Chapter 8 Valencia
Valencia
Gideon and I exchanged numbers, and through text messages, we decide that I’ll get the tree and dinner, and he’ll bring decorations and “additional accessories.” I assume the latter refers to tickling, and I spend all day Saturday obsessing over what he could possibly be buying.
I didn’t think about it while we were making the list, but some of the prompts involve items I certainly don’t have on hand.
Like, Lord help me, nipple clamps .
At one minute to six, our scheduled meeting time, the intercom buzzes. The sound sends Archie tearing out of the room to hide in the hall closet. I press the button to let Gideon into the building and try to wipe the pleased smile off my face.
What can I say? I appreciate punctuality.
I open the front door as he reaches the landing. He’s wearing a gray wool coat unbuttoned over a steel blue sweater and dark slacks. His hair is styled like it was last night before I ran my hands through it, and my fingers itch to ruffle those wheat-colored waves again.
His eyes light up when he sees me. “Hi.”
I step aside to let him in. “Welcome back.”
As he passes me, I’m struck once again by how big he is, and my mouth goes dry. He’s tall, but lean, and it wasn’t until I saw him completely naked in my bedroom that I was able to fully appreciate his broad shoulders, trim hips, and the sculpted body hidden by his perfectly tailored clothes.
I don’t miss the way his gaze drifts toward the door as I shut it, and I’d bet money he’s also remembering what we did there last night.
Ignoring the way my pulse throbs at the memory, I gesture him onward. “Dinner’s on the kitchen counter. And the tree’s on the table, since Archie never jumps on there.”
I hang up Gideon’s coat, which probably cost twenty times more than mine.
It carries the scent of his cologne, and I resist the urge to bury my face in it.
He slides his shoes into an empty spot on the shoe rack, then hands me one of the canvas bags he’s carrying.
I open it and find a collection of ornaments shaped like books.
They feature banned novels written by female authors, and it takes me a moment to realize we read all of these in high school together.
A business card states that they were made from recycled materials, and I know in my gut that he looked up the EPA’s guidance on having a green holiday.
His thoughtfulness overwhelms me, but when I go into the kitchen to thank him, he brushes me off, bustling around as if he’s been here a hundred times instead of once.
That’s fine, since I don’t really know what to say anyway.
This is a twelve-day holiday hookup—no more, no less.
Come Christmas morning, I’ll be volunteering at a local food kitchen.
I didn’t tell Gideon, in case he felt obligated to include me in his plans with his mom or offered to come with me.
The rest of the year will be spent packing, and in January I’ll find a new apartment and go back to living and breathing my job, which won’t leave any room for fun and games with my former nemesis.
I say “former” because while Gideon might have been a giant pain in the ass when we were kids, he’s now incredibly easy to be around.
Honestly, it’s unnerving. And after everything he shared last night, I have a vulnerability hangover.
I’m satisfied with his explanation—and let’s face it, kids can be really mean to each other, even without their parents sowing seeds of hate—but I don’t know how to reconcile the Gideon I remember with who he is now.
The best thing I can do is stick to the activities on our list, engage in some great sex with a hot guy, and once Christmas is over, go back to my regularly scheduled life.
I ordered dim sum, and he sets the table while I put on Christmas music. We eat next to the two-foot-tall potted spruce I picked up this afternoon, and which my landlord agreed to add to the plants in front of the building.
“What did you do today?” I ask, before devouring a soup dumpling.
He swallows a bite of noodles. “Rodrigo and I went on a shopping spree.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Oh?”
“You know that high-end sex store on Seventh Avenue?”
“Yeah, it’s been there forever.” My eyes widen as I realize what he’s implying. “Wait, Rodrigo helped you buy sex toys for us ?”
His full lips tremble like he’s trying not to laugh. “That’s what work husbands are for.”
“No, work husbands are for keeping you company at lunch, not sex-toy shopping!”
“We have a list, and I needed his expert opinion.”
“You told him about our list? Did he think it was weird?”
Gideon rolls his eyes. “Let’s just say he was very supportive.”
I don’t ask for further details. “What did you buy?”
His grin is wicked. “You’ll see.”
My face flushes, and I swallow hard. “Well, I’ll pay you back. Just send me the receipt.”
That ruins the moment, and Gideon makes a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. “You absolutely will not.”
