“Andi,” Gideon he says, all annoyed and rough. “Boots off outside.”
I want to snap back at him, my temper flaring hot and expansive, but he’s right so I grit my teeth and clench one fist and turn toward him without speaking. Gideon’s kneeling behind me on the steps, furiously tugging his laces out of one hiking boot, gloves discarded next to him. Both his knees are soaked through with melted snow, his coat open, his hair curling at the ends with moisture.
“C’mon,” he goes on, and looks up at me.
“Right,” I finally say, and bend over to untie my own shoelaces. I’m still wearing gloves. It takes me longer than it should to realize I’m still wearing gloves and I have to take another deep breath at that because I’m thirty-two and this is no one’s fault and I shouldn’t screamfuck glovesinto the silent forest like I want to.
Gideon sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and stands. He crosses the two steps across the porch, his own boots loose enough to step out of. He looks down at me for a moment, the space of two heartbeats, and I want to say something but I’ve got no idea what.
Silently, Gideon kneels.
“Oh,” I say, when he grabs my shoelaces. They’re double-knotted but he makes quick work of them, tugging them loose and pulling them around the eyelets, the quiet hiss of lace slipping through leather oddly loud in the snowy evening.
“No good tracking mud inside,” he grumbles, and as he finishes with one shoe he runs his hand over it lightly. Wraps his fingers around my ankle, then my calf, his thumb moving gently over my shin.
Gideon looks up at me when I push my fingers into his hair. He lets his head go back as I run my fingers through it, my own gloves finally off. His eyelids go to half-mast but his eyes don’t leave mine, even when I run a thumb over one cheekbone.
He’s blushing, still kneeling, fingers still curled around my calf. Gideon swallows and I can hear the way his throat clicks, the way it makes his breath hitch a little. I want to tell him how beautiful he is right now, with his wide shoulders and thick thighs, all that power on his knees. I want to tell him he’s worth caution. I want to tell him that I’m nervous about what’s waiting for us at the bottom of the mountain, that I’m worried about how I’ll slot into his life if that’s even what he wants.
I want to tell him that he’s sopretty, but I don’t.
“Thank you,” is all I manage to get out, and Gideon’s eyes flutter shut as he leans in and plants a sweet, soft kiss on my thigh, then reaches for my other boot. I keep my hand in his hair, lean back against the door frame, and bite my lip against all the things I’ve got the urge to say to him.
This time when he finishes he kisses my thigh right above my knee, hand in his hair, and keeps moving up until he’s at my hip, nudging my coat out of the way.
I unzip it. He pushes it open, strokes my other hip, and then he’s sliding my shirt up past the high waistband of my leggings, lips on skin, beard spiky and ticklish. I make some kind of noise, a strangled gasp-moan-laugh, and Gideon smiles when he looks up at me.
Then we’re kissing and I’m still backed against the doorframe. Gideon’s got his hands tangled in my hair, the braid now a complete disaster, pressing our bodies together, his erection rubbing against my lower belly.
When I grab his hip and grind against him, he groans. I do it again, tug his head back with my other hand still in his hair, get my mouth on the long, exposed line of his throat. Gideon’s not that much taller than me but he’s wide and powerfully built and a minute ago he was on his knees, staring up at me through his eyelashes.
I bite into a tendon—gently—and he gasps.
“Fuck, Andi,” he whispers, so I do it again and then lick the spot, our hips still grinding together. I’m seized with the sudden, wild desire to bite him harder, suck on his skin until I leave a mark so we’ve got proof of this later, but I don’t. I behave, for once.
Gideon exhales and tips his head forward. His lips brush my ear and his hands drift down my sides, then up and under my shirt until he’s gripping my ribs. I’ve spent a week watching him cage wild animals with gentle hands, soothing them while they fight, and I feel it now as he presses me into the door jamb. It’s so much easier thanthinking.
“Inside?” he rasps into my ear. I break into a whole-body shiver and he strokes the spot just below the band of my sports bra with his thumbs.
“Yeah,” I whisper back, and with a kiss to the spot below my ear, he pulls back. We get our boots the rest of the way off and he opens the door, pushing me through with a hand on my back. Coats come off in the kitchen and Gideon wrestles the sweater over my head as he backs me into the living room, then gives me a deep kiss and goes to put more wood in the wood stove. I perch on the arm of the couch andwatchuntil he closes the front of the stove and stands up, walks over, leans in.
I kiss him instead of an apology or an explanation, then pull back.
“Sit,” I say, staring up into his face, my hand on his jaw.
“And if I don’t?” he asks, all grit and growl.
“Please?” I ask, and give him my best wide-eyed ingenue look. Gideon snorts softly but sits on the couch, arms stretching over the back, knees wide. There’s no light in here but the orange flickering from the wood stove and as I straddle him and settle my weight, he could be a painting.
“Thank you,” I murmur, and lower my mouth to his. I kiss him hard, slow, and deep, my hands in his hair again. His mouth is lazy and focused, all at once; unhurried and thorough, like he’s got the patience to last for hours. Gideon smooths his hands down my back, over my ass, down my thighs until his fingers catch behind my knees and he pulls wider, sending me off-balance and into him before he settles them on the backs of my thighs and gets me exactly where he wants me.
He’s thick and hard, and I’m wearing leggings, and I swear I can feel every seam on his pants through them. I shift until I’ve got friction on my clit and then chase it, rolling my hips against him until he finally groans and presses his face into my neck.
“Still cold?” he asks, lips hot on my collarbone. Gideon’s a furnace, casting off heat.
“No.”
He makes a noise against my neck and pulls off the long-sleeved shirt I’m wearing, then hooks a finger under the lower band of my sports bra and pulls me in for a long kiss, my hands braced on his chest.
