Chapter Eleven
Lucia
The kiss starts soft, tentative, like I'm asking a question I'm not sure I want answered. But when Gideon's lips move against mine, warm, familiar, perfect, every rational thought I've been clinging to dissolves like sugar in rain.
I can feel the solid mass of him beneath me as I straddle his lap on the leather sofa, my thighs bracketing his hips.
His arousal presses hard and insistent against my core through our clothes, the impressive length of him making me gasp into his mouth.
Heat radiates from his body like a furnace, burning through the fabric between us until I'm dizzy with want and the intoxicating warmth that emanates from his very skin.
His hands finally settle on my hips, fingers spanning my waist with a heat that burns through the wool of my sweater. I can feel the tremor in his touch, the careful restraint he's fighting to maintain, and it makes something wild and reckless unfurl in my chest.
I deepen the kiss, my tongue tracing the seam of his lips until he opens for me with a low groan that vibrates through his chest and into mine. He tastes like whiskey and winter nights and that subtle mineral taste that I've never forgotten, no matter how hard I tried.
My hands find the solid wall of his chest, fingers splaying over the worn cotton of his flannel shirt. Beneath the fabric, his heart pounds against my palm, steady and hard and real.
"Lucia," he breathes against my mouth, my name a prayer and a plea all at once.
The sound of it breaks something open in me. Ten years of longing, of writing heroes who looked like him, of measuring every man against the ghost of what we used to be. All of it crashes over me in a wave of desperate need.
I pull back just enough to look at him, my breathing ragged.
His gray eyes have gone dark as storm clouds, and there's something raw and hungry in his expression that makes my core clench with anticipation. The careful control he usually wears like armor has cracked, and he looks at me like I’m his entire world.
"I've missed you," I whisper, the confession torn from somewhere deep in my chest. "God, Gideon, I've missed you so much."
His hands tighten on my hips, pulling me closer until there's no space left between us.
I grind myself against the hot, hard length of his erection, and the knowledge that he wants me as much as I want him sends heat spiraling through my veins.
Heat floods through my body, wetness spilling between my legs.
I’ve lived this moment in my dreams, in every one of my novels, over and over.
"Show me," he says, his voice rough with desire. "Show me how much."
The command in his tone makes my pulse spike. This is the Gideon I remember. The boy who kissed me like he was drowning and I was air.
I reach for the hem of my sweater with shaking fingers, my eyes never leaving his face. The cream wool lifts over my head and I discard it on the sofa beside us. I’m wearing a lace bra underneath, and I watch his pupils dilate as more of my skin comes into view.
"Fuck," he breathes, his gaze trailing over my exposed chest like he wants to carve the sight in his memory with a chisel. "You're so beautiful."
The reverence in his voice makes my throat tight with emotion. His hands move from my hips to my torso. His palms are rough with the texture of stone, but his touch is gentle as he traces the line of my collarbone, the curve of my shoulders.
"Your skin," he murmurs, wonder threading through his voice. "It's so soft, so delicate."
I lean into his touch, my head falling back as he trails kisses down my throat. His mouth is hot against my pulse point, and when he sucks gently on the sensitive skin there, I can't help the soft moan that escapes my lips.
"You’re so hot," I gasp, my hands fisting in his shirt. His skin radiates heat like he's made of molten stone, warming me from the inside out. "Your skin, it’s burning up."
His lips curve against my throat in what might be a smile. "Golem thing," he explains, his breath hot against my ear. "We run hot when we're aroused."
The admission sends a fresh wave of desire crashing through me. I pull back to look at him, noting the faint glow emanating from his skin, the way his eyes seem to shimmer with inner fire. He's beautiful like this, powerful, otherworldly. And mine.
"I want to see you," I tell him, my fingers working at the buttons of his flannel shirt. "All of you."
He helps me push the fabric off his shoulders, revealing the broad expanse of his chest. His skin is gray with that subtle earthy undertone I remember, marked here and there with thin scars from years of working with sharp tools.
But it's the heat radiating from him that steals my breath. It’s like touching the surface of the sun.
I trace the line of one scar with my fingertip until the heated skin burns with a subtle glow, and he shudders beneath my touch. "Does it hurt?" I ask, suddenly concerned that his elevated temperature might be uncomfortable.
"No," he says quickly, catching my hand and pressing it flat against his chest. "It feels good. You feel good."
To prove his point, he leans up and captures my mouth again, this kiss hungrier than the first, more dominant. Possessive. His hands slide up my back to the clasp of my bra, pausing there.
