Chapter 30
Gideon
Her lips crashed into mine.
Not hesitant. Not testing.
Claiming.
My brain short-circuited. Every thought scattered except one screaming truth: Belle was kissing me. Belle came back. Belle chose this.
My arms moved before conscious thought caught up—wrapped around her waist, hauled her against me. Broken fingers screamed protest. Didn't care. Couldn't stop. She was warm and real and here, and nothing else mattered.
She opened for me. I groaned into her mouth, deepening the kiss, tasting salt from her tears and something sweeter underneath. Desperation. Need. The same hunger that'd been eating me alive since I sent her away.
I kicked backward. The door slammed.
Glass rattled in broken windows. The house held its breath. Everything narrowed to her hands fisting in my shirt, her body pressed flush against mine, her breath mixing with mine in ragged gasps.
I should stop this. Push her away. Tell her to leave before I destroyed what little remained of her freedom.
The words formed. Died unspoken. Because I'd already tried noble. Tried selfless. Tried letting her go for her own good.
And she came back anyway. Not because of the contract. Not because she owed me. Not because loan sharks hunted her or her father needed money or she had nowhere else to turn.
She came back because she wanted to.
The realization hit harder than breaking my hand had. Deeper. More devastating.
I was selfish. Always had been. Took what I wanted without asking, claimed what called to me, possessed what my instincts demanded.
But this?
Belle kissing me first, choosing me willingly, coming back when she could've stayed gone?
That wasn't possession.
That was surrender.
Hers and mine.
I pulled back just enough to see her face—flushed, tear-streaked, beautiful in ways that made my chest crack open. My voice came out wrecked, "You shouldn't have come back."
Her hands tightened in my shirt. "I know."
"I'm not good for you."
"I know that too."
"Belle—"
"Stop." She pressed her forehead against mine. Her breath ghosted across my lips. "Stop trying to protect me from you."
My throat closed. "Someone has to."
"No." Her voice dropped. Fierce. Certain. "Someone has to let me make my own choices. Even the dangerous ones."
Especially the dangerous ones, her eyes said.
I cupped her face with my good hand. Thumb brushing her cheekbone. "This is dangerous."
"I don't care."
"You should."
She kissed me again—softer this time but somehow more devastating. When she pulled back, her eyes locked on mine. No fear. No hesitation.
Just truth.
"I came back," she whispered against my mouth, "because I wanted to."
Seven words.
They destroyed me.
Rebuilt me.
Changed everything.
I kissed her like drowning, like she was oxygen, like I'd never let her go again.
And this time?
I wouldn't.
My hands found the hem of her shirt. Tugged.
She didn't pull away. Didn't hesitate. Just lifted her arms. Permission I didn't deserve but took, anyway.
The fabric tore—broken fingers catching, good hand too rough, too desperate. I didn't care. Needed her skin against mine. Needed proof she was real, here, mine.
The shirt hit the floor.
Belle stood before me in the dim light filtering through broken windows—chest heaving, eyes dark, beautiful in ways that made me forget how to breathe.
I grabbed her. Lifted.
She wrapped her legs around my waist instantly, perfectly, like she'd been made to fit there.
The wall was three steps away. I could take her there. Hard and fast and claiming. Press her against plaster and make her scream my name until the neighbors heard, until the whole goddamn city knew who she belonged to.
Every instinct screamed for it.
But something deeper pulled harder.
I turned. Carried her toward the stairs.
"Gideon?" Her voice shook. Not fear. Anticipation.
"Not against the wall." My jaw clenched.
Not when she came back on her own. Not when she chose me. Not when this meant something I didn't have words for.
I wanted her in our bed. The one she'd slept in beside me. The one that still smelled like her shampoo and her fear and her trust.
I wanted slow. Wanted to memorize every sound she made, every place that made her gasp, every curve and hollow and secret her body held. Wanted to take my time. Prove to her—to myself—that this wasn't just hunger. Wasn't just possession or control or the contract binding us together.
This was choice.
Hers and mine.
I kicked the bedroom door open. Lowered her onto the mattress with a gentleness that felt foreign, terrifying.
Her hair fanned across the pillow. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Her eyes never left mine.
"Gideon." My name on her lips sounded like prayer. Like promise.
Like home.
I braced over her, broken hand trembling beside her head.
"I'm going to take my time with you."
Her breath caught.
"Going to learn every sound you make." I lowered my mouth to her neck. "Every place that makes you beg."
