Chapter 46 Reckless Devotion #2
Slowly. Deliberately.
Up.
Over her.
Body to body. Heat to heat. His skin slick against hers. His mouth found hers in a kiss that said I’m not finished.
Because he wasn’t.
And neither was she.
His mouth crushed hers, no preamble, no apology.
His tongue slid deeper, claiming her, tasting her like he needed to memorize the sound she made when he did.
His hips surged forward—grinding against her center with dizzying pressure that made her legs fall open—shameless, greedy for every inch of him.
She moaned into his mouth, and her fingers clawed at his back.
She pulled him closer until there was nothing left between them.
His body was hard and hot—pressed between her thighs, and she felt it—all of him.
Thick, solid, already slick from how wet she was.
She arched up seeking friction, and the low, broken sound he made against her throat undid her.
“Fuck, Arden…” The way he said her name as guttural and reverent, like a curse and a prayer. His words made her head swim. His hand slid between them, fingers spreading her open like a secret he couldn’t wait to explore.
“So wet for me.” One thick finger slid inside her, then another, curling deep until her body clenched around him. “Look at you.”
Her thighs trembled. “Gideon…”
“I’ve got you.” His voice was rough, steady, hungry. “I’ve got every single part of you.”
Arden gripped the nape of his neck and dragged his mouth back to hers.
She tasted the edge of his restraint like it was the last thread holding him together.
And then he was moving. He pulled his fingers free and moved the tip of his cock through her slick heat, teasing her entrance.
His hips shook from the effort to hold back.
“Please,” she whispered. Not just want. Need. She couldn’t take the stretch of tension anymore. “I need you inside me.”
That was all it took.
He thrust forward in one slow, overwhelming stroke, filling her to the hilt.
Her body arched like she’d been struck by lightning, the thick, delicious pressure sending her straight into a gasp that fractured midair.
He didn’t move at first—just stayed buried inside her, chest rising in sharp bursts, his forehead pressed to hers as he tried to breathe through the wreckage.
“You fit me,” he ground out. “So… fucking well. So perfect. Like you were made for me.”
Then he started to move.
Long, deep thrusts that sent shockwaves through her core. His hips snapped with rhythm and need, hitting every spot that made her cry out. She clung to him, legs wrapped tight around his waist. Her nails scratched down his back as he fucked her, owned her, with every powerful roll of his body.
She wasn’t passive—not soft or delicate. She fought for each stroke, meeting him with fierce, hungry thrusts of her own. “Harder,” she gasped. “I can take it.”
His growl shook through his chest. “You’ll get everything.”
And she did.
He slammed into her with a rhythm that bordered on savage. One hand gripped her thigh. The other tangled in her hair. He drove her closer and closer to the edge, and her body sang for him. Heat building. Pressure coiling.
Her climax hovered just out of reach, coiling tight, threatening to shatter her sanity.
Then his hand slipped between them again, his thumb finding her clit, circling in time with each thrust, fast and unrelenting.
“Gideon—” Her voice broke. She was going to come… hard. The pressure in her belly snapped like a rubber band, and the orgasm ripped through her like fire and light.
She cried out his name, then her body locked around him, pulsing in waves, as the pleasure took her apart from the inside out. He followed with a guttural sound torn from the depths of him, spilling deep inside her with a final, shuddering thrust.
His release hit like a fucking earthquake, full-body tremors and fists clenched in the sheets beside her head. His forehead dropped to her shoulder as he groaned through the wreckage. He kept grinding into her and riding the aftershocks, refusing to let the connection slip.
They stayed tangled like that—hot, slick, and breathless. His cock inside her. Her body still fluttering around him. Sweat on their skin. Her thighs sticky. Their hearts hammering in perfect sync.
When he finally lifted his head, his eyes locked on hers—dark, blown, still reeling. His voice cracked, raw and wrecked, like he hadn’t quite survived her. “You ruin me.”
She touched his face, brushing the hair from his temple. “Good.”
He was still inside her. Not just in the way that mattered, but in all the ways that did. Breath against her throat. Hands at her waist. The heat of him still pulsing through her like an aftershock that refused to fade.
And then, because it wasn’t over, not yet, he started to move again.
Slow. Deep.
Because once wasn’t enough.
Not for him.
Not for her.
Not when they were finally laid bare, no distance left between them, and every inch of her body had already learned to answer his like a prayer.
Then something shifted.
A flicker. A twitch of muscle beneath her palms. The tension that had unraveled moments ago began to coil again. Low. Sharp. Like a storm regrouping in the calm.
His fingers skimmed up her thigh and dragged through the sweat-slicked heat between them like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting her go.
And then his mouth. Lower now. Slower.
