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“Just a second,” he says, an eager light in his eyes. “I’m expecting a special delivery.” Moments later he returns to the balcony, placing a gorgeous, old-fashioned-looking key beside my now-empty plate.
My brows shoot up. “You found a hardware store that delivers on a Sunday?”
“I did. One of the best things about New York City—it never sleeps. And even when it does, a bribe can usually wake it up again.”
I fight a smile. “You bribed a hardware store for me?”
“Too much?”
I shake my head, shifting off my seat and into his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck. “No. It’s very sweet. Very comforting.”
“Comforting?” he asks, his big hand molding to the curve of my hip in a way that makes me ache for him again, even though we christened his shower less than an hour ago.
I nod and brush his hair from his forehead. “Knowing you want to eliminate barriers between us.” I bite my lip, my nipples tightening as his hand drifts lower. “Speaking of barriers, I was thinking about seeing my doctor this week, about an IUD. Then we wouldn’t have to worry about condoms.”
“That sounds amazing.” He reaches up, loosening the top of my robe until the V shows my cleavage. “As long as your doctor thinks it’s safe.”
“They’re completely safe, most of my friends have them,” I assure him, my breath catching as he slips a hand into my robe, rolling my nipple between his fingers. “We’re outside. Someone could see.”
“They could,” he agrees, continuing to touch me in ways that make my well-used body ache. “We could go inside. Or…”
“Or what?” I ask, my voice breathy.
“Or you could sit on the edge of your chair like a good girl while I duck under the tablecloth,” he murmurs. “Do you think you could do that? Keep your composure while I devour your pussy out here in the morning sun, butterfly?”
I should say no, or at the very least hesitate a beat or two—there are at least three nearby balconies with views of Gideon’s and God only knows how many other apartments—but I want him too much. I want to please him, and he knows it. That’s why he made his wicked offer the way he did.
“I don’t know,” I murmur, my thighs already slick with wanting him, “but I would certainly try my very best, Mr. Gabaldon.”
“That, Miss Perry-Watson is all anyone could ask.” He squeezes my thigh before shifting me back onto my chair and coming to his knees. “Lift up your robe and spread your legs under the tablecloth, baby.”
Blood rushes to my head as he disappears under the table, making me glad I’m seated. I spread my robe open wide, breath hitching as Gideon grips my ass in both hands, dragging me closer to the edge of my seat.
“No panties,” he murmurs. “That’s my good girl.”
I bite my lip and mutter, “Don’t start with that. Not yet.”
He chuckles, a low rumble that has me gripping the table for support as it vibrates against my thigh. He kisses me there, just inches from where I’m soaked for him before whispering, “All right. No more good girl until you’ve come for me without putting on a show. Fuck, I love the way you smell when you’re salty and hot for me, Sydney. Your pussy’s so damned beautiful.”
Pulling in a bracing breath, I grip the table even harder as his tongue slides up the seam of my sex. I tuck my chin to my chest, fighting to look respectable from the chest up as Gideon ravages me from the waist down.
He licks and sucks, swirls and teases, stoking the fire building between my hips before penetrating me with two fingers, delivering the perfect pressure inside my molten core. I tremble and press my lips together, swallowing my coming sounds as I spiral out on Gideon’s talented mouth. He licks up every bit of my slick heat, murmuring encouragement between each swipe of his tongue.
He tells me how delicious I taste.
How much he loves fucking me.
And, of course, what a good girl I am.
By the time he emerges from beneath the table, looking very pleased with himself, I’m already dying for more of him. All of him. “Bedroom,” I whisper. “I need your cock, Mr. Gabaldon.”
“I believe that can be arranged, Miss Perry-Watson,” he murmurs. “I’m enjoying our formality this morning. Perhaps you could call me Mr. Gabaldon while you’re telling me how you’d liked to be fucked next?”
Before I can reply, Gideon’s cell vibrates on the table.
I look over, horror banishing my lust as I read the message.
The text is from Adrian.