She arched into me.
Perfect.
My voice scraped out like gravel over broken glass. Raw. Barely controlled. "If you plan on leaving—do it now."
Belle sucked in a breath.
I tightened my hold, fingers digging into her hip hard enough to bruise. Needed her to understand. Needed her to know.
"Because I'm not letting you go again."
The words came out darker than intended. More confession than warning. A promise that should've terrified her.
Her fingers curled around my collar instead. Pulled me closer. She whispered against my mouth, "I'm not leaving."
A growl vibrated in my chest.
Low.
Hungry.
Relieved in a way that felt like pain, like something vital clicking back into place after being ripped out.
I captured her mouth again. Tasted the truth of those words on her tongue. Swallowed them whole. Let them settle in the hollow space where fear usually lived.
My hands found her jeans. Fumbled with the button. Broken fingers protested. Didn't care. Needed the barrier gone. Needed her bare beneath me. Needed proof this wasn't another hallucination conjured by the wreckage downstairs.
I tugged. Stripped the denim down her legs. Took her underwear with it. Didn't wait. Couldn't.
She kicked them off the rest of the way. No hesitation. No shame.
Just Belle—naked, flushed, trembling—watching me with eyes that held no fear.
Only want.
I braced over her, drinking in every detail. Committing them to memory. The curve of her hip. The hollow of her throat. The way her chest rose and fell rapidly. The marks I'd left on her skin days ago, fading but still visible.
Still mine.
"Beautiful," I heard myself say.
She flushed deeper. Started to turn her head.
I caught her chin. Forced her eyes back to mine. "Don't hide from me."
Her lips parted. A protest died unspoken when I lowered my mouth to the mark on her neck. Pressed my tongue against it. Felt her pulse jump.
"Mine," I growled against her skin.
Not a question.
A statement.
A claim she'd already accepted by coming back.
Her fingers threaded through my hair. Not pushing away. Pulling closer.
"Yours," she breathed.
The word shattered what remained of my control.
I stripped off my own clothes with shaking hands. Kicked them aside without looking. Settled between her legs. Felt her heat against me. Nearly came undone from that alone.
She wrapped her arms around my neck.
Legs around my waist.
Pulled me down until nothing existed between us but skin and breath and the truth neither of us could deny anymore.
"Don't stop," she whispered.
I had no intention of stopping.
Not tonight.
Not ever again.
Her back arched off the bed the second my mouth closed around her breast. A gasp tore from her throat, fingers clutching my shoulders like she needed something to hold onto.
I swirled my tongue over her nipple, feeling it harden against my lips, and the taste of her—salt and warmth and something uniquely Belle—went straight to my cock.
My fingers found her already wet, already ready. She was so fucking responsive, every touch drawing another broken sound from those perfect lips. I slid one finger inside her slowly, then another, curling them just right. Her hips jerked up, seeking more, and I growled against her skin.
"Gideon—" My name came out as a plea, her voice thick with need.
I bit down gently on her nipple in response, just enough to make her whimper, before soothing the sting with my tongue. My fingers worked deeper, finding that spot inside her that made her legs tremble. She was tight, so tight, her body clenching around me like she never wanted to let go.
"Look at me," I demanded, lifting my head just enough to meet her gaze.
Her eyes fluttered open, dark and dazed, but she obeyed. I wanted her to see me when she came apart. Wanted her to know exactly who was making her feel this way.
I crooked my fingers again, pressing harder this time, and her breath hitched. "That's it," I murmured, watching her face. "Let go for me."
Her nails dug into my skin as I added a third finger, stretching her, preparing her. She was so close—I could feel it in the way her muscles tensed, in the way her breath came in short, sharp gasps.
"Please—" she begged, her voice breaking.
I didn't make her wait. I rubbed my thumb over her clit in tight, relentless circles, my mouth returning to her breast, sucking hard as I fucked her with my fingers. Her body bowed off the bed, a cry tearing from her throat as she came, her inner walls pulsing around my fingers, milking them.
I didn't stop. Kept working her through it, drawing out every last shudder, every gasp, until she finally collapsed back against the mattress, boneless and breathing hard.
Only then did I pull my fingers free, bringing them to my mouth. Her taste exploded on my tongue—sweet, intoxicating. I groaned, my cock aching with the need to be inside her.
But I forced myself to wait. To savor this. To make sure she knew—this wasn't just sex. Not anymore.
This was hers. And mine. And no one else's.