"Can I?" he asks against my lips, and the fact that he's asking permission makes my heart stutter in my chest.
"Yes," I breathe. "Please."
The bra falls away, and suddenly his mouth is on my breast, hot and wet and perfect.
I arch against him with a cry that echoes off the stone walls, my hands tangling in his dark hair.
He takes his time, lavishing attention on first one breast and then the other, until I'm writhing in his lap and making sounds I didn't know I was capable of.
"Gideon," I gasp, my hips rocking against his cock. "I need… oh God."
"I know," he says, his voice rough with desire. "I know what you need."
He stands suddenly, lifting me with him like I weigh nothing at all. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, and I can feel every step as he carries me through the house and up the stairs.
His room is exactly as I remember it, simple furniture, exposed beams, stone walls.
The bed is larger than it used to be, but everything else is achingly familiar.
The workshop smell of wood and metal that clings to his clothes.
The window that looks out over the fields behind the house.
The sense of safety and belonging that I've never found anywhere else.
He sets me down gently beside the bed, his hands framing my face as he looks at me with an intensity that steals my breath.
"Are you sure?" he asks, and I can hear the vulnerability beneath the desire in his voice. “We can stop if you want.”
“Don’t you dare,” I say breathlessly.
The words seem to break the last of his restraint.
His mouth crashes against mine as his hands help me push my jeans down my legs, along with the scrap of lace that passes for underwear.
When I'm completely naked before him, he steps back to look at me, his gray eyes drinking in every inch of exposed skin.
"Perfect," he breathes, and the reverence in his voice makes tears prick at the corners of my eyes. "You're absolutely perfect."
He's still wearing his jeans, and the unfairness of it makes me bold. I reach for his belt buckle, my fingers fumbling with the leather and metal. He helps me, his movements quick and efficient, until he's standing before me naked and magnificent and burning with inner fire.
I've seen him naked before, but I was eighteen then, overwhelmed and nervous and focused more on how I was feeling than on really looking at him. Now I take my time, letting my gaze travel over the broad planes of his chest, the line of his hips, the impressive length of his arousal.
He’s big all right. Much bigger than any other man I ever had, his cock girthy and long, pointing right at me. His balls hang heavy, as hairless as the rest of him, large and round against his muscular thighs. He’s a sculpture of a man, powerful and raw.
It should scare me, yet it just makes more wetness spill between my lips and drip down my thighs.
"I want to feast on you," he says, his voice rough with need. He moves me backward until my legs hit the edge of the mattress, then guides me down onto the soft surface. "I want to hear you scream my name as you come in my mouth."
The words send even more liquid heat pooling between my thighs. I watch as he kneels on the floor between my legs, his large hands spanning my thighs as he positions me exactly where he wants me. His eyes meet mine, dark with hunger and something that looks like worship.
"I've been starving for you for ten years," he tells me, his breath hot against my inner thigh. "I don’t think I can ever be sated."
I can only nod, my voice stolen by the intensity of his gaze. He leans forward and runs his tongue along my slit in one slow, deliberate stroke that makes me cry out and arch off the bed.
"Fuck," he groans against my flesh. "You taste like heaven."
He sets to work then, his tongue and lips exploring every fold and hollow with the same careful attention he brings to everything else. He finds my clit and circles it with the tip of his tongue until I'm panting and writhing beneath him, my hands fisted in the sheets.
"More," I gasp, my hips lifting toward his mouth. "Please, I need more."
He responds by sliding one thick finger inside me, then two, stretching and filling me while his mouth continues its relentless assault on my clit. The dual sensation is overwhelming, building pressure in my core until I feel like I might shatter from the intensity of it.
"Come for me," he commands against my flesh, his fingers curling inside me to hit that perfect spot. "I want to feel you fall apart."
The combination of his words and his touch sends me over the edge. I come with a cry that echoes off the stone walls, my body convulsing around his fingers as waves of pleasure crash over me. He doesn't stop until I'm boneless and gasping, completely wrung out from the intensity of my release.
When I finally catch my breath, I find him watching me with an expression of fierce satisfaction and barely leashed hunger.
"I'm done fighting this," he says, his voice rough with desire and something deeper. "I want you, Lucia. If you'll have me."
I reach for him, pulling him up and over me until his weight settles between my thighs. The tip of his hot, hard cock presses right at my entrance and he watches me like he’s waiting for me to say something.
"This is exactly what I want," I tell him, meaning every word. "You're exactly what I want."