Page 89 of Prodigal

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against Gideon’s collar. “I’m so sorry.” He reared back slightly, taking Gideon’s face in his hands and staring into his eyes. He’d missed him, missed their closeness. André didn’t think he could survive without Gideon anymore. He didn’t think he’d want to. “I love you.” He hated that the words came out sounding so broken, so heavy, but that was the way he felt inside. He had to find a way to fix this space they were in.

Gideon stared at him, expression grave. He looked so tired, so worn down, so fucking sad. André wanted peace for him, for the both of them, but mostly for Gideon. He was the one who’d suffered unimaginable loss and tragedy. He was the one struggling.

“It’s okay.” He smoothed a hand over the other man’s head, fingers stopping to caress his nape. “It’s okay, I promise.” Maybe he was supposed to be the one to believe, the one to have faith. If that were the case, then he would. For the both of them. He pressed his lips to Gideon’s. “It’s okay.” Because one thing he knew for sure was that he refused to lose Gideon.

Gideon’s lips softened under his, parting as he wrapped an arm around André, bringing him tighter into his body. Breath left André in a soft gasp, but he smiled against Gideon’s lips, eyes closing when they kissed—really kissed—for the first time in what felt like forever. Tongues touching, gliding over and along each other, breaths hitching. André opened wider for him, fingers digging into Gideon’s biceps when the other man moved, turning to push André against his desk.

He loved it, his pulse kicking up when Gideon’s kiss switched from calm and gentle to frantic and loud, wild and untamed. His hands tugged at André’s clothes. Unzipped his pants and yanked them and his underwear down his hips.

“Mmm.” Fuck. He bucked when Gideon’s palm circled his cock, stroking it, bringing it to full hardness. André just clung to Gideon, breaking the kiss and throwing his head back. Gideon kissed across his jaw and down his neck, tongue leaving wet trails behind, then dropped to his knees.

André stared down at him, taking in the desperate hunger in Gideon’s eyes and the way his hand trembled against André’s skin. “Gideon.” André reached for him, cupping his jaw, holding his gaze.

Gideon turned his head, pressing a kiss into André’s palm before burying his face in his groin.

“Shit.” He grabbed the edge of the desk for leverage as Gideon took him in his mouth. “Gideon. Damn!” He felt so good, André could cry. He’d gotten used to this, to him, and the few days that he’d been without it had felt like years. Like torture. And now here Gideon was, on his knees with André’s dick in his mouth, and it was the purest kind of bliss.

Hot, wet suction.

He fisted Gideon’s hair with a groan, hips flexing as he eased in and out. He liked it, the way Gideon maintained eye contact even as his eyes watered and the fingers he’d sunk into André’s outer thighs dug deeper and deeper. And he liked the shine Gideon’s saliva gave to his shaft. Gideon’s tongue—André liked that too, especially when it flicked over his crown and dipped into the hole there.

“Fuck. Fuck.” Fist pressed to his mouth, he chanted in time to each thrust as the pleasure swirled in his lower back and belly, toes curled. Too soon. “I’m gonna come,” he whined. “Gideon, please.” It felt so good. And it’d been too long. He didn’t want it to end, wasn’t ready to leave the perfection of Gideon’s mouth. But his eyes were already crossing, heart thundering. “Shit, swallow me then. Swallow it— Ah, yes! Yes!” He came with a shout, slamming forward. Gideon’s throat convulsed around him and André lost speech for a moment there, floundering as he emptied himself.

Gideon didn’t budge, sucking him down, taking every drop André spilled, throat and hands massaging in tandem while André panted and his eyes watered. Until he was weak and useless, sagging back on his elbows on the desk, balls empty.

Gideon cleaned him up with his tongue before retreating. But he didn’t get up off his knees. André dipped his head, locking gazes with him. Gideon’s eyes were red… Hell, his whole facewas. His lips were wet and swollen, and as André watched, he licked them.

“I would do anything for you,” Gideon declared, voice scratchy.

André swallowed. “I know.” He couldn’t say he was a man who knew many things for certain, butthathe did. And staring down at Gideon, who gazed back with so much love and pain in his eyes, André resolved that he would ensure Gideon held that same certainty about him.About them.He cupped Gideon’s jaw, thumb stroking his bottom lip. “Anybody ever tell you how good you look on your knees, Winters?”

Gideon’s lips curved slightly, and the sight eased something in André’s chest. “Can’t say that they have.”

“Well, you do. You look like you belong there.” André turned serious when he said, “And I want this for the rest of my life.” Anything he had to do to get it, he would.

He swore he saw stars in Gideon’s eyes at his words. Stars and hearts. Gideon Winters was a romantic. Just a man who wanted love and to be loved. Who wanted peace. And he was André’s. He would find a way to give Gideon those things.

“Come up here.” He waited as Gideon came up off his knees, the wet front of his pants giving away the fact that he’d gotten his own pleasure while sucking André off. André clasped his face in his hands, kissing him, tasting himself. “We’re gonna be okay, Winters,” he murmured into the kiss. “I will make sure of it.”

Nivea Arceneaux hadthe eyes of a wounded bird—wide, terrified, and lost. She sat in a rocking chair next to a pair of large bay windows overlooking a pond where ducks swam and frolicked, her fingers twisted around each other in her lap. Shekept her gaze on Gideon, never looking away, as if afraid he would move and she needed to know where he was at all times.

She was eighteen years old now, but she’d experienced something no one should. Her life would forever be different, and Gideon wished so much that he could change things for her.

But he couldn’t.

He could only ensure that the ones responsible for her having been brutalized and tortured for years would be held accountable. Not that this was anything altruistic. He had his reasons, his own agenda. She didn’t trust him much; she didn’t trust anyone much, and he didn’t blame her. But since her rescue, he’d had one of his guys acting as her bodyguard. Kaleb would lay down his life for her, though she probably didn’t know that. Still, from what Gideon had noticed, Nivea had softened the tiniest bit toward Kaleb. She’d gotten used to him being around, and it seemed she at least believed that Kaleb wasn’t going to hurt her.

“Are you ready?” Gideon asked Nivea, and since he’d been studying her closely, he was able to make out her tiny flinch when he spoke.

“Yes.” She nodded, voice lifting just a bit higher when she repeated, “Yes.”

Kaleb stood next to her, his eyes on her. “Your family will be happy to see you,” he told her softly. “I’m sure they miss you.”

She’d begged Gideon not to inform her family the day she’d been rescued. She hadn’t wanted them to see her as she’d been then. But her reprieve was over. Nivea’s family was on their way to the facility where she’d been recovering. They didn’t know why they’d been summoned, though. Gideon had reached out to his fellow council member personally, inviting Robert Vale to a meeting, insisting that he bring his son and daughter-in-law as well. Like others on The Council, Vale didn’t trust Gideon. Robert didn’t appreciate being summoned, wondering out loudif Gideon was leading him into an ambush. As if Gideon needed to go through all that if he actually wanted the old man dead. In the end, Vale had agreed to the meeting when Gideon told him he would owe him.

As in The Winters would be in Vale’s debt. That was a boon no money could buy.

He peered at the watch on his wrist. “You get to tell your family as much or as little as you want, okay?” He’d already gotten whatever information he needed from her when she’d first been rescued. It wasn’t his place to tell her family what happened to her; that was Nivea’s choice to make.

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