He kissed the center of her chest like it had wronged him. Teeth. Tongue. Wild. No restraint. No caution. Only him and the wreckage of what she’d given him, and the greed to take more.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his voice gravel-soft and reverent all at once, nose grazing the underside of her breast as his hand slid up her ribs.
“Not cold,” she whispered.
That was all it took.
He surged up, mouth crashing into hers—not gentle this time, not tender.
This kiss was a possession and a claiming.
A firestorm unleashed beneath fragile skin.
His fingers fisted in her hair, tugging her head back to bare her throat, and his mouth was there a second later—biting, tasting.
He groaned as her hips lifted to meet his on instinct.
Her legs wrapped around him instinctively; her ankles locked at the base of his spine as if she could keep him there forever. His name spilled from her lips again, but this time, her voice was hoarse, low, and entirely unguarded.
He didn’t make her wait.
He was already hard again, and the second she shifted beneath him, inviting and aching, he found her. No warning. No pause.
Just the desperate sound they both made when he sank back into her, hot and deep and too much, too soon, but not enough.
Not nearly enough.
Her back arched, body bowing off the mattress, hands scrambling for purchase—his arms, his shoulders, the slick curve of his neck. She needed something to hold onto. He gave her everything.
They moved together like instinct, like war and worship wrapped in the same breath. There were no slow thrusts, no easing in—just rhythm, friction, and the raw, brutal beauty of two people who knew exactly how they fit and were too far gone to pretend they didn’t need it.
He pressed his forehead to hers, breath ragged. One hand fisted the sheets beside her head.
“Look at me.”
She did.
And what she saw, holy hell, it broke something open. Because he wasn’t in control anymore. He was completely undone, and he wanted her to see it.
His hips snapped harder, dragging a gasp from her throat as she clung to him. Her fingers dug helplessly into his back. Her lips brushed his jaw, whispering nothing and everything all at once.
She met him thrust for thrust. Her nails left red marks down his spine as she tried to ground herself. Her moans caught on every breath. “Gideon,” she gasped, again and again, like the sound of his name might keep her from unraveling too fast.
But unravel she did.
He felt it.
“Let go for me,” he said, voice low and thick and barely more than a growl.
And she did.
She shattered again—violently, exquisitely—body arching, breath breaking, hips rising to meet every last relentless inch of him until she cried out, clutching him like she’d never stop.
He followed her over the edge with a rough curse and a final, deep thrust that left him trembling above her, spilling into her with a sound that was part prayer, part surrender.
They collapsed together, chests heaving, skin slick and burning, lips brushing between heartbeats.
He didn’t say her name this time.
He kissed it into her mouth.
Neither of them moved for a long time.
The room held its hush, not from distance, but from weight. The kind that follows something intimate, something real.
Gideon exhaled against her temple, grounding her beneath the warmth of his chest. When he lifted his head, his voice slid across her skin like another touch.
“Arden…”
It wasn’t a question.
It was a vow.
They stayed tangled in the aftermath—breathless, spent, completely undone. The world outside had faded. The city’s hum, the stretch of traffic, the slow creep of night. None of it touched them here.
He didn’t retreat. He held her. Anchored her.
Her fingers traced his spine, lazy and soft. His palm remained at her waist, unmoving.
“You’re incredible,” he whispered, brushing a kiss to her temple.
“I almost think you mean that.”
His mouth curved against her jaw. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
The way he said it caught something inside her. She believed him.
His hand slid down her back, gentle now. Like he wasn’t done committing every inch of her to memory.
She kissed the center of his chest, right where his heart thundered beneath her lips. He flinched, not in pain, but from something quieter. More fragile.
They stayed wrapped in each other, in the kind of stillness that wasn’t silence. Her leg hooked around his hip. His hand at her waist.
Then her phone buzzed.
A soft vibration against the nightstand.
She hesitated.
“Leave it,” he murmured, eyes closed.
She almost did.
Almost.
But something twisted in her gut.
She reached for it.
One glance at the screen drained the heat from her skin.
Unknown: You looked beautiful last night. Did he tell you?
The words landed like a blade.
The illusion cracked.
The safety she’d dared to believe in—shattered.
Her grip on the phone tightened.
Gideon stirred, voice low and concerned. “Arden?”
She locked the screen. Forced her voice steady.
“It’s nothing.”
Too fast.
He scanned her face. Didn’t speak. But she felt it: Don’t lie to me.
He didn’t push.
Instead, he pulled her close again.
“Whatever it is… we’ll handle it. Together.”
She wanted to believe that.
God, she wanted to.
But the message burned in her hand.
You looked beautiful last night. Did he tell you?
Her eyes drifted to the window.
Outside, the night felt heavier now.
Because someone was watching.
And she didn’t know how much longer she could pretend she didn’t feel it.