“But—”
“ No , Valencia.”
It’s the usage of my first name that halts me. The way his deep voice caresses all four syllables sends a thrum through my body.
Everett used to call me “V” most of the time, and I didn’t mind it. Or, at least, I got used to it. But I like my name.
And I really like how Gideon says it.
“Fine. Be that way.” I make my tone snippy to disguise my real reaction.
The look he gives me is exasperated and fond, all at the same time.
After dinner, Gideon helps clean up. We sing along to Nat King Cole, Mariah Carey, and Michael Bublé while we deck the halls with pine boughs and strings of energy-efficient LED lights.
I’m still not ready to dig out my parents’ ornaments, so I appreciate that Gideon thought to buy me new ones, even if he won’t let me pay him back for those, either.
He also picked up a couple of quilted stockings made from repurposed fabric. For me and Archie, he says.
I moved into this apartment with Everett when I was twenty-two.
He took all his stuff when he left and I’ve made it my own, but with Gideon here, the space feels different in a way I can’t explain.
Gideon has an innate confidence in his own skin that seems to extend to the area around him, as if the force of his personality conforms the environment to his will.
Archie must feel it, too. He usually hides when someone else is around, and he used to actively hiss at Everett. But with Gideon, Archie rubs right up against him, shedding gray fur all over Gideon’s expensive black trousers.
Gideon doesn’t seem to mind, though. He scratches Archie’s head and murmurs baby talk to him in what sounds suspiciously like French.
I really need Gideon to pick his nose or something. Nothing egregious, just something unpleasant enough to make him a little less irresistible.
We’re having such a nice time, I almost forget about our other activity, but Gideon has one more gift for me.
“What’s this?” I ask, taking the long package wrapped delicately in tissue paper. It barely weighs anything.
“Open it.” His green eyes sparkle like something from a dragon’s hoard, reflecting the twinkling lights all around us.
Oh, boy. I know exactly what this is.
I carefully unfold the layers of paper, revealing a fluffy black ostrich feather attached to a slim metal rod.
Since I’m on the verge of making a terrible pun about “tickling my fancy,” I say blandly, “Well, come on, then.”
In the bedroom, I set the feather on top of the books stacked on my bedside table. My heartbeat pounds in my throat like a snare. Last night, I was fueled by the illicit thrill of fucking a guy who used to hate me. But now? I have no idea how to begin.
I turn to face him and catch his eyes darting over to the bed. Remembering how he asked if the clothes I gave him last night had belonged to Everett, I blurt out, “It’s a new mattress.” My face flames, but I need him to know that this is not the same bed I had sex with Everett Mulholland on.
Gideon just nods, but his jaw is tight, and he looks as jittery as I feel.
So I do what anyone would do in this situation: I rip my sweater over my head and throw it on the floor.
Sure enough, Gideon’s lips part as his gaze fixes on my chest, because the only thing I have on under the sweater is a red lace bralette.
His eyes flick back to mine and he raises a brow. “Does this mean you’re volunteering to go first?”
Shit, I hadn’t thought of that, but I give a brave nod. “Yes. I volunteer as tribute.”
Gideon grins and pulls off his own sweater, followed by his undershirt. I shove down my leggings and kick them off before climbing onto the bed in nothing but my bra and matching panties. The heat in Gideon’s eyes intensifies as he picks up the feather.
I lie on my back with my arms and legs straight. Goosebumps break out over my skin. I stare at the ceiling and drag in a deep, calming breath.
In the periphery, I’m aware of Gideon moving to the foot of the bed.
“I’m going to start with your feet. Do you consent?”
I let out a shaky breath. “Go ahead.”
“All right. Here it comes.”
He steps closer, and from the corner of my eye, I see his arm move. A second later, the feather flicks over the arch of my left foot in the barest of touches.
I react like he’s zapped me with a taser.
My heel nearly catches Gideon in the face. He jerks backward as I vault off the bed like Simone Biles going for another gold medal. I make a beeline for the bathroom, giggling the whole way.
When I come back from peeing, I find Gideon sitting on the edge of the bed with Archie. Gideon looks up when I enter the room, a sheepish smile on his face.
“I don’t suppose you want to try that again?”
I shake my head vehemently. “No way.”
