“You okay?” I ask, lifting my head a little.
“Fine,” he says, and then under his breath, “JesusfuckingChrist.”
With that, Gideon shines a fucking spotlight on me. I flinch and protest and throw an arm over my face, protectively covering my crotch with the other hand for some reason.
“Is that a flashlight?”
“No.”
“Yes, it is,” I say, even though I’ve got an arm over my face because that isclearly a flashlight, Gideon, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. Meanwhile his weight is back between my legs, rough fingers on the delicate skin of my inner thighs.
Then he leans in and bites my nipple through the sweater and it makes me gasp and swear and squirm.
“It’s a headlamp. I couldn’t see,” he explains, and now he’s pushing the sweater up my torso and that’s his mouth on my nipple, hot and wet and teeth just this side of too much. “Keep going.”
I swallow, and breathe, and I don’t move my arm from over my eyes, but I start moving my fingers on my clit again in slow, slippery circles. He breathes in, ragged, and the sound makes me bite my lip and buck my hips.
“You look,” he starts, hands stroking up my thighs, and I swear I can feel him watching me, like the light is heated. “Really good,” he finally finishes.
Then he pushes my thighs a little wider again and I hear a tiny whimpering noise and Gideon’s stroking my entrance, dipping a fingertip inside, and I don’t have much leverage spread out like this but I try like hell to getmoreand Gideon rewards me by sliding his fingers knuckle-deep in one stroke.
“Good?” he asks, and when I nod and make some sort of confirming noise, he bends them just enough to send sparks up my spine.
“Nnnguh,” I manage, and I’m still rubbing my clit, still trying to do it slowly but my fingertips keep brushing against his palm where he’s got his hand inside me, his fingers moving—ohfuck—moving in time with mine.
Gideon leans in again, plants an open-mouthed kiss on my belly that makes me squirm. Another on my hip. Another on my inner thigh, and when he stops, I get brave and peek out from under my arm. I can’t see very well because holy shit that thing isbright, but after a couple seconds I can make out Gideon’s face, staring at our hands working together with a combination of wonder and concentration.
Then he leans in and I can’t see what he’s doing but a second later his tongue, hot and wet and slippery, is at the juncture of the two fingers I’m using to stroke myself. He leaves it there for a moment before he slides it down the crease, the muscle working its way between my fingers until the tip is on my clit.
I cover my face with my arm again because I make a strangled, pleading noise as his mouth keeps going and I move my fingers apart, framing my clit for his tongue. Gideon takes the invitation and works it slowly at first, the tip of his tongue gentle and tentative, his fingers inside me stroking softly in time and it’s good, it’sgood, and it’s also not quite enough.
“You could go harder,” I say in a voice that doesn’t quite sound like mine. There’s an answering rumble from somewhere between my legs and then everything is faster and harder and I choke on a moan, threading my fingers into his hair.
When I’m brave enough, I look down and I get treated to the sight of Gideon’s face between my legs, the headlamp shining uselessly across my belly, the light already askew. He makes a noise when I pull it off his head and toss it somewhere else in the room, but he doesn’t stop.
I watch him as long as I can, one hand still in his hair, but Gideon’s tongue and fingers are relentless and God, he’s following instructions and he’sfocused, sticking to the same rhythm and pressure and, holy shit,suctionas I close my eyes and throw my head back and try not to crush his face against me as I slowly lose my mind.
I think I might kick him a little when I come, sparks exploding behind my eyes as a high, breathy moan escapes me. I definitely pull his hair and grind myself against his mouth, and Gideon takes it without batting an eye, licking me through it until it’s suddenly too much and now I’m pulling his hair to get his head away and trying to scoot backward on the couch. I make another noise when he pulls his fingers out and then he’s got his forehead against my belly, both of us breathing hard.
I flop my legs around his torso just because I can. After a moment he looks up at me, smug as anything, and I half want to roll my eyes and shove him off and half want to knock him to the floor so I can ride his face a couple more times.
“It’s pretty hot when you wear my sweater,” he says, lifting himself off me enough to lean against the back of the couch, my legs still awkwardly around him.
“You think so?” I tease, still breathing hard, because yes, I’d noticed he was into it.
“And it’sreallyhot when you wear nothing but my sweater,” he says, and tangles a couple fingers in the hem. I don’t point out that I’m technically still wearing socks, but I do rearrange myself until I’ve got both thighs slung across his lap, and he settles his other hand there.
“Thanks,” I say, because that’s an appropriate response to a compliment. Gideon smirks, so I sit up on the couch and kiss him. He tastes like me.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
GIDEON
It’s barelydawn when we leave the cabin, packs heavy on our backs, breath fogging in the morning air, the curtains closed and the inside dark, everything folded up and packed away for whoever uses this place next. It feels like a different cabin, almost, like nothing could have ever happened here.
I lock the door, mostly because one should lock doors, and zip the key into my pocket. I remind myself that we’ve still got the day, ten long miles of being alone together on the trail, before the world breaks in and—well, before the world breaks in.
“You sure your ankle’s okay?” Andi asks, breath steaming skyward, the floorboards of the front porch creaking under our feet.
