by Sylvia Day
I wanted to be as hot for him. I wanted him as aching and needy as I felt. I wanted my body—my desire—to be burned onto his brain the way this image of him would be burned onto mine.
With my eyes locked with his, my hands glided over my body. I watched his movements . . . listened for the catch of his breath . . . used his clues to know what drove him wild.
It was somehow as intimate as when he was inside me, maybe more so because we were wide open and on display. Totally bared. Our pleasure reflected in each other.
He started telling me what he wanted in that raspy sex god voice: Tug your nipples, angel . . . Touch yourself—are you wet? Push your fingers inside you . . . Feel how tight you are? A hot, tight, plush little heaven for my dick . . . You’re so fucking gorgeous . . . So sexy. I’m so damn stiff it hurts . . . See what you do to me? I’m going to come so hard for you . . .
“Gideon.” I gasped, my fingertips massaging my clit in rapid circles, my hips grinding into my touch.
“Right there with you,” he said hoarsely, his hand jacking his cock with brutal speed and violence in his race to orgasm.
At the first jolting contraction of my core, I cried out, my legs quaking. My palm slapped against the glass enclosure for balance, the climax stealing the strength from my muscles. Gideon was on me in a second, gripping my hipbone in a way that conveyed greed and possession, his fingers flexing with restless agitation.
“Eva!” he growled, as the first thick, hot burst of semen hit my belly. “Fuck.”
Hunching over me, his teeth sank into the tender spot between my shoulder and neck, a painless hold that conveyed the rawness of his pleasure. His groans vibrated against me and he came violently, spurting repeatedly against my stomach.
* * *
It was a little after six o’clock in the morning when I slipped out of my bedroom. I’d been up for a while, watching Gideon sleep. It was a rare treat, because I hardly ever managed to wake up before he did. I could stare at him without any worries that he’d be weirded out.
I padded down the hallway until it emptied into the expansive open floor plan of the main living area. It was ridiculous that Cary and I lived on the Upper West Side in an apartment large enough for a family, but I’d long ago learned to pick my battles when it came to arguing with my mother and stepfather over my safety. There was no way they were budging on location or security features like a doorman and front desk, but I could exploit my cooperation on my living arrangements to get them to ease up on other points.
I was in the kitchen waiting for the coffee to finish brewing when Cary joined me. He strolled in looking amazing in a pair of gray San Diego State University sweats, sleep-mussed chocolate brown hair, and a day’s worth of stubble along his square jaw.
“Morning, baby girl,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple as he passed me.
“You’re up early.”
“Look who’s talking.” He grabbed two mugs out of the cupboard, then the half-and-half out of the fridge. He brought them over and studied me. “How are you doing?”
“I’m good. Really,” I insisted, when he shot me a skeptical look. “Gideon took care of me.”
“Okay, but is that really so great if he’s the reason you were stressed enough to have the nightmare to begin with?”
I filled mugs for both of us, adding sugar to mine and cream to both. As I did, I told him about Corinne and the Waldorf dinner, then the argument I’d had with Gideon over her appearance at the Crossfire.
Cary stood with his hip cocked into the counter, his legs crossed at the ankle, and one arm banding his chest. He sipped his coffee. “No explanation, huh?”
I shook my head, feeling the weight of Gideon’s silence. “How about you? How are you doing?”
“You just gonna change the subject?”
“What else is there to say? It’s a one-sided story.”
“You ever stop to think that he might always have secrets?”
Frowning, I lowered my mug. “What do you mean?”
“I mean he’s the twenty-eight-year-old son of a suicidal Ponzi scheme swindler, and he just happens to own a large chunk of Manhattan.” One brow arched upward in challenge. “Think about it. Can they really be mutually exclusive things?”
Lowering my gaze to my mug, I took a drink and didn’t confess that I’d wondered the same thing once or twice. The extent of Gideon’s fortune and empire was staggering, especially considering his age. “I can’t see Gideon bilking people, not when it’s more of a challenge to accomplish what he has legitimately.”
