One With You

by Sylvia Day

  I’d missed him. Missed having him like this.

  The collar of his shirt parted as he slid the buttons from their holes, exposing the strong column of his throat, then a glimpse of his chest. He stopped at the button below his pecs, teasing me, switching to his cuff links.

  He removed them slowly, one at a time, setting them carefully and deliberately on the nightstand.

  A soft whimper escaped me. Desperation was a wild thing inside me, sliding through my veins, the most potent aphrodisiac.

  Gideon shrugged out of his shirt and vest, his shoulders bunching, then relaxing.

  He was perfect. Every inch of him. Every hard slab of honed muscle visible beneath the rough silk of his skin. Nothing brutish in any way. Not too much of anything.

  Except his cock. Jesus.

  My thighs squeezed together as he toed out of his oxfords and pushed his slacks and boxer briefs down his long, strong legs. My sex ached and swelled, the blood rushing to my core, my slit slick with wanting.

  The rigid lacing of his abs flexed as he straightened. The muscles veed at his hips and pointed to the thick, long penis that curved upward between his thighs.

  “Oh God. Gideon.”

  Pre-ejaculate slicked the wide head. His testicles hung heavily, balancing the weight of his thickly veined cock. He was magnificent, beautiful in the most primal way, savagely masculine. The sight of him stirred everything feminine inside me.

  I licked my lips, my mouth flooded with moisture. I wanted to taste him, to hear his pleasure when I wasn’t lost to my own, to feel him quake and shiver when I took him over the edge.

  Gideon fisted his erection, stroking it hard from root to tip, pumping a thick pearl of moisture up to bead the tip.

  “It’s yours, angel,” he said roughly. “Take it.”

  I scrambled off the bed and started to sink to my knees.

  He caught me by the elbow, his mouth a taut line. “Naked.”

  It was hard to straighten my legs, my knees weak with desire. Harder still to resist yanking off my clothes in a rush. I was shaking as I untied my sleeveless wrap top, trying to pull open the loosened halves with some semblance of a striptease.

  His hissed intake of air when I exposed the lace of my bra betrayed his fraying control. My breasts were heavy and tender, the nipples hard and tight.

  Gideon took a step toward me, his hands sliding beneath the shoulder straps and pulling them down until I fell into his waiting palms. My eyes closed on a low moan as he squeezed gently, hefting the weight of my breasts before stroking over my nipples with the pads of his thumbs.

  “Should’ve kept you dressed,” he said tightly. But his touch said something else. That I was beautiful. Sexy. That I was all he could see.

  He pulled away and I cried out, missing his hands.

  His eyes were so dark they seemed black. “Offer them to me.”

  I shifted on my feet, my sex throbbing. Shrugging, I let my shirt drop, then reached behind me to unclasp my bra. It slid down my arms, freeing me to cup my breasts and lift them up to him.

  Bending his head with frustrating patience, Gideon ran the tip of his tongue over my nipple in a slow, unhurried lick. I wanted to scream … hit him … something. Anything to break that maddening restraint.

  “Please,” I begged, shameless. “Gideon, please …”

  He sucked, hard. Drawing on me with deep rapid pulls, his tongue furiously lashing the sensitive tip. I could smell the animal lust on him, pheromones and testosterone, the scent of a ferociously aroused virile male. It called to me, demanding and possessive. I felt the pull of it, of him. Felt the melting inside me, the surrender.

  I swayed and he caught me, tipping me back over his arms and moving to my other breast. His cheeks hollowed with the force of his sucking, my core clenching in rhythm. My spine ached with the strain of the pose I had to hold for him to take his pleasure, and that turned me on to the point of madness.

  I’d fought for him. He had killed for me. There was a bond between us, primitive and ancient, that transcended definition. He could take me, use me. I was his. I’d made him wait and he’d allowed me to for reasons I wasn’t sure I knew. But he was reminding me now that I could walk far and try to keep my distance at times, but his hand would always hold the chains that bound us together. And he would pull me back when it suited him, because I belonged to him.

  Always mine.

