Chapter 7 Gideon #2
“Good call.” She writes in the notebook, then chews lightly on the end of the pen. “What should we write in the sex column for today?”
My grin is devilish. “Exhibitionism.”
I expect her to look embarrassed, but she cackles with something like glee. “I can’t believe we felt each other up in front of your friends.”
“Rodrigo and Bailey have felt each other up plenty of times in front of me. It was my turn.” My work husband is going to have a lot of questions about tonight, but that’s a problem for tomorrow.
The pen hovers near her mouth again, and I watch it like a hawk.
“Sledding? Nah, there’s no snow in the forecast.”
“Christmas movies,” I say absently. “Can you tap your lip again with the— mmm , just like that. Fuck, why is that so hot?”
With a coy smile, she runs the pen’s clicker around the outline of her lips. “Are you harboring a latent teacher or librarian fantasy? Ooh, I should add role-play to the list.” She writes it down, then brings the pen back to her mouth, slowly darting her tongue out to lick it.
I grab the pen and toss it aside, replacing it with my thumb. When I nudge her mouth open, her lips purse around the tip, and she teases the edge of my nail with her tongue.
“You are so fucking sexy I can’t stand it.” My voice is like gravel, and in response, her eyes go molten. She grabs the collar of my borrowed shirt, pulling me on top of her until I’m pressing her into the couch cushions.
The fire that flared between us when we entered the apartment is back in full force.
I kiss her, stroking deep into her mouth with my tongue. She surprises me by catching my bottom lip between her teeth.
“This fucking mouth.” Her voice is hoarse as she soothes my lip with her tongue. “This stubborn, bratty, luscious fucking mouth.”
Electricity sizzles through my veins. “In about thirty seconds, you’re going to see what else this mouth can do.” I trail kisses down her neck, stopping to suck, to nip, to lick.
“Is that so?” She tilts her head back to give me better access.
“You forgot already?” I push up to look her in the eye. “I promised to go down on you for hours.”
“Oh, God.” Her lashes flutter, and she strokes her thumb over my lower lip. “You’d better get started, then.”
It doesn’t take hours. Within five minutes of me lapping at her clit and pulsing my fingers inside her, she’s pulling my hair and begging me to let her come.
I do, savoring her soft little whimpers as she bucks against my face.
After she calms, I’m down to keep going, but she turns the tables on me and kneels on the floor between my feet.
Heaven. Her mouth on my cock is absolute heaven. Her lips, her tongue, the inside of her cheek, the slight drag of her teeth on my shaft—each sensation sends shivers along my spine. And her eyes, looking up at me from my lap, are the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
It’s quick and perfect, and after I’ve caught my breath, I drag her up my body to kiss her mouth. We taste like each other’s releases, and it’s another jolt of unexpected intimacy.
She pulls away before I’m ready and wriggles back into her underwear and pajama bottoms. “Don’t think I’m not banking the rest of those hours you owe me. Now, what else should we add to our list?”
“How can you think about lists after what we just did?” My heart is still racing, and the air saws in and out of my lungs. I barely muster the energy to slip my dick back into the borrowed shorts.
She’s already scribbling away. “You know how goal oriented I am.”
“That’s true.” I reach for her tea, which is still half full, and drain the mug.
“I’ll make more.” She starts to get up, but I wave her off.
“I’ve got it. You work on the list.”
While I’m perusing her selection of teas, the cat strolls into the kitchen and winds around my bare ankles. I hold two boxes out to him, and he bumps his head against the one in my left hand. Decaf jasmine green tea it is.
With the cat at my heels, I carry our tea back to the living room.
At the look of alarm on Torres’s face, I freeze. “What’s wrong?”
Her eyes flick over me, from the mugs to the cat rubbing against my legs, and she shakes her head quickly. “Nothing. I was just thinking.”
“About the list?”
“Um, yeah.”
I set the mugs on the coffee table and sit next to her. “What else have you written down?”
“Uh, the window displays on Fifth Avenue.”
“How unexpectedly capitalist of you.”
“Shush. Ice-skating at Wollman Rink.”
“Are we tourists?”
“It’s iconic for a reason.” She grabs a crocheted throw blanket from the back of the sofa and tucks it over our laps. “Anything you want to add?”
Before I can think twice, I say, “The Rockettes.”
She shoots me a wary look. “Is this your way of suggesting an orgy?”
That pulls a surprised laugh from me. “No, but also ... maybe? I mean the Radio City Christmas Spectacular. I used to go with my parents when I was a kid. It just wasn’t Christmas without that.”
Her expression softens, and she writes it down.
We go back and forth, adding items in both categories, when Torres introduces a new rule.
“If we both have it, we both have to do it.”
“Have what?”
“The body part. I’m not letting you make a list of things you only do to me. These are equal opportunity sexcapades, buddy.”
I glance at what I’ve just written and groan.
“Let me see that.” For the second time tonight, she snatches the notebook from me. This time, she lets out a chortle. “ Butt plugs? ”
“We can cross it out—”
“Oh, no, you don’t. Consider this chiseled in stone. Butt plugs all around!”
I drag a hand down my face and sigh.
By the time Valencia and Gideon’s Naughty and Nice List is complete, it’s three in the morning. We’re leaning against each other on the sofa, cuddled under a chunky crocheted blanket, when she lets loose a jaw-cracking yawn.
“I’m going to head home before I fall asleep,” I say through my own yawn, even though I want nothing more than to curl up with her all night. “See you tomorrow?”
“Yes, for tree decorating and”—she consults the list—“tickling.”
“It’s a date.” I heave myself off the sofa.
At first, I indulged the idea of the list because I wanted to cheer her up. But I’m glad to have a valid excuse to see her again. Every day until Christmas Eve, according to her rules.
I don’t deserve a minute of her time, not after the way I treated her when we were younger. But she deserves to not be alone for Christmas. And I’m just enough of a bastard to use that to my advantage. If all I get are twelve days, I’m going to make the most of them.
The truth is? I don’t want to be alone, either.
And more than that, I want to be not alone with Valencia Torres.
Once I’m back in my own clothes, she walks me to the door. Before she shuts it, she sends me a small, secret smile. “Good night ... Gideon.”
The corner of my mouth ticks up. “Good night, Valencia.”
I whistle “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” as I jog down the stairs and emerge into the night.