by Sylvia Day
He cupped my sex, his fingertip gliding over the satin along the seam of my cleft. His tongue flickered over my nipple, making it hard and tight, his teeth sinking lightly into the taut flesh.
“Gideon!” Tears slid in rivulets down my temples, the protective numbness I’d felt earlier falling away, leaving me exposed. I’d been withering without him, the world around me losing its vibrancy, my body hurting from its separation from his. Having him with me . . . touching me . . . was like rain in a drought. My soul unfurled for him, opening wide to soak him in.
I loved him so much.
His hair tickled my skin as his open mouth slid over my cleavage, his chest expanding as he breathed me in, nuzzling and wallowing in my scent. He captured the tip of my other breast with hard, deep suction. The pleasure shot through me, echoing in the clenching of my sex against his teasing fingertip.
He moved down my torso, licking and nibbling a path across my stomach, the breadth of his shoulders forcing my legs wider until his hot breath gusted over my slick cleft. His nose pressed against the wet satin, stroking me. He inhaled with a groan.
“Eva. I’ve been starved for you.”
With impatient fingers, Gideon shoved the crotch of my panties aside and his mouth was on me. He held me open with his thumbs, his tongue lashing over my throbbing clit. My back arched with a cry, all my senses painfully acute without the benefit of sight. Tilting his head, he thrust into the quivering opening of my sex, fucking rhythmically, teasing me with shallow plunges.
“Oh God!” I writhed with the pleasure, my core clenching and releasing with the first tingles of orgasm.
I came in a violent rush, sweat misting my skin, my lungs burning as I fought for breath. His lips were around my trembling opening, sucking, his tongue delving. He was eating me with an intensity I was helpless against. The flesh between my legs was so swollen and sensitive, so vulnerable to his ravenous hunger. I was climaxing again within moments, my nails scouring the sheets.
My eyes were opened and blinded by darkness when he ripped my underwear off me and crawled over me. I felt the wide crest of his cock notch into my cleft, and then he lunged, driving deep into me with an animalistic growl. I cried out, shocked by his aggression, turned on by it.
Gideon reared up, resting back on his heels, my thighs splayed over his. He gripped my hips, elevating them, tilting me to the angle he wanted. He rolled his hips, stirring his cock inside me, pulling me onto him until I gasped in pain at how deep he was. The lips of my sex clung to the very base of his penis, spread wide to encompass the thick root. I had all of him, every inch, crammed too full and loving it. I’d been empty for days, so lonely I ached.
He groaned my name and came, spurting hot and thick, the creamy heat spreading upward along his length because there was no room inside me. He shuddered violently, dripping sweat onto my skin, flooding me. “For you, Eva,” he gasped. “Every drop.”
Pulling out abruptly, he flipped me over onto my belly and yanked my hips up. I gripped my headboard, my damp face pressed into my pillow. I waited for him to push into me and shivered when I felt his breath against my buttocks. Then I jerked violently at the feel of him licking along the seam. He rimmed me with the tip of his tongue, stimulating the puckered opening to my rear.
A broken sound escaped me. I don’t do anal play, Eva.
The tight ring of muscle flexed as I remembered his words, helplessly responding to the delicate flutters. There was nothing in our bed but us. Nothing could touch us when we were touching each other.
Gideon squeezed both of my cheeks in his hands, grounding me in the moment. I was open and parted for him in every way, completely exposed to his lush dark kiss.
“Oh!” I tensed all over. His tongue was inside me, thrusting. My entire body began to quake from the feeling, my toes curling, my lungs heaving as he possessed me without shame or reservation. “Ah . . . God.”
I lifted into his mouth, giving myself to him. The affinity between us was brutal and raw, nearly unbearable. I felt seared by his desire, my skin feverish, my chest shaking with sobs I couldn’t hold back.
