by Sylvia Day
“Hit it, girl,” Lacey said with a nod.
I took off in search of the stairs to the skywalk. I found them guarded by a bouncer policing the number of bodies allowed to venture up. There was a line and I eyed it with dismay.
As I debated how much of a delay I was facing, the bouncer unfolded his powerful arms from across his chest and pressed his earpiece deeper into his ear with one hand, clearly focusing on whatever was being relayed through his receiver. He could have been Samoan or Maori, with dark caramel skin, a shaved head, and massive barrel chest and biceps. He had a baby face and was downright adorable when his fierce scowl was replaced by a wide grin.
His hand dropped away from his ear and he crooked a finger at me. “You Eva?”
I nodded.
He reached behind him and unhooked the velvet rope blocking the stairway. “Head on up.”
A roar of protests came from those who were waiting. I offered an apologetic smile, then raced up the metal stairs as fast as my heels would allow. When I reached the top, a female bouncer let me through and pointed to my left. I saw the corner Gideon had mentioned, where two mirrored walls connected and the skywalk wrapped around it in an L shape.
I weaved my way through writhing bodies, my pulse rate increasing with every step. The music was less loud up here and the air more humid. Sweat glistened on exposed skin and the elevation lent a sense of danger, even though the glass railing surrounding the skywalk was shoulder-high. I was almost to the mirrored section when I was caught around the waist and pulled back into a man’s rolling hips.
Looking over my shoulder, I saw the guy I’d danced with before, the one who’d called me beautiful. I smiled and started dancing, closing my eyes to lose myself in the music. When his hands started to slide over my waist, I caught them, pinning them to my hips with my own. He laughed and dipped his knees, aligning his body with mine.
We were three songs out before I felt the ripple of awareness that told me Gideon was nearby. The electrical charge swept over my skin, heightening every sensation. Abruptly the music was louder, the temperature hotter, the sensuality of the club more arousing.
I smiled and opened my eyes, spotting him arrowing toward me. I was instantly hot for him, my mouth watering as I ate up the sight of him in a dark T-shirt and jeans, his hair pulled back from that breathtaking face. No one seeing him would put him together with Gideon Cross, the international mogul. This guy appeared younger and rougher, distinctive only for his incredible smokin’ hotness. I licked my lips with anticipation, leaning into the guy behind me and rubbing my ass voluptuously into the next roll of his hips.
Gideon’s hands fisted at his sides, his posture aggressive and predatory. He didn’t slow as he neared me, his body on a collision course with mine. Turning, I met him the last step, surging into him. Our bodies crashed together, my arms encircling his shoulders and my hands pulling his head down so I could take his mouth in a wet, hungry kiss.
With a growl, Gideon cupped my ass and yanked me up hard against him, my feet leaving the floor. He bruised my lips with the ferocity of his passion, his tongue filling my mouth with hard, deep plunges that warned me of the violent shades of his lust.
The guy I’d been dancing with came up behind me, his hands in my hair and his lips at my shoulder blade.
Gideon pulled back, his face a gorgeous mask of fury. “Get lost.”
I looked at the guy and gave a shrug. “Thanks for the dance.”
“Anytime, beautiful.” He caught the hips of a girl walking by and moved away.
“Angel.” With a growl, Gideon pressed me into the mirror, his hard thigh thrust between my legs. “You’re a bad girl.”
Shameless and eager, I rode him, gasping at the feel of denim against my tender sex. “Only for you.”
He gripped my bare buttocks beneath my dress, spurring me on. His teeth caught the shell of my ear, my silver chandelier earrings brushing my neck. He was breathing hard, low rumbles vibrating in his chest. He smelled so good and my body responded, trained to associate his scent with the wildest, hottest of pleasures.
We danced, straining together, our bodies moving as if there were no clothes between us. The music pounded around us, through us, and he moved his amazing body to it, captivating me. We’d danced before, ballroom style, but never like this. This sweaty, dirty grinding. I was surprised, turned on, fell even deeper in love.
Gideon watched me with a hooded gaze, seducing me with his need and his uninhibited moves. I was lost in him, wrapped around him, clawing to get closer.
He kneaded my breast through the thin black jersey of my spaghetti-strapped dress. The built-in shelf bra was no barrier. His fingers stroked, then tugged the hardened point of my nipple.
As I moaned, my head fell back against the mirror. Dozens of people surrounded us and I didn’t care. I just needed his hands on me, his body against mine, his breath on my skin.
“You want me,” he said harshly, “right here.”
