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ChapterSeventeen
Skye
Gideon’s chestis pressed to my back. We’ve been lying here long enough that the sweat has dried on our now cool skin. His leg is heavy over mine. His arm is over my waist, possessively, but I don’t mind. In fact, I love it. Probably too much.
“You okay?”
His mouth is at my ear, causing me to shiver when he speaks. His voice is gruff and sexy, the way it was when we made love and he said I felt so fucking good.
“Mmm.” I’m not sure I have the energy to open my mouth. Gideon made me come so fast with his mouth, I assumed he would be the same when we had sex. Hard and fast. But he was slow and intense and thorough. The memory of him inside me makes me wet again, but I seriously don’t know if I can move.
“Tell me about your song.” I manage to speak, but my eyes are closed. I don’t know if the door is locked. We left lights on in the main part of the apartment. I don’t know where my phone is or if it’s plugged in.
I don’t care. Nothing matters but this moment with Gideon and me, skin to skin. I lost my virginity to an older guy when I was nineteen. I cringe mentally when I realize he was the age I am now, and I think of him as an older man. Still, I guess at nineteen, thirty was old. He was good to me—nice. I worked at a bank even then, but I was a teller. He was a VP. Not married. I wouldn’t do that. But he was sophisticated and sexy, and so willing to teach a virgin all the dirty fun things.
I’ve been with other guys in the years between then and now, even thought I was in love with one. But what Gideon and I just shared was so different. So intimate. He wasn’t about the end game, racing to the finish line for either one of us. He took his time getting to know every inch of my body, making every thrust slow and deep and perfect. He kissed me like he was memorizing the taste of my mouth, the feel of our tongues together. I’ve never made love like this, and I know when Gideon moves on, I’ll never find another man as intense and giving as he is.
“It’s a piece for piano.” He nips at my shoulder and then presses his lips to it as if to soothe me.
“What?”
“I don’t write popular music.”
“Wait.” I scooch against him and turn over to look at him when he gives me room. His eyes are dark, his face like stone again. “You write…piano music?”
He nods once, his mouth in a grim line.
“Like classical stuff you mean?Mr. Holland’s Opus? Like that?”
“An opus number is a work number. If a composer’s work is numbered in chronological order—”
“Gideon.” I frame his face in my hands and steal a kiss. He closes his eyes, like he’s hiding from me. “That’s incredible.”
“Right.” He grunts and tries to jerk his face from me. “Big money, right?”
“Hey.” I lift my head and kiss him, relieved when he puckers his lips to kiss me back. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Do what?” He blinks and stares at me for a second.
“Hide who you are.”
He’s propped on his elbow, but now he sighs and ducks his head. His leg is still over mine, and he stretches, runs his foot down the inside of my calf and then flexes his foot against mine. I love the friction of our bodies together. Everything, every move, feels sensual with him.
“Gideon.” I sigh and lick my lips when he trails his fingers up over my belly to play with my nipples. “You don’t have to do that, either.”
“You don’t want me to touch you?” He draws back and stares at me with an exaggerated frown.
“I don’t ever want you to take your hands off me,” I answer honestly. “But I meant…distract me. From this conversation.”
“I don’t want to have this conversation.”
As if to underscore what he just said, he scoots backwards down the bed and dips his head to kiss me. But once his lips are on the curve of my breast, he stills.
“Music defines me.”
“Mmm.” I shake my head on the pillow, the rasp of my hair on the pillowcase loud in my ears.
“What?”