“With all the secrets he’s got, can you be sure you know him well enough to make that judgment call?”
I thought of the man who’d spent the night with me and felt relief at how sure I was about my answer—at least at that moment. “Yes.”
“All right, then.” Cary shrugged. “I talked to Dr. Travis yesterday.”
My thoughts immediately veered in another direction at the mention of our therapist in San Diego. “You did?”
“Yeah. I really fucked up the other night.”
From the agitated way he scooped his long bangs back from his face, I knew he was referring to the orgy I’d walked in on.
“Cross broke Ian’s nose and split his lip,” he said, reminding me of how violently Gideon had responded to Cary’s . . . friend rudely propositioning me to join them. “I saw Ian yesterday and he looks like he was hit in the face with a brick. He was asking who clocked him, so he could press charges.”
“Oh.” My lungs seized for the length of two heartbeats. “Oh, crap.”
“I know. Billionaire plus lawsuit equals beaucoup bucks. What the fuck was I thinking?” Cary closed his eyes and rubbed them. “I told him I didn’t know who your date was, that it was some guy you picked up and dragged home. Cross blindsided him, so Ian didn’t see shit.”
“The two girls with you got a real good look at Gideon,” I said grimly.
“They took off out that door”—Cary pointed across the living room as if our door were still reverberating with the slam—“like she-bats out of hell. They didn’t go to the urgent care with us, and neither of us knows who they are. If Ian doesn’t run into them again, we’re okay.”
I rubbed at the quiver in my tummy, feeling unsettled again.
“I’ll keep an eye on the situation,” he assured me. “The whole night was a major wake-up call, and talking it out in therapy gave me some perspective. Afterward, I went to see Trey. To apologize.”
Hearing Trey’s name made me sad. I’d hoped Cary’s budding relationship with the veterinary student would work out, but Cary had sabotaged that. As usual. “How’d that go?”
He shrugged again, but the movement was awkward. “I hurt him the other night because I’m an asshole. Then I hurt him again yesterday trying to do the right thing.”
“Did you break it off?” I held my hand out to him and squeezed his when he placed it in mine.
“It’s seriously cooled off. Like on ice. He wants me to be gay, and I’m not.”
It was painful to hear that someone wanted Cary to be anything other than who he was, because it’d always been that way for him. I couldn’t understand why. To me, he was wonderful as is. “I’m so sorry, Cary.”
“So am I, because he’s a great guy. I’m just not ready for the stress and demands of a complicated relationship right now. I’m working a lot. I’m not stable enough yet to be fucked up in the head.” His lips pursed. “You might want to think about that, too. We just moved out here. We’ve both still got some settling in to do.”
I nodded, understanding where he was coming from and not disagreeing, but unwavering in my decision to see my relationship with Gideon through. “Did you talk to Tatiana, too?”
“No need.” His thumb brushed over my knuckles before he released me. “She’s easy.”
Snorting, I took a large gulp of my cooling coffee.
“Not just that way,” he chided, giving me a wicked grin. “I mean she doesn’t
expect anything or make any demands. As long as I suit up and she orgasms at least as many times as I do, she’s good. I’m actually okay with her, and not just because she could suck chrome off a bumper. It’s relaxing being with someone who just wants to have fun and causes no stress.”
“Gideon knows me. He understands and tries to work around my issues. He’s working for this, too, Cary. It’s not easy for him, either.”
“Do you think Cross had a nooner with his ex?” he asked bluntly.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
Sucking in a deep breath, I took a fortifying gulp and admitted, “Mostly. I think I’m the one doing it for him now. It’s pretty hot with us, you know? But his ex has some kind of hold on him. He says it’s guilt, but that doesn’t explain his brunette fascination.”
“It explains why you lost it and hit him—her being around again is eating at you. And he still won’t tell you what’s going on. Does that sound healthy to you?”
