Page 112 of Finding Gideon
I reached between us, slow and sure, and guided us there—where the burn started, where the line between pleasure and ache blurred, and we started to fall all over again.
He gasped, hands fisting in the sheets, head tipping back. I leaned in and kissed his throat, feeling the way it worked under my lips as he swallowed back a moan.
We rocked together, a slow grind of hips, a familiar rhythm that had nothing to do with speed and everything to do with knowing. Knowing each other’s bodies. Each other’s hearts.
Gideon’s leg wrapped around my waist, anchoring me. I went deeper, and he gasped again—sharper this time, eyes flying open to meet mine.
“I got you,” I whispered. “I always got you.”
His expression shifted then—something soft, almost shy—like he still couldn’t quite believe any of this was real.
“I know,” he said. “You always do.”
We moved like that for a long time, chasing heat and closeness, sweat slick between us, his hands mapping the curve of my spine, my mouth pressed to his shoulder, his jaw, his temple.
And somewhere in the middle of it—of the heat and the stretch and the way our bodies locked together like puzzle pieces—I thought about everything I knew about him.
How he always fell asleep facing the window.
How he used the wordmenacelike it was a love language.
How he swore up and down he didn’t want kids, even though we were halfway to a zoo, and he once bottle-fed a rescue calf every four hours for a week straight without complaining once.
How he made pancakes exactly once a month and always forgot to buy syrup but never forgot to kiss me when I was too tired to remember my own name.
And how, even now, even when I thought I knew everything, there was always more.
More to learn. More to love. More of him.
The thought of it—the absolute joy of that knowing—rushed through me like wildfire. And when I finally came, it was with a breathless sound against his neck, his name half-formed in my throat.
He followed a second later, arms wrapped around me so tight it felt like we were holding the whole damn world together.
After, we lay tangled in sweaty sheets, our breath still uneven, hearts still racing like we had just poured every ounce of love we had into each other.
“That was…” he started, voice hoarse.
I smiled against his skin. “Yeah. It was.”
He shifted, reaching toward the nightstand. “Hang on—I’ll grab a tissue.” He pulled open the drawer, rummaging a moment before pausing.
“What’s this?”
I propped myself up on one elbow. He wasn’t holding a tissue. He was holding a small box.
Shit.
I groaned, dragging a hand over my face. “I was going to ask you, but not like this.”
Gideon turned the box over in his hand like it might disappear if he blinked. “Ask me now.”
I stared at him. At the man who’d changed my whole life. The one I wanted to build every day with. The one I knew better than I knew myself—and still wanted to keep knowing for the rest of forever.
So I sat up. Took the box gently from his hand. Opened it to reveal the simple gold band inside. Nothing flashy. Just something real.
And I said, “Gideon Raines, I have known a lot of things in my life. Like the fact that I love strong coffee and early mornings, and that a barn is never truly clean, no matter how many times you sweep. But the thing I’ve never doubted—not once since the day you showed up with your beautiful face and ridiculous dog—is that I want every day, every kiss, every hard moment, every good one, with you.”
His breath hitched.