  “Don’t wait.” My hands went into his hair. “Fuck me. I need your cock inside me—”

  He spun me and bent me over the bed, pinning me down with a hand between my shoulder blades, reaching for the back zipper of my capris. He yanked on the pull, ripping it open and rending the cotton.

  “Are you with me?” he growled, shoving his hand into the opening to cup the cheek of my buttock.

  “Yes! God, yes …” And he knew it, but he asked. Always making sure to remind me that I had the control, that I gave him permission.

  He destroyed my pants getting them down to my knees, using just one hand while the other fisted my hair. He was rough, impatient. He gripped the band of my thong and tugged, the material digging into my skin before breaking with a snap.

  He pushed his hand between my bound legs, cupping my sex. My back arched, my body trembling.

  “Christ, you’re wet.” He pushed a finger inside me. Pulled out. Pushed in with two. “I’m so fucking hard for you.”

  The tender tissues grasped at his plunging fingers. He withdrew, circling my clit, rubbing it. I pressed into his fingertips, seeking the pressure I needed, soft pleading sounds pouring from my throat.

  “Don’t come until I’m inside you,” he growled. He grabbed my hips with both hands, pulling me back as he notched the broad head of his cock into my slit.

  He paused a moment, breathing hard and loud. Then he shoved inside me. I screamed into the mattress, stretched wide and too full, writhing to accommodate him.

  He held me aloft, my feet leaving the floor. He rolled his hips and claimed that last little space inside me, his penis tunneling deep. I squeezed every inch of him, pulsing around him in frantic pleasure.

  “Okay?” he bit out, his fingers kneading restlessly into my flesh.

  I pushed back with my arms, so close to coming it hurt. “More.”

  Through the roaring of blood in my ears I heard him groan my name. His cock swelled and lengthened, jerking as he orgasmed in hard spurts. It felt endless and maybe it was, because he started fucking through his climax, pumping me full of hot, creamy semen. The feel of him coming sparked my orgasm. It rushed over me in powerful spasms, racking my body with violent shudders.

  My nails clawed at the comforter, trying to find purchase as Gideon pounded his cock into me, lost in a hot furious rut. The slickness of his semen wet the lips of my sex, then rolled down my legs. He groaned and thrust deep, rolling his hips, screwing into me. He shuddered, coming again, only moments after his first.

  Folding over me, Gideon kissed my shoulder, his breath gusting hot and fast over the sweat-slick curve of my back. His chest heaved against my spine, his bruising grip on my hips easing. His hands began to stroke, to soothe. His fingers found my clit and massaged, stirring me, rubbing me into another trembling climax.

  His lips moved against my skin. Angel … Over and over he said the word. Brokenly. Desperately. Breathlessly.

  Forever yours.

  While deep inside me, he remained hard and ready.

  I was lying on the bed, tucked against Gideon’s side. My pants were gone and he was nude, his magnificent body still damp with sweat.

  My husband lay sprawled on his back, one thickly muscled arm arched over his head, while the other curled beneath and around me, his fingers running absently up and down the length of my torso.

  We lay naked atop the sheets, his legs spread, his cock semierect and curving up to his navel. It glistened in the light of the bedside lamps, wet from me and him. His breathing was just beginning to slow, his heartbeat calming beneath my ear. He smelle
d delicious, like sin and sex and Gideon.

  “I don’t remember how we got on the bed,” I murmured, my voice throaty and near hoarse.

  Gideon’s chest rumbled with a laugh. Turning his head, he pressed his lips to my forehead.

  I curled tighter into him, my arm draping across his waist and holding on tight.

  “You good?” he asked softly.

  Tipping my head back, I looked at him. He was flushed and sweaty, his hair clinging to his temples and neck. His body was a well-oiled machine, used to the strenuous mixed martial arts he used to condition it. He wasn’t wiped from fucking; he could do that all night, tirelessly. It was the effort of holding back as long as he could, reining himself in until I was as wild for him as he was for me.

  “You fucked my brains out.” I smiled, feeling drugged. “My toes and fingers are tingling.”

  “I was rough.” He touched my hip. “I bruised you.”

