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Gideon's inside. He's leaning against the counter, his fist wrapped around his erection and his head thrown back. He looks beautiful and fierce as he jerks himself off with his lip caught between his teeth.
Oh my god.
His gaze whips to mine, his green eyes dark with lust.
I should say something. I should slip out of the room. I should do…anything. But I just stand there, staring at him, engulfed in desire. Burning. Aching.
"Sparrow," he rasps.
"Finish it." That definitely wasn't on the list of things I should do.
"Kenna."
"Finish it."
His gaze flits across my face. But he doesn't make me say it again. He groans, working his fist up and down his shaft in rough pulls. I watch in rapt fascination, unable to look away as he jerks himself off for me. As he watches me while he does it. As he thinks about me while he does it. I know that's what he was doing in here. The truth is written all over his face.
He was thinking about me.
I shouldn't like that nearly as much as I do…and yet with this man, I don't want him thinking about anyone else. I don't want him seeing anyone else. I want it to be my name on his lips.
I want him, period.
"Is this what you were thinking about when you kissed me today, Gideon?"
"Yes," he growls.
"Me too," I whisper. "I…I wanted it. I still want it. So bad it hurts."
"Fuck, Sparrow." His hand flies up and down his cock before he grunts, his muscles going rigid. Hot liquid spills across his hand, landing in thick ropes against the floor and shower wall.
I press my legs together, turned on and aching. I want to know what that feels like inside of me more than I want my next breath. I want to know what he feels like inside of me.
God help me, but I think if I let him, this man is going to send my walls tumbling. He's going to slip into my heart whether I want him there or not. And when he leaves, all that'll remain will be a crater marking where he once held dominion.
"Kenna," he says.
For the second time today—for the second time in my life—I flee, racing back into my room and slamming the door between us. He shouts after me, but I lock the door from my side before weakly sliding down it.
"What am I doing?" I whisper, pressing my shaking hands to my cheeks. "What am I doing?"
Aside from acting like a crazy person, I have no answer.
I flip onto my back, glaring up at the ceiling. It's well after one in the morning and I haven't slept at all. Every time I close my eyes, my mind wanders to the man currently camped out in the living room. I think about him standing in the bathroom, his eyes locked on me while he jerks himself off. I hear him promising to catch me. And I feel like a coward.
I am a coward, let's be clear about that. I'm not afraid of much, but the intensity of the feelings he sends coursing through me scares the hell out of me. I've only known him for a day, and he already makes me feel like no one else ever has. How much stronger will it be in a week? A month?
What happens then?
What happens if you never find out? a little voice whispers back.
It's a jarring question. One I don't think I've considered fully. I have a good idea what happens if things end badly. My mom is a walking testament to how much endings can hurt. But what about the things you regret because you were too scared to try? How do those haunt you? How do they hurt you?
I don't know because I've never been the girl too afraid to try. Even when it's meant falling on my face over and over, I've tried. I know failure. I've been chasing my dreams since I was sixteen, watching doors slam in my face again and again. And every time, I've picked myself up, dusted myself off, and gotten back in the saddle. I have no regrets because I've never stopped trying.
I don't want Gideon to be my first regret. He could be if I let him.
That realization pulls me from bed. I cross the room in the dark, my feet silent on the plush carpet. The door to the living room squeaks open. Light trickles in from the kitchen, spilling across Gideon's face.