I quivered at the thought. “Would you?”
“You want them to watch. You want them to see me fuck my cock into your greedy little cunt until you’re dripping in cum. You want me to prove you’re mine.” His teeth sank into the top of my shoulder. “Make you feel it.”
“I want to prove that you’re mine,” I shot back, shoving my hands into the pockets of his jeans to feel his hard ass flex. “I want everyone to know it.”
Gideon hitched one arm beneath my rear and lifted me, his other hand slapping flat against a pad on the wall by the mirror. I heard a faint beeping, and then a door opened in the mirror at my back and we stepped into almost total darkness. The concealed entrance closed behind us, muting the music. We were in an office, with a desk, a seating area, and a 180-degree view of the club through two-way mirrors.
He put me down and spun me, pinning my front to the transparent side of the glass. The club was spread out before me, the dancers on the skywalk only inches away. His hands were up my skirt and in the bodice of my dress, fingers sliding into my cleft and rolling my nipple.
I was snared. His big body covered mine, his arms around me, torso to hips, his teeth in my shoulder holding me in place. He owned me.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, his lips drifting up my throat. “Safeword before I scare you.”
Emotion flooded me, gratitude for this man who always—always—thought of me first. “I provoked you. I want to be taken. I want you wild.”
“You’re so hot for it,” he purred, pumping two fingers quick and hard into me. “You were made for fucking.”
“Made for you,” I gasped, my breath fogging the glass. I was on fire for him, my desire pouring out from the inside, from the well of love I couldn’t contain.
“Did you forget that tonight?” His hand left my sex to reach between us and yank open his fly. “When other men were touching you, rubbing against you? Did you forget you’re mine?”
“Never. I never forget.” My eyes closed as his erection, so stiff and warm, rested heavily against the bare cheek of my ass. He was hot for it, too. Hot for me. “I called you. Wanted you.”
His lips moved over my skin, forging a scorching trail to my mouth. “Take me, then, angel,” he coaxed, his tongue touching mine with teasing licks. “Put me inside you.”
Arching my back, I reached between my legs, my hand circling his thickness. He bent his knees, lining himself up for me.
I paused, turning my head to press my cheek to his. I loved that I could have this with him … be this way with him. Circling my hips, I stroked my clit with the wide crest of his cock, making him slick with my arousal.
Gideon squeezed my swollen breasts, plumping them. “Lean into me, Eva. Push away from the glass.”
With my palm to the two-way mirror, I pushed back, my head pillowed on his shoulder. He wrapped my throat with his hand, gripped my hip, and thrust so hard into me that my feet left the floor. He held me there, suspended in his arms, filled with his cock, his groan cascading ov
er my senses.
On the other side of the glass, the club raged on. I abandoned myself to the wickedly intense pleasure of seemingly exhibitionist sex, an illicit fantasy that always drove us wild.
I writhed, unable to bear the decadent pressure. My hand between my legs reached lower, cradled his sac. He was tight and full, so ready. And inside me … “Oh God. You’re so hard.”
“I was made to fuck you,” he whispered, sending shivers of delight through me.
“Do it.” I set both hands on the glass, beyond needy. “Do it now.”
Gideon lowered me to my feet, his hands steadying me as I bent at the waist, opening myself to him so he could slide deep. A low, keening cry escaped as he seized my hips and angled me, knowing just how to position me to make me fit him. He was too big for me, too long and thick. The stretching was intense. Delicious.
My core trembled, clenching desperately around him. He made a rough sound of pleasure, pulling out just a little before sliding back slowly. Again, then again. The wide crest of his cock massaging the bundle of nerves deep inside me that only he’d ever reached.
Fingers clawing restlessly, leaving steamy trails on the glass, I moaned. I was achingly aware of the distant throb of the music and the mass of people I saw as clearly as if they were in the room with us.
“That’s it, angel,” he said urgently. “Let me hear how much you like it.”
“Gideon.” My legs shook violently on a particularly skillful stroke, my weight supported only by the glass and his secure hold.
I was unbearably excited, greedy, feeling both the submission of my pose and the dominance of being serviced. I could do nothing but take what Gideon gave me, the rhythmic slide and retreat, the sounds of his hunger. The scrape of his jeans against my thighs told me he’d pushed them down only far enough to free his cock, a sign of impatience that thrilled me.
One of his hands left my hip, then returned to rest atop my ass. I felt the pad of his thumb, wet from his mouth, rubbing over the tight pucker of my rear.
