. Cool air hit my exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat in his gaze as he looked at me.
"Oh yeah," he murmured, voice rough. "I'm fucking you on your display case next to the rest of the smut."
My stomach twisted. Not in fear, but in something darker, something that made my pulse spike and my breath come faster.
His fingers found the cup of my bra, tugging it down without hesitation.
The lace gave way, and then his mouth was on me, hot and demanding, his tongue swirling around my nipple before he sucked hard enough to make me gasp.
"And there's nothing you can do to stop me."
His words sent a jolt straight through me. My hands were already tangled in his hair, my back arching into him, my body betraying me in the worst possible way.
He groaned against my skin; the vibration making me shudder. "Fuck, you're perfect." His teeth grazed me just enough to sting, and I whimpered, my nails digging into his shoulders. He chuckled, dark and satisfied, before switching to my other breast, giving it the same relentless attention.
I could feel how hard he was against my thigh, could feel the way his body trembled with restraint. He wanted this as badly as I did—maybe more. The realization should’ve terrified me. Instead, it sent another rush of heat pooling low in my stomach.
His hands slid down, gripping my hips, and then he was lifting me onto the nearest display case. Books scattered, tumbling to the floor, but neither of us cared. He stepped between my legs, his mouth crashing back onto mine, his tongue sliding between my lips like he owned them. Like he owned me.
And the worst part?
He did.