Page 61 of Finding Gideon
And then—there he was.
It was the first time I’d ever seen another man like this, without a locker room’s quick glances or the blur of a changing stall. No filter. No distance. Just him, aroused and unashamed.
I felt my pulse slam in my throat, not from shock, but from the fact that I was the reason for this—him hard and leaking, his breathing gone uneven. Something low and heavy settled in my belly.
Malcolm’s eyes flicked to mine. “You going to stare all night, or…?”
A startled laugh escaped me, and I dragged my own boxers down. His gaze caught, held—like he was cataloging me the same way I had him. Not measuring. Just… seeing.
“Guess we’re both new to this,” I said, my voice rough.
“Guess so,” he murmured. His smile softened. “And I like what I’m seeing.”
I didn’t know what to do with the warmth that rose at that—part embarrassment, part pride—so I stepped closer until we were chest to chest, skin on skin. My own arousal brushed his, and my knees nearly buckled.
We made it to the bed in a tangle of limbs and muffled laughs, collapsing into the mattress with him above me. His weight settled, heavy in the best way, and when he rocked forward, every nerve in my body lit up.
Our bodies aligned like they’d been waiting for this—like they knew what to do before we did.
We moved together slowly, a gentle press of hips, the heat of skin meeting skin, dick meeting dick. I gasped—more from surprise than anything else. The friction was new, electric. But not overwhelming. Not too much. Justright.
Malcolm exhaled sharply against my neck, his breath hot and unsteady. My hand gripped his waist, anchoring us together as we found a rhythm.
It wasn’t about getting somewhere fast. It was aboutfeeling. Nothing that we were doing in his king-sized bed was performative or choreographed. It was touch and heat and breath. It was us being us.
The rough drag of his dick against mine, the smooth slide of sweat-slicked skin, the way our bodies responded in real time—every shift, every stutter, every grind.
My fingers dug into his back, and he groaned, low and deep. The sound sent a jolt straight through me.
“Gideon,” he murmured, voice wrecked and reverent. “God…”
I clung to him, to the moment, to the sheer vulnerability of it. Our foreheads bumped, noses brushed, mouths finding each other in sloppy, breathless kisses as we moved.
His body was heavy and solid against mine. Mine was shaking. But not from fear. Fromwant. From being so completely here, in this moment, withhim.
It started low, a slow coil tightening with every shift of our hips. Movements grew rougher, hungrier—hips grinding harder, legs tangling, hands clutching at skin and fabric, pulling each other closer.
I felt him chasing it. Felt myself chasing it too. The world shrank to the slick slide of our bodies, the heat blooming between us, the sharp sound of his breath—and the helpless sounds spilling from me in answer.
The pace climbed, each shift and pull pushing us higher until there was nothing left but the rush, the thrum, the cresting edge we were both about to go over.
I came first, stars bursting behind my eyes, my entire body arching into his. My voice cracked on his name.
He followed, not a second later, with a hoarse cry muffled against my shoulder. His whole body shuddered, arms wrapped tight around me, holding me through it.
And then we stilled.
Our chests heaved, sweat cooling on our skin, the room filled with nothing but our breathing and the soft thud of his heart against mine.
He didn’t let go and neither did I.
I’d never felt more exposed in my life. Or safer.
Chapter 20
Malcolm
Something behind the reception desk beeped. I didn’t register what—the autoclave finishing its cycle maybe, or the low rattle of the fridge compressor humming to life. It didn't matter. Not when Gideon stretched in front of the treatment table, arms reaching over his head, shirt riding up enough to show a sliver of ink and the ridgeline of his waist.