He reached beneath me, pressed the flat of his fingers against my aching clit and rubbing, massaging. His tongue was driving me insane. The orgasm brewing inside me was spurred by the knowledge that there were no longer any boundaries for him with my body. He would do anything he desired—possess it, use it, pleasure it. Burying my face in my pillow, I screamed as I came, the ecstasy so vicious my legs gave out and I melted into the mattress.
Gideon slid over my back, his knee pushing my legs wide, his perspiration-slick body blanketing mine. He mounted me, pushing his cock inside me, his fingers linking with mine and pinning my hands to the bed. I was soaked with him and he rocked against me, sliding in and out.
“I’m desperate for you,” he said hoarsely. “I’m miserable without you.”
I tensed. “Don’t mock me.”
“I need you as much.” He nuzzled into my hair, fucking me slow and easy. “I’m just as obsessed. Why can’t you trust me?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, hot tears leaking out. “I don’t understand you. You’re tearing me apart.”
He turned his head and his teeth sank into the top of my shoulder. A pained growl rumbled through his chest and I felt him coming, his cock jerking as it pumped me full of scorching semen.
His jaw relaxed, releasing me. He panted, his hips still churning. “Your letter gutted me.”
“You won’t talk to me . . . you won’t listen . . .”
“I can’t.” He groaned, his arms tightening around mine so that I was completely at his mercy. “I just . . . It has to be this way.”
“I can’t live like this, Gideon.”
“I’m hurting, too, Eva. It’s killing me, too. Can’t you see that?”
“No.” I cried, my pillow growing wet beneath my cheek.
“Then stop overthinking and feel it! Feel me.”
The night passed in a blur. I punished him with greedy hands and teeth, my nails raking over sweat-slick skin and muscle until he hissed in pleasured pain.
His lust was frantic and insatiable, his need tinged with a desperation that frightened me because it felt hopeless. It felt like good-bye.
“Need your love,” he whispered against my skin. “Need you.”
He touched me everywhere. He was constantly inside me, with his cock or his fingers or his tongue.
My nipples burned, made raw by his sucking. My sex throbbed and felt bruised from his wild, hard drives. My skin was chafed from the stubble that prickled over his jaw. My jaw ached from sucking his thick cock. My last memory was of him spooned behind me, his arm banded around my waist as he filled me from behind, both of us sore and exhausted and unable to stop.
“Don’t let go,” I begged, after I’d sworn I wouldn’t.
When I woke to my alarm, he was gone.
Chapter 15
I stopped by Cary’s room before I left for work Thursday morning. I cracked the door open and peeked in. When I saw he was sleeping, I started to back out.
“Hey,” he murmured, blinking at me.
“Hey.” I entered. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m glad to be home.” He rubbed at the corners of his eyes. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah . . . I just wanted to check on you before I head to work. I’ll be home around eight. I’ll grab dinner on the way back, so expect a text around seven to see what you’re hungry—” I interrupted myself with a yawn.
“What kind of vitamins does Cross take?”
“Huh?”
“I’m never not horny, and even I can’t pile-drive all night like that. I kept thinking, ‘He’s got to be done now.’ Then he’d start up again.”
I flushed and shifted on my feet.
He howled with laughter. “It’s dark in here, but I know you’re blushing.”
“You should’ve put your headphones on,” I mumbled.
“Don’t stress about it. It was goo
d to find out my equipment still works. I hadn’t had a chubby since before the attack.”
“Eww . . . Gross, Cary.” I started backing out of the room. “My dad comes in tonight. Technically tomorrow. His flight lands at five.”
“You picking him up?”
“Of course.”
His smile faded. “You’re going to kill yourself at this rate. You haven’t gotten any sleep all week.”
“I’ll catch up. See ya.”
“Hey,” he called after me. “Does last night mean you and Cross are okay again?”
I leaned into the doorjamb with a sigh. “Something’s wrong, and he won’t talk to me about it. I wrote him a letter basically puking out all my insecurities and neuroses.”
“Never put stuff like that in writing, baby girl.”