  “Umm … ” My eyes closed. “I know.”

  I felt him shift, rising, blocking out the light.

  “You like that,” he murmured.

  I looked up at him leaning over me. I touched his face, tracing his brow and his jaw with my fingertips. “I love your control. It turns me on.”

  He caught my fingers in his teeth, then released them. “I know.”

  “But when you lose it … ” I sighed, remembering. “It drives me crazy to know I can do that to you, that you want me that much.”

  His head dropped, his forehead touching mine. He tugged me closer, making me feel how hard he was again. “More than anything.”

  “And you trust me.” In my arms, he let every guard down. The ferocity of his need didn’t hide his vulnerability; it revealed it.

  “More than anyone.” He slid over me, covering my body from ankle to shoulder, effortlessly supporting his weight so he didn’t crush me. The sensual pressure made me hot for him all over again.

  Tilting his head, Gideon brushed his lips over mine. “Crossfire,” he murmured.

  Crossfire was my safeword, what I said to him when I was overwhelmed and needed him to stop whatever he was doing. When he said the word to me, he was overwhelmed, too, but he didn’t want me to stop. For Gideon, Crossfire conveyed a connection deeper than love.

  My mouth curved. “I love you, too.”

  Wrapping myself around a pillow, I looked toward the closet and listened to the sound of Gideon singing. I smiled ruefully. He was showered and dressing, and obviously feeling energetic despite beginning the morning by screwing me into an orgasm that left me seeing stars.

  It took me a moment to recognize the song. When I did, I felt butterflies. “At Last.” Whether it was the Etta James or Beyoncé version he was hearing in his mind didn’t matter. What I heard was his voice, rich and nuanced, singing about seeing blue skies and smiles that cast a spell on him.

  He stepped out knotting a charcoal tie, his vest unbuttoned and his jacket slug over his arm. Lucky scurried out after him, never far behind. After being freed from the playpen that morning, the puppy had become his shadow.

  Gideon’s gaze landed on me. He flashed me a heartbreaker of a smile. “And here we are,” he crooned.

  “Here I am, anyway. Leveled by hours of sex. I don’t think I can stand and you’re”—I gestured at him—“you. It’s not fair. I’m not doing something right.”

  Gideon sat on the edge of the rumpled bed, looking impeccable. Bending over, he kissed me. “Remind me … How many times did I come last night?”

  I shot him a look. “Not enough, apparently, since you were ready to go again when the sun came up.”

  “Which proves the point that you’re doing something very right.” He brushed the hair off my cheek. “I’m tempted to stay home, but I’ve got to clear the decks so we can disappear for a month. As you can see, I’m extremely motivated.”

  “You were serious about that?”

  “You thought I wasn’t?” Brushing the sheet aside, he cupped my breast.

  I caught his hand before he aroused me again. “A monthlong honeymoon. I’ll wear you out at least once. I’m determined.”

  “Will you?” His eyes sparkled with laughter. “Only once?”

  “You’re asking for it, ace. By the time I’m done, you’ll beg me to leave you alone.”

  “That will never happen, angel. Not in a million years.”

  His confidence challenged me.

  I tugged the sheet back up again. “We’ll just see about that.”

  8

  As Angus walked into my office, I looked up from the e-mail I was reading. He held his hat in his hands and came to a stop in front of my desk.

  “I went through Terrence Lucas’s office last night,” he said. “I didnae find anything.”

  I hadn’t expected him to, so wasn’t surprised. “It’s possible Hugh told Anne what he knows and there are no records to be found.”

  He nodded grimly. “While I was at it, I deleted all traces of Eva’s appointment on both their onsite hard drives and backups. I also wiped the video footage of you and Eva being there. I checked and he never asked security for a copy, so you should be fine if he takes his wife’s cue and files any complaints of his own.”

  That was Angus, always taking all possibilities into consideration.

  “Wouldn’t the police find that interesting?” I sat back. “The Lucases have as much to lose as I do.”

  “They’re culpable, lad. You’re not.”

  “It’s never that simple.”

