Page 91 of Finding Gideon
He nodded, and something in his expression eased. He looked like a man who wanted to meet me exactly where I was.
“Then we’ll go slow,” he said. “Only what you’re comfortable with. I mean that.”
“I know.” I laced our fingers together. “That’s why I’m ready.”
And I was.
For him. For us. For everything that came next.
Chapter 29
Gideon
I didn’t even realize how close Malcolm had gotten until I could feel the warmth of his breath against my cheek.
“I’m not rushing you,” he murmured.
“I know.” I turned my face toward his, let my eyes rest on his mouth. “But I want to.”
His gaze swept over my face like he was checking every signal twice. He was a vet, not a mind reader, but he could’ve fooled me.
“We can stop anytime, Gideon. Say the word, and I’ll hold you instead.”
“I don’t want to stop,” I said, and my voice didn’t shake.
Malcolm nodded. He kissed me—gently, reverently—but I felt the restraint behind it. The carefulness. He kissed like a man who could lose himself in it but wouldn’t. Not until he was sure I wouldn’t get lost, too.
“Is this what you really want?”
“Yeah.” I smiled, nerves and want tangled in my chest. “I’ve never wanted anything more than I want you.”
That unlocked something in him. He kissed me like he’d been holding back for years, like kissing me was the thing that mightsave him. When he pulled back, his pupils were blown wide, and his voice dropped low. “Gideon…”
“Take it off,” I said, tugging at the hem of his T-shirt. “I want to see you.”
He helped me take off his T-shirt and toss it aside. Heat rolled off him, the solid expanse of his chest right there in front of me. Broad and strong, muscles shifting under skin dusted with dark hair that trailed down to his stomach. My fingers itched to touch, to map every inch.
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” I said.
His chest rose on a rough breath. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
Malcolm’s hands moved to my shirt next, and together we stripped each other down, laughing a little when I got stuck in my jeans, groaning when his belt buckle refused to cooperate.
“Can’t believe I’m being outmaneuvered by denim,” he muttered.
“Maybe you need more practice.”
“Oh, I plan to get plenty.”
When we were naked in bed, he leaned over me, his hands braced on either side of my head. His cock brushed my thigh—hard and hot and heavy—and I felt my breath catch.
“Before we go further,” he murmured, voice low, “I should say—I’m negative. Last test was earlier this year, and I haven’t been with anyone since before moving here.”
Relief curled warm in my chest. “You know I’ve never been with anyone before, but if you’d feel better, I’ll get tested too.”
I wasn’t sure why saying it felt so big, like trust made tangible, a vow offered in the dark. A step closer to the kind of closeness I craved with him.
