Chapter 29 The Dawn of Something More #2
Arden arched a brow, pretending not to notice the way his voice had dropped an octave, rich and deep enough to slip beneath her skin.
“Yes, Gideon. A shower. Soap, water, the works.”
His lips curved into a slow smile—the kind that sent heat spiraling straight to her core, threatening to rewire her completely.
“You. In my shower.” His gaze dragged over her, lazy, thorough, knowing. “You’re making it hard for me to want to leave this room.”
Her cheeks warmed, but she didn’t flinch. Didn’t back down.
Instead, she tilted her head, letting the moment stretch, letting him watch her.
Then, with a smirk—sharp, knowing, perfectly timed
“Join me?”
His breath hitched.
For a single, charged second, Gideon Blackwell—the man who never hesitated, never faltered, never lost control—didn’t move.
Then?
Then, he snapped.
A growl, low and hungry, rumbled from his chest.
And before she could take her next breath—he had her.
She squealed as he lifted her effortlessly into his arms.
Laughter burst out, sharp and surprised, cut with heat.
“Gideon!”
His grip was firm, possessive, his arms tightening around her as he carried her toward the bathroom like she weighed nothing.
His lips ghosted over her ear, his breath sending a delicious shiver down her spine.
“You can’t say things like that and expect me to resist.”
Gideon kicked the door shut behind them, sealing them inside the storm that had been building for months—inevitable, feral, consuming.
The air thickened around them, steam curling at the edges of her vision as he set her down, his hands lingering at her waist, his thumbs sweeping slow, teasing circles on her bare skin.
Her lips parted, her pulse hammering as she looked up at him.
A man unraveling.
A man barely holding back.
A man who wanted her completely.
“Well?” A single step back, an unspoken dare. “Are you just going to stand there?”
Gideon didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
Because the second her fingers brushed the hem of his shirt—the one she was wearing, the one he’d imagined on her in a thousand filthy ways—his restraint shattered.
He stepped forward, catching her wrist before she could pull the fabric over her head.
His voice, when it came, was slightly ragged.
“I want to undress you.”
The words didn’t ask. They promised.
And fuck, the way he said them…
Arden’s breath stuttered, and her body was aching before he even touched her again.
His mouth crashed into hers, nothing slow, nothing careful, just need.
Raw, unapologetic, all-consuming.
His hands were everywhere—gripping her hips, sliding beneath her shirt, slipping it over her head in one smooth, ruthless motion.
His fingers curled into the lace of her panties, dragging them down her thighs in one slow, deliberate motion before tossing them aside.
His boxer briefs hit the floor a second later, and suddenly, he was all heat, all hunger, all him.
And she wanted.
His hands were everywhere, gripping her thighs, her ass, all of her, like he was claiming what had been his all along.
The only sound between them was the rush of water, the quickening of breath, the unspoken promise crackling like a live wire in the space between their mouths—a moment balanced on the edge of collision.
He needed more.
He spun her effortlessly, pinning her to the cold tile, his heat crashing into her—all rough, unrelenting contrast that sent a shiver rippling through her.
His mouth found her throat, his tongue tracing fire over the flutter of her pulse before dragging down, nipping the skin above her collarbone.
Her knees buckled.
“Gideon—”
He caught her. Pressed her back against the cool tile, his thigh sliding between hers.
“No turning back now,” he rasped, voice a low growl in her ear. “Not after that invitation. Not when I’ve imagined the sounds you make in my head.”
His voice was rough, ragged. Not a boast. A confession.
Her breath caught, sharp and unguarded, as his hands traced a path from her ribs to her hips—slow, certain, claiming.
She arched into him, needy and fearless, offering everything without a word.
“Then stop imagining.”
Her nails dug into his shoulders.
“Show me.”
And with a low, broken sound—he did.
He didn’t wait.
Didn’t ask.
Just took.
Gideon surged forward, hands gripping Arden’s thighs as he lifted her against the cool tile. Her legs wrapped around his waist like instinct. The heat of her seared through him—through every last shred of control he had left.
Water spilled over them, hot and relentless, but he barely felt it.
All he felt was her.
Her mouth parted on a gasp, and he caught it with his own. Brutal. Breathless. His tongue claimed hers, deep and hungry, but not close to enough.
She was fire in his arms—arching, gasping, grinding against the thick press of him like she wanted to burn the world down.
And fuck, he’d let her.