  “You have everything you’ve wanted and deserve. They cannae take anything from you.”

  Except my self-respect and the respect of my friends and colleagues. I’d worked so hard to regain both in the aftermath of my father’s very public disgrace. Those who wanted to find weaknesses in me would be satisfied. That didn’t alarm me as much as it once would have.

  Angus was right. I’d made my fortune and I had Eva.

  If securing her peace of mind meant retreating from public scrutiny, I could do it. It was something I’d taken into consideration when Nathan Barker was still a threat. Eva had been willing to hide our relationship from the world to spare me from any possible scandal stemming from her past. It was a sacrifice I hadn’t been willing to make. Hiding. Sneaking moments together. Pretending for others that we weren’t falling deeply and irrevocably in love.

  It was different now. She’d become as necessary as air. Protecting her happiness was more crucial than ever. I knew what it felt like to be judged for the sins of someone else and I would never put my wife through that. Contrary to her belief, I could live without having my hand in everything Cross Industries was involved in.

  I wouldn’t spend my days in a damned loincloth role-playing Tarzan, but there was a comfortable medium between the two extremes.

  “You warned me about Anne.” I shook my head. “I should’ve listened to you.”

  He shrugged that off. “What’s done is done. Anne Lucas is a grown woman. She’s old enough to take responsibility for her decisions.”

  What are you doing, lad? he’d asked, as Anne slid into the back of the Bentley that first night. In the weeks that followed, he made his disapproval more and more clear until one day, he raised his voice to me. Disgusted with myself for punishing a woman who’d done nothing to me, I’d taken it out on him, telling him to remember his place.

  The brief look of pain he’d quickly hidden would haunt me to my grave.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, holding his gaze. “For how I handled it.”

  A small smile crinkled the lines on his face. “The apology isn’t necessary, but I accept it.”

  “Thank you.”

  Scott’s voice came through the speaker. “The PosIT team is here. I also have Arnoldo Ricci on the line for you. He says it won’t take long.”

  I looked at Angus to see if he had anything further for me. He tapped his brow in a casual salute and left.

  Speaking to Scott, I said, “Put him through.”

  I wai
ted for the red light to flash, then opened the line on speaker. “Where are you now?”

  “Hello to you, too, my friend,” Arnoldo greeted, his voice accented with the notes of Italy. “I hear I missed you and Eva at the restaurant this week.”

  “We had an excellent lunch.”

  “Ah, it is the only kind we serve. We are not so bad with dinner, either.”

  I rocked back in my chair. “You’re in New York?”

  “Yes, and planning your bachelor party, which is why I’m calling. If you have plans this weekend, cancel them.”

  “Eva and I will be out of town.”

  “She will be out of town. In fact, out of the country, from what I understand from Shawna. And you will be out of town, too. The rest of the guys are in agreement with me. We are going to force you to leave New York for a change.”

  I was so taken aback by the first part of what Arnoldo said that I hardly heard the last. “Eva isn’t leaving the country.”

  “You’ll have to take that up with her and her friends,” he said smoothly. “As for us, we are going to Rio.”

  I found myself standing. Damn it. Eva wasn’t in the Crossfire. I couldn’t just take an elevator and find her.

  “I’m going to ask Scott to arrange the flight,” he continued. “We’ll leave Friday evening and plan to return Monday in time for you to go to work, if you are ambitious enough.”

  “Where is Eva going?”

  “I have no idea. Shawna wouldn’t say, because it’s not for you to know. She told me only that they would be gone for the weekend and I should plan on keeping you occupied, because Cary doesn’t want you to interfere.”

  “That’s not his decision to make,” I snapped.

  He paused. “Being angry at me won’t help you, Gideon. And if you don’t trust her, my friend, you shouldn’t be marrying her.”

  My grip on the phone tightened. “Arnoldo, you’re the closest friend I have. But that’ll change if you don’t get your head out of your ass when it comes to Eva.”

  “You mistake me,” he corrected hurriedly. “If you cage her for your own security, you will lose her. What is considered romantic in a boyfriend can be stifling in a husband.”