“Yeah, well . . . all it got me was fucked half to death with no better idea of what the problem is. He said it has to be this way. I don’t even know what that means.”
He nodded.
“You act like you get it,” I said.
“I think I get the sex.”
That sent a chill down my spine. “Get-it-out-of-your-system sex?”
“It’s possible,” he agreed softly.
I closed my eyes and let the confirmation slide through me. Then I straightened. “I gotta run. Catch you later.”
* * *
The thing about nightmares was that you couldn’t prepare for them. They sneaked up on you when you were most vulnerable, wrecking havoc and mayhem when you were totally defenseless.
And they didn’t always happen while you were sleeping.
I sat in an agonized daze as Mark and Mr. Waters went over the fine points of the Kingsman Vodka ads, achingly aware of Gideon sitting at the head of the table in a black suit with white shirt and tie.
He was pointedly ignoring me, had been from the moment I walked into the Cross Industries conference room aside from a cursory handshake when Mr. Waters introduced us. That brief touch of his skin against mine had sent a charge of awareness through me, my body immediately recognizing his as the one that had pleasured it all night. Gideon hadn’t seemed to register the contact at all, his gaze trained above my head as he’d said, “Miss Tramell.”
The contrast to the last time we’d been in the room was profound. Then, he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off me. His focus had been searing and blatant, and when we’d left the room he’d told me that he wanted to fuck me and would dispense with anything that got in the way of his doing so.
This time, he stood abruptly when the meeting was concluded, shook the hands of Mark and Mr. Waters, and strode out the door with only a short, inscrutable glance at me. His two directors scurried after him, both attractive brunettes.
Mark shot me a questioning look across the table. I shook my head.
I made it back to my desk. I worked industriously for the rest of the day. During my lunch break, I stayed in and looked up things to do with my dad. I decided on three possibilities—the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, and a Broadway play, with the trip to Ellis Island reserved for if he really had a desire to go. Otherwise, I figured we could skip the ferry and just check her out from the shore. His time in the city was short, and I didn’t want to overload it with a bunch of running around.
On my last break of the day, I called Gideon’s office.
“Hi, Scott,” I greeted his secretary. “Is it possible for me to talk to your boss real quick?”
“Hold on a minute and I’ll see.”
I half-expected to have my call rejected, but a couple of minutes later I was put through.
“Yes, Eva?”
I took the length of a heartbeat to savor the sound of his voice. “I’m sorry to bother you. This is probably a stupid question, considering, but . . . are you coming to dinner tomorrow to meet my father?”
“I’ll be there,” he said gruffly.
“Are you bringing Ireland?” I was surprised there wasn’t a tremor in my voice, considering the overwhelming relief I felt.
There was a pause. Then, “Yes.”
“Okay.”
“I have a late meeting tonight, so I’ll have to meet you at Dr. Petersen’s. Angus will drive you over. I’ll grab a cab.”
“All right.” I sagged into my seat, feeling a spark of hope. Continuing therapy and meeting my dad could only be seen as positive signs. Gideon and I were struggling. But he hadn’t given up yet. “I’ll see you then.”
* * *
Angus dropped me off at Dr. Petersen’s office at a quarter to six. I went inside and Dr. Petersen waved at me through his open office door, rising from his seat behind his desk to shake my hand.
“How are you, Eva?”
“I’ve been better.”
His gaze swept over my face. “You look tired.”
“So everyone keeps telling me,” I said dryly.
He looked over my shoulder. “Where’s Gideon?”
“He had a late meeting, so he’s coming separately.”
“All right.” He gestured at the sofa. “This is a nice opportunity for us to talk alone. Is there anything in particular you’d like to discuss before he arrives?”
I settled on the seat and spilled my guts, telling Dr. Petersen about the amazing trip to the Outer Banks and then the bizarre, inexplicable week we’d had since. “I just don’t get it. I feel like he’s in trouble, but I can’t get him to open up at all. He’s completely cut me off emotionally. Honestly, I’m beginning to get whiplash. I’m also worried that his change in behavior is because of Corinne. Every time we’ve hit one of these walls, it’s because of her.”