His mouth tore from hers, dragging down her throat, his teeth grazing that sensitive spot beneath her ear, the one that made her shiver.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he ground out, voice shredded with restraint. His mouth trailed lower, nipping at her collarbone as his hips pressed into hers, deliberate and heavy.
She let out a breathy sigh, hot and unsteady—gone as fast when he rolled his hips again, grinding her against the slick wall, making sure she felt every hard inch of what she was doing to him.
“Then stop talking,” she whispered, voice trembling, daring. “Do something.”
His answer was physical.
That was the crack that broke him open.
One hand gripped her ass, dragging her higher up his body, fitting her exactly where he wanted her. The other slid between them, his fingers finding the heat between her thighs, sliding through her slick folds with practiced confidence, like he knew what she needed—how to ruin her.
Her head fell back with a gasp, moan torn from her lips, echoing off the tile like a prayer half-forgotten.
“Fuck,” he growled, watching her fall apart for him. “You’re soaked—and it’s not the water.”
Her nails bit into his shoulders as he moved lower, mouth finding the swell of her breast, kissing and biting with a hunger that felt less like lust and more like reverence. Like desperation. Like she was the only thing anchoring him to this world and he was seconds from coming undone.
Raw. Ferocious. His.
“You don’t get it,” he muttered against her skin. “This isn’t a one-night thing. I’m not letting you walk away from this.”
She met his eyes—wide, wild, and lethal—and dragged her fingers through his dripping hair.
“Then don’t.”
God, that voice.
Low and rough and pleading.
And he snapped. Again.
Because how the fuck was he supposed to survive her?
He slammed back into her mouth, the kiss raw and punishing, hips grinding, hands greedy. And as she gasped into him—gone, shattered, already his—he made her a silent vow: This wasn’t the peak. This was the beginning.
And he’d make her feel it.
Every. Damn. Time.
Steam blurred the edges of everything, but not him.
Gideon pressed her harder into the tile, her back arching, her breath catching as the water trailed rivulets down her skin. His mouth followed one, trailing over the swell of her breast, his teeth catching on her nipple with enough bite to make her cry out—sharp, startled, desperate.
Her fingers clawed into his shoulders, holding on for dear life.
“Gideon—”
“I’ve got you,” he growled, the words a promise, a threat, a vow.
His name had never sounded so ruined.
His hand slid down again, claiming her like he’d always meant to. He didn’t ease in—he invaded, fingers thrusting deep, curling just right, hitting that spot that made her gasp like he’d stolen her air.
And maybe he had.
He watched her come apart, completely consumed.
“Look at me.”
She barely managed it—lashes wet, lips parted, every breath a moan—but she met his eyes, and he felt it.
The shift. The surrender. The trust.
He growled low in his throat, kissing her like he’d die if he didn’t, like the taste of her was the only thing tethering him to the earth.
Her thighs trembled, her body clenching around his fingers, hips rolling with a rhythm that belonged to no one but them.
“Come for me,” he ordered, dark and deadly. “Right here. Right now.”
And she did.
Her cry shattered through the steam, her body breaking open in his arms, slick and trembling and so fucking his.
He held her through it, never letting go, never easing up—because she needed to know.
This wasn’t just sex.
This was a claim.
And when she collapsed against him, panting and ruined, he pressed a kiss to her temple, his voice rough with reverence.
“We’re not even close to done.”
The air between them crackled, heavy with want, with restraint barely hanging by a thread.
Gideon’s gaze dropped, slow and reverent, and then snapped back to hers like he couldn’t look too long or he might lose it entirely.
But the damage was done.
His breath caught.
His jaw flexed.
And when he moved, it was with purpose.
He backed her out of the shower and toward the counter, crowding into her space with the heat of a man unraveling, but entirely in control.
“You’re going to kill me,” he murmured against her mouth.
“Then die knowing it was worth it,” she whispered back, dragging her teeth across his bottom lip before pulling him down into a kiss that had nothing to do with patience and everything to do with possession.
Steam curled around them, the hiss of the shower forgotten as he lifted her onto the cool marble counter, the contrast biting against her bare thighs while his hands burned along her skin.
His mouth found her throat again, trailing fire along the delicate column of her neck, down to the curve of her shoulder. She arched, legs tightening around his waist, grinding against the thick, aching evidence of how badly he wanted her.
“Arden,” he rasped, his voice breaking.
She pulled him closer and managed, “Bed.”
That single word shattered what was left of his restraint.
It was a gasp. A warning. A plea.
But he wasn’t stopping.