It wasn’t. I knew that. I hated it. “We saw Dr. Petersen last night.”
His brows rose. “How’d that go?”
“He didn’t tell us to run far, far away from each other as fast as we can.”
“And if he does? Will you listen?”
“I’m not bailing when things get rough this time. Seriously, Cary”—I held his gaze—“am I really all that far ahead if I can’t take any waves?”
“Baby girl, Cross is a tsunami.”
“Ha!” I smiled, unable to help it. Cary could get me to smile through tears. “To tell you the truth, if I don’t work this out with Gideon, I have doubts I’ll work it out with anyone.”
“That’s your shitty self-esteem talking.”
“He knows what I’m carrying around in me.”
“All right.”
My brows shot up. “All right?” That was too easy.
“I’m not sold. But I’ll deal.” He grabbed my hand. “Come on. Let’s get your hair done.”
I smiled, grateful. “You’re the best.”
He bumped his hip into mine. “And I won’t let you forget it.”
Chapter 5
“As far as death traps go,” Cary said, “this one’s pretty swank.”
I shook my head as I preceded him into the main cabin of Gideon’s private jet. “You are not going to die. Flying is safer than driving.”
“And you don’t think the airline industry paid for the compilation of those statistics?”
Pausing to smack him in the shoulder with a laugh, I glanced at the amazingly opulent interior and felt more than a little awe. I’d seen my share of private planes over the years, but as usual, Gideon went to lengths to which few could afford to go.
The cabin was spacious, with a wide center aisle. The underlying palette was neutral with accents of chocolate brown and ice blue. Deep, swiveling bucket seats with tables were positioned on the left, while a sectional sofa sat on the right. Each chair had a private entertainment console beside it. I knew a bedroom would be found at the back of the plane and a luxurious bathroom or two.
A male flight attendant took my duffel bag and Cary’s, then gestured for us to take a seat at one of the groupings of chairs that had a table. “Mr. Cross is expected within the next ten minutes,” he said. “In the meantime, can I serve you something to drink?”
“Water for me, please.” I glanced at my watch. It was just past seven thirty.
“Bloody Mary,” Cary ordered, “if you’ve got it.”
The steward smiled. “We’ve got everything.”
Cary caught my look. “What? I haven’t had dinner. The tomato juice will hold me over until we eat, and the alcohol will help the Dramamine kick in faster.”
“I didn’t say anything,” I protested.
I turned to look out the window at the evening sky, and my thoughts settled on Gideon, as usual. He’d been quiet all day, starting with when he’d woken up. The ride to work had been made in silence, and when my day ended at five, he’d called just long enough to tell me that Angus would take me home alone, then drive me and Cary to the airport where he’d meet us.
I opted to walk home instead, since I hadn’t hit the gym the night before and didn’t have time to work out prior to the flight. Angus had cautioned that Gideon wouldn’t like me refusing the ride, even though I’d done it politely and with good reason. I think Angus thought I was still upset with him for giving Corinne a ride, which I kind of was. I was sorry to say that a tiny part of me hoped he’d feel bad about it. A bigger part of me hated that I could be that petty.
As I’d walked through Central Park, taking a meandering path through tall trees, I had determined that I wasn’t going to be small over a guy. Not even Gideon. I wasn’t going to let my frustration with him get in the way of having a good time in Vegas with my best friend.
Halfway home, I’d stopped and turned, picking out Gideon’s penthouse high above Fifth Avenue. I wondered if he was there, packing and planning for a weekend without me. Or if he was still at work, wrapping up the week’s pressing business.
“Uh-oh,” Cary singsonged, as the flight attendant returned with a tray laden with our drinks. “You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The hell-on-wheels look.” He clinked his tall, slender glass against the side of my squat tumbler. “Wanna talk about it?”
I was about to reply when Gideon stepped onto the plane. He looked grim and carried a briefcase in one hand and a duffel in the other. After passing his bag over to the attendant, he paused by me and Cary, giving my roommate a cursory nod before brushing the back of his fingers across my cheek. The simple touch shot through me like a surge of electricity. Then he was gone, slipping into a cabin in the back and shutting the door.
