Page 92 of Finding Gideon
“There’s no need, baby.” Malcolm kissed my knee, then the inside of my thigh, his stubble catching on my skin and sending shivers down my spine.
The words and the tenderness behind them sank into me just as much as his touch did, making my breath catch and my heart ache—in the best way.
“I’ve got lube and condoms in the drawer,” I said.
He pulled a bottle from the drawer beside the bed.
I nodded, a little breathless. “I read everything.”
“Oh yeah?” His voice dipped low, teasing. “Tell me what you learned.”
I swallowed. “That it’s not supposed to hurt. That lube is essential. That talking is important. And…” My hand found his wrist, needing the anchor. “That I want this—with you. I want you inside me.”
That stilled him, like he was taking in the weight of my words. His palm slid across my cheek, warm and certain.
“You have me.”
His hands weren’t clinical, even though he was a doctor. They were reverent. Curious. He smiled, soft but a little undone. “Anything you want to try? Or avoid?”
“I just want you,” I said. My voice shook, not from fear but from how much I meant it. “But slow. At first.”
He nodded, slicked up his fingers, and kissed me again before shifting lower. The first press of his finger at my hole made me tense. He noticed instantly.
“Breathe, Gid.” His voice was low and sweet. “It’s just me. Just us.”
I let out the breath I’d been holding and nodded. He pushed in slowly, his finger warm and slick, easing past tight muscle. It burned, but not bad. More pressure than pain.
“Doing okay?” he murmured.
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s just… different.”
He worked me open with such care I almost couldn’t stand it. One finger, then two, fucking me slow and steady until I was squirming. He kissed across my hip, then my stomach.
“Fuck, look at you,” he said. “You’re going to ruin me.”
I laughed, breathless. “Better not come before you even get inside me.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
He slicked the condom over his dick—long and thick and flushed at the tip—and stroked himself once, twice.
“You ready?”
“God, yes.”
He lined up and pressed in. My body clenched instinctively, and I bit my lip, my hand on his shoulder like an anchor.
“Slow,” I panted.
“We’ll go at your pace,” he promised. “Nothing matters but you right now.”
It was too much at first. Too big. Too full. My breath hitched sharply, and I clutched at his arm like it was the only thing keeping me grounded.
He kissed my cheek, murmuring low against my skin. “Easy, baby. I’ve got you. You want me to stop?”
“No,” I panted, shaking my head. “Don’t you dare stop. Just—slow.”
His hand smoothed over my chest, steadying me as he eased in another inch. My body fought it, then gave, opening around him by degrees. Every new stretch lit me up with fire and ache until it started to melt into something deeper, heavier.
