“Hurry up,” she whispers, and finally the gravel widens out into my small parking area, a clearing in front of my house. I slam on the brakes too hard and forget to put the car into gear before I turn it off, push it into park, shut it down. I’m shaking and frantic and feel staticky with arousal, like it’s all-consuming.
It’s cool outside as I come around the car, one hand on the too-hot hood. Reid’s car isn’t there and I say a quick prayer that he’s not either, and then I’m yanking Andi’s door open and her seatbelt’s off and she tries to stand but I duck and push her back down. My mouth is hot and wild and desperate on hers and she goes back willingly, her hands in my hair. Something on the center console clicks or breaks when she puts her weight on it and I don’t give a fuck.
My knees hit gravel and the buckle of the seatbelt smacks against the open door and Andi’s legs are spread in front of me, the headlights so bright against the trees that it’s nearly impossible to see anything else, but I know this by now. I drag my face up her thigh and feel her squirm, so I wrap my hands around both of them, my knees shifting against gravel, and it hurts but it’s a good distraction from what my dick is trying to do.
I find Andi’s clit in the dark, by feel, and she’s already got one hand in my hair. It doesn’t take long and it doesn’t take much finesse before she’s shaking and saying Jesus fuck yes, fuck, Gideon and I grab her thighs and hold her closer and stroke her through it gently as I can, even past the part where her thighs jolt and she lets me go. I taste her until she pushes me off and sits up, something else on the console clicking or snapping or breaking, and then she sits in the passenger seat, legs akimbo as I kneel in front of her.
She takes my face in her hands and kisses me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
ANDI
“Stand,” Gideon says, and I do. My legs are a little unsteady but he pulls me to one side, props me against his car, leans in. The headlights go off. Something stops dinging. He shuts the passenger door and then he’s kissing me again, slow and thorough, one hand on my thigh underneath my dress. I lean back a little and part my legs for him, and he takes the invitation, pulling back and gazing at me as he runs his fingers up the inside of my thigh, where it’s still sticky.
“You can,” I say, and I mean ten things at once: he could put his hand on me again, in me; his mouth. He could strip me naked. He could leave me clothed and fuck me against the back door of his Toyota, out here in the cooling night.
“That what you want?” he says, and he leans his forehead against mine. He’s teasing me. “You’re so impatient and greedy that you can’t make it into the house?”
“No,” I scoff, the rough pad of his thumb sliding over the thin skin of my hip. I breathe into the feeling. “I’ve never been impatient, even once.”
I can feel him smiling as he kisses me again, bending me slightly backward against the car windows. He’s hard against my hip so I grab him and pull him against me until he groans.
“Come on,” he finally says, and pulls back.
Inside he shuts the door, locks it, gets his shoes off, and slides a hand around the back of my neck to kiss me again, gentle and possessive all at once. I kiss him back and get my hands on him, grab his belt loops, haul him in. I bite his lower lip and push the heel of my hand against his dick, straining against the zipper on his pants, but he takes my wrist and pushes it away.
“No,” he says, his mouth barely leaving mine.
“Because I forgot to say please?”
Gideon’s breath catches.
“Can I please touch you?” I murmur, and he takes my hand and puts it on his back, pressing the length of our bodies together.
“Not yet,” he says, kisses me, draws back. “Upstairs.”
When we get to his bedroom I turn and sprawl on the bed, propping myself up on my elbows, skirt riding up and legs wide.
“Now?” I ask, as he closes the door.
“So fucking impatient,” he mutters, but he crawls on top of me and puts his mouth to my neck. I tilt my head back, offering myself. “No, not yet. There’s something I want to try first. Take your clothes off.”
He gives my neck a final lick and sits back on his heels, his hair wild, the room lit by one bedside lamp. I push myself up on my elbows again, just to get an eyeful, and he skates a hand up my thigh.
“Please?” he says, before I can say anything. “I can make it worth your while. And I asked so nicely.”
I lift my hips, tug my dress up, then sit and pull it all the way off. Gideon’s watching me, on his knees, hands on his thighs, attentive and relaxed and a little predatory, all at once. His erection is straining against the zipper of his pants so hard it has to hurt—looks that way, at least, I’ve never had one and wouldn’t know—but aside from a slight flex of his fingers, he ignores it. I toss the dress away, unhook my bra, get rid of that too until I’m propped up on my hands, watching him watch me.
“God, Andi,” he says, all grumbly and whispery, one dark curl tumbling onto his forehead. “You look like—a painting. A sculpture.”
“One of the really expensive sex dolls,” I offer, for some reason, and I get a look in return.
“What is wrong with you,” he mumbles, but then leans over and presses me into the bed with a kiss.
“Whatever it is, you like it,” I say, anchoring my hands in his hair. It gets a smile, against my lips.
“Yeah. I do,” he says. “Don’t ever fix it. Please, don’t ever fix it.”
He pulls back enough to lean a hand on my sternum—not hard, just enough that there’s solid pressure, the kind of command that’s half polite request—and opens the sex drawer with his other hand. I wait while he rummages, my heartbeat ticking up, heat winding through my belly.
“Here,” he finally says, and holds up the vibrator that lives here now. “Make yourself come.”
It’s blue, silicone, more or less phallic with a few extra bumps. Gideon’s bright red—I probably am, too—in the low light but holds my eyes as he hands it over. He swallows hard, worries his lip and his eyes skip from the vibrator to my face and then down my body in his slow, feral way, like a predator getting ready to feast.
I turn it on low and draw it down his arm, where he’s still leaning on me. He pulls it back and goes back to kneeling between my legs, eyes on me.
“What are you gonna do?” I ask, because I want to hear him say it.
“Watch,” Gideon says.
“That’s it?”
“For now,” he says, and takes a hand off his own thigh to put it on mine. So much for just watching. “I drove all that way and kept my eyes on the road. I want to see what I missed.”
He swallows.
“Please.”
I’ve done plenty, but I’ve never done this before; I’ve never been watched and scrutinized so hard it makes me feel like my skin is transparent. I’ve never wanted it, but I do now, heat pounding through my veins. Gideon wants a show and he’s right about how greedy I am for him, how impatient. I wiggle my hips into a better position and brace my left hand against the headboard and slowly notch the vibrator between my legs.