I scowled. “He’s so damn moody.”
“And seriously hot. What he does for that suit . . .”
Most suits made the man. Gideon did things to a three-piece suit that should’ve been illegal.
“Don’t distract me with his looks,” I groused.
“Give him a blowjob. That’s a guaranteed mood improver.”
“Spoken like a man.”
“You expected something different?” Cary grabbed the frosty glass bottle holding the excess water that wouldn’t fit in my crystal tumbler. “Check this out.”
He showed me the label, which was branded to the Cross Towers and Casino. “Now that’s swank.”
My lips twisted wryly. “For the whales.”
“What?”
“Casino high rollers. Gamblers who don’t blink an eye at dropping a hundred grand or more on the turn of a card. They get a lot of comps to lure them in—food, suites, and travel to and fro. My mom’s second husband was a whale. It’s one of the reasons why she left him.”
He shook his head at me. “The shit you know. So this is a company jet?”
“One of five,” the attendant said, returning with a fruit and cheese tray.
“Jesus,” Cary muttered. “That’s a damned fleet.”
I watched as he dug a travel packet of Dramamine out of his pocket and washed the pills down with his Bloody Mary.
“Want some?” he asked, tapping at the wrapper on the table.
“Nope. Thanks.”
“You gonna deal with Mr. Hot and Moody?”
“Not sure. I may just pull out my e-reader.”
He nodded. “Probably safer for your sanity.”
Thirty minutes later, Cary was snoring lightly in his fully reclined seat, his ears covered with noise-canceling headphones. I watched him for a long minute, appreciating the sight of him looking restful and relaxed, the shallow grooves around his mouth softening in slumber.
Then I got up and went to the cabin I’d seen Gideon disappear into earlier. I debated knocking, then thought against it. He was shutting me out elsewhere; I wasn’t going to give him the opportunity to do so now.
He glanced up when I walked in, his face showing no surprise at my abrupt appearance. He sat at a d
esk, listening to a woman who was speaking to him via satellite video. His coat was hung on the back of his chair and his tie was loosened. After that one brief glance at me, he resumed his conversation.
I started stripping.
My tank top came off first, followed by my sandals and jeans. The woman continued talking, mentioning “concerns” and “discrepancies,” but Gideon’s eyes were on me—hot and avid.
“We’ll pick this up in the morning, Allison,” he interjected, hitting a button on the keyboard that darkened the screen just before my bra landed on his head.
“I’m the one with PMS,” I said, “but you’re the one having mood swings.”
He pulled my bra into his lap and leaned back in his chair, setting his elbows on the armrests and steepling his fingers together. “And you’re putting on a striptease to improve my mood?”
“Ha! Men are so predictable. Cary suggested I blow you to make you happy. No . . . don’t get excited. That’s not going to happen.” I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my panties and rocked back on my heels. I had to give him points for keeping his eyes on mine and not on my breasts. “I think you owe me, ace. Big-time. I’ve been an exceptionally understanding girlfriend under the circumstances, don’t you think?”
His brow arched.
“I mean, I’d like to see what you would do,” I went on, “if you came over to my place and caught an ex-boyfriend stepping outside still tucking his shirt in his pants. Then, when you came upstairs, you found my couch messed up and me fresh from a shower.”
Gideon’s jaw tightened. “Neither of us wants to see what I’d do.”
“So we’re both agreed that I’ve been pretty damn awesome under extraordinary circumstances.” I crossed my arms, knowing how that would showcase the assets he loved. “You’ve made it very clear how you’d choose to punish me. How would you choose to reward me?”
“Is it my choice?” he drawled, his eyes heavy-lidded.
I smiled. “No.”
He set my bra on his keyboard and unfolded from the chair in a leisurely, graceful rise. “Then that’s your reward, angel. What do you want?”