I looked at my fingers, which were twisted around each other. They reminded me of my mother’s habit of twisting handkerchiefs, and I forced my hands to relax. “It almost seems like she’s got some kind of hold on him and he can’t break free of it, no matter how he feels about me.”
Dr. Petersen looked up from his typing, studying me. “Did he tell you that he wasn’t going to make his appointment on Tuesday?”
“No.” The news hit me hard. “He didn’t say anything.”
“He didn’t tell me, either. I wouldn’t say that’s typical behavior for him, would you?”
I shook my head.
Dr. Petersen crossed his hands in his lap. “At times, one or both of you will backtrack a bit. That’s to be expected considering the nature of your relationship—you’re not just working on you as a couple, but also as individuals so you can be a couple.”
“I can’t deal with this, though.” I took a deep breath. “I can’t do this yo-yo thing. It’s driving me insane. The letter I sent him . . . It was awful. All true, but awful. We’ve had some really beautiful moments together. He’s said some—”
I had to stop a minute, and when I continued, my voice was hoarse. “He’s said some w-wonderful things to me. I don’t want to lose those memories in a bunch of ugly ones. I keep debating whether I should quit while I’m ahead, but I’m hanging in here because I promised him—and myself—that I wouldn’t run anymore. That I was going to dig my feet in and fight for this.”
“That’s something you’re working on?”
“Yes. Yes, it is. And it’s not easy. Because some of the things he does . . . I react in ways I’ve learned to avoid. For my own sanity! At some point you have to say you gave it your best shot and it didn’t work out. Right?”
Dr. Petersen’s head tilted to the side. “And if you don’t, what’s the worst that could happen?”
“You’re asking me?”
“Yes. Worst-case scenario.”
“Well . . .” I splayed my fingers on my thighs. “He keeps drifting away from me, which makes me cling harder and lose all sense of self-worth. And we end up with him going back to life as he knew it and me going back to therapy trying to get my head on straight again.”
He continued to look at me, and something about his patient watchfulness prodded me to keep talking.
“I’m afraid that he
won’t cut me loose when it’s time and that I won’t know better. That I’ll keep hanging on to the sinking ship and go down with it. I just wish I could trust that he’d end it, if it comes to that.”
“Do you think that needs to happen?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” I pulled my gaze away from the clock on the wall. “But considering it’s nearly seven and he stood us both up tonight, it seems likely.”
* * *
It was crazy to me that I wasn’t surprised to find the Bentley waiting outside my apartment at quarter to five in the morning. The driver who climbed out from behind the wheel when I stepped outside wasn’t familiar to me. He was much younger than Angus; early thirties was my guess. He looked Latino, with rich caramel-hued skin, and dark hair and eyes.
“Thanks,” I told him, when he rounded the front of the vehicle, “but I’ll just grab a cab.”
Hearing that, the night doorman to my building stepped out to the street to flag one down for me.
“Mr. Cross said I’m to take you to La Guardia,” the driver said.
“You can tell Mr. Cross that I won’t be requiring his transportation services now or in the future.” I moved toward the cab the doorman had hailed, but stopped and turned around. “And tell him to go fuck himself, too.”
I slid into the cab and settled back as it pulled away.
* * *
I’ll admit to some bias when I say my father stands out in a crowd, but that didn’t make it less true.
As he exited the secure security area, Victor Reyes commanded attention. He was six feet tall, fit and well built, and had the commanding presence of a man who wore a badge. His gaze raked the immediate area around him, always a cop even when he wasn’t on duty. He had a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and wore blue jeans with a black button-down shirt. His hair was dark and wavy, his eyes stormy and gray like mine. He was seriously hot in a brooding, dangerous, bad boy sort of way, and I tried to picture him alongside my mother’s fragile, haughty beauty. I’d never seen them together, not even in pictures, and I really wanted to. If only just once.