His shoulders slump in relief. “Thank God. You almost broke my nose.”
“Sorry. But I know how to make it up to you.”
His brows lift. “Oh, yeah?”
I raise the feather and wave it in the air. “Your turn.”
With a resigned sigh, he lies down on the bed, which Archie takes as his cue to depart. While I was gone, Gideon removed his socks. All he’s wearing are his pants, which are now covered in cat fur. I make a mental note to use a lint roller on them before he leaves.
Kneeling on the mattress beside him, I drag the fluffy ends of the feather along his abdomen, wishing it was my mouth trailing kisses over his flushed skin.
I roll the rod between my fingers, making the feather swish side to side as I trace the lines and contours of his muscles.
I’m so focused on the enticing vee at his hips that it takes me longer than it should to realize he’s practically shaking from the effort of holding still.
His fists are white-knuckled where they grip the quilt, and when I look at his face, his lips are pressed into a stoic line.
“Forget it.” I toss the feather aside. “I think we should just fuck.”
The words are barely out of my mouth before he pins me to the bed and kisses me senseless.
His ardor ignites my own, and I grapple with the fastenings on his pants.
We’re both on edge, maybe from the tickling, maybe from the unexpectedly pleasant evening.
That could just be me. Either way, we tear the rest of each other’s clothes off, and before I know it, he’s got my knees pushed up and his face between my thighs.
He mutters something about paying down his debt, but I’m gasping too much to respond.
When I’m boneless and quivering from a mind-blowing orgasm, he moves up to curl around my side.
Hooking his elbow under my knee, he splays me open and slides into me in one continuous thrust. The penetration pulls a long groan from my throat that somehow ends with his name.
He murmurs something unintelligible into my neck and then he sets a pace that makes it impossible for me to think.
At some point, he grabs the feather and trails it down my torso, a move that causes me to buck my hips wildly and clench my inner walls.
He grits out, “Fucking worth it,” and slams into me harder.
He hits the right spot, over and over, and I climax again. After a few more hard pumps, he pulls out, jerking his cock and groaning until he comes on my pussy in a warm splash.
His head drops onto my chest and neither of us moves for a full minute. I’m achingly aware of his heart hammering against my ribs as aftershocks zing through me.
Gideon is scary good at this. How the fuck am I supposed to get through ten more days?
Finally, he moves, but not to get up. Instead, he drags the feather between my legs, soaking the silky plume with our combined juices. Then he lifts it up to show it to me.
It’s one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen.
And I very much need to bring us back to earth.
“Okay,” I say, struggling to find my voice. “On a scale of one to five: tickling.”
He huffs out a breathless laugh that stirs my hair. “The actual tickling part? One-point-five. Maybe two. The way we absolutely ruined that feather?” He tilts his head to send me an indulgent look. “Five stars.”
That look does something to me, so I grab a clip from the nightstand and focus on twisting my hair up into a bun. “I’d have to say the same about tickling. I nearly peed myself.”
His tone is amused. “And we don’t even have that on our list.”
“Yeah, that’s not changing. My adventurous side has its limits.”
Like butt plugs, I think, and a new shiver of anticipation runs up my spine.
“And the Christmas activity?” I ask, changing the subject. “Scale of one to five: tree decorating.”
He’s quiet for a moment, staring at the ceiling. “Five stars,” he says softly, and doesn’t offer any more commentary.
Finally, I say, “Me too,” and shift to get off the bed.
We take turns cleaning up in the bathroom, and while Gideon’s in there, I use the lint roller on his pants.
As Gideon is putting on his shoes, Archie trots out of the hall closet as if he also wants to say goodbye.
I pick up my cat to keep my hands occupied.
Otherwise, I might rip Gideon’s fancy coat right back off him.
My pulse races at the thought, but I only offer a friendly smile when he steps closer.
“See you tomorrow?” I say it like a question, giving him an out in case he doesn’t want to continue this thing we’ve started. But all he does is nod and scratch Archie under the chin.
“Tomorrow.” And then, with a mischievous grin, Gideon tickles my neck. I’m giggling when he says, “Good night, Valencia,” and opens the door.
I whisper back, “Good night, Gideon,” and close it behind him.
I take a deep breath, and my whole body goes hot as I visualize tomorrow’s activity.
Nipple clamps.