“No,” I begged, afraid I’d lose my mind. But it wasn’t my safeword—Crossfire—and I flowered open for him, giving way under the questing pressure.
He growled as he claimed that dark place. He came over me, his other hand moving to finger my sex, to spread me and rub my pulsing clit. “Mine,” he said gruffly. “You’re mine.”
It was too much. I came with a scream, shaking violently, my hands squeaking on the glass as my sweaty palms slipped. He began pounding the ecstasy into me, his thumb in my rear an irresistible torment, his clever fingers on my clit driving me insane. One orgasm rolled into another, my sex rippling along his plunging cock.
He made a rough sound of desire and swelled inside me, chasing his climax. I gasped, “Don’t come! Not yet.”
Gideon’s tempo slowed, his breathing harsh in the darkness. “How do you want me?”
“I want to watch you.” I moaned as my core tightened again. “Want to see your face.”
He withdrew and pulled me upright. Turned and lifted me. Pressed me to the glass and thrust hard into me. In that moment of possession, he gave me what I needed. The glazed look of helpless pleasure, the instant of vulnerability before the lust seized his control.
“You want to watch me lose it,” he said hoarsely.
“Yes.” I pulled the straps from my shoulders and exposed my breasts, lifting and squeezing them, toying with my nipples. The glass was vibrating with the beat against my back; Gideon was vibrating against my front, his body barely reined.
I pressed my lips to his, absorbing his panting breaths. “Let go,” I whispered.
Holding me effortlessly, he withdrew, dragging the thick, heavy crown across the hypersensitive tissues inside me. Then he powered into me, taking me to my limits.
“Ah, God.” I writhed in his grip. “You’re so deep.”
“Eva.”
He fucked me hard, thrusting like a man possessed. I held on, trembling, spread wide for the relentless drives of his rigid penis. He was lost to instinct, the insistent desire to mate. Raw moans spilled from him, making me so hot and slick that my body offered no resistance, welcoming his desperate need.
It was rough and messy and sexy as hell. His neck arched and he gasped my name.
“Come for me,” I demanded, tightening around him, squeezing.
His whole body jerked hard, then shuddered. His mouth twisted in a grimace of agonized bliss, his eyes losing their focus as the climax built.
Gideon came with an animal roar, spurting so hard I felt it. Over and over, heating me from the inside with thick washes of semen.
My lips were all over him, my arms and legs holding tight.
He collapsed against me, his lungs heaving for breath.
Still coming.
10
THE FIRST THING I saw when I woke up Sunday morning was an amber bottle labeled HANGOVER CURE in an old-fashioned font. A raffia bow adorned the neck and a cork stopper kept the stomach-turning contents safe. The “cure” worked, as I’d learned the last time Gideon had given me the stuff, but the sight of it reminded me of how much alcohol I’d consumed the night before.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I groaned and buried my head in the pillow, willing myself back to sleep.
The bed shifted. Warm, firm lips drifted down my bare spine. “Good morning, angel mine.”
“You sound ridiculously pleased with yourself,” I muttered.
“Pleased with you, actually.”
“Fiend.”
“I was referring to your crisis management suggestions, but of course the sex was phenomenal, as always.” His hand slid beneath the sheet that was pooled around my waist and he squeezed my ass.
I lifted my head and found him propped against the headboard beside me with his laptop on his thighs. He looked mouthwatering, as usual, completely relaxed in drawstring lounging pants. I was certain I was looking far less attractive. I’d taken the limo home with the girls, then met up with Gideon at his apartment. It was nearly dawn before I’d finished with him and I’d been so tired, I crashed with hair still wet from a hasty shower.
A tingle of pleasure moved through me at finding him next to me. He’d slept in the guest room, and he had an office to work in. The fact that he chose to work in the bed I slept in meant he’d just wanted to be near me, even while I was unconscious.
I turned my head to look at the bedside clock, but my gaze snagged on my wrist instead.
“Gideon …” The watch that had been placed on my arm while I slept enchanted me. The Art Deco–inspired timepiece sparkled with hundreds of tiny diamonds. The band was a creamy satin and the mother-of-pearl face was branded with both Patek Philippe and Tiffany & Co. “It’s gorgeous.”
“There are only twenty-five of those in the world, which isn’t nearly as unique as you are, but then, what is?” He smiled down at me.
“I love it.” I pushed up onto my knees. “I love you.”
He shoved his laptop aside in time for me to straddle him and hug him tightly.
“Thank you,” I murmured, touched by his thoughtfulness. He would’ve gone out for it while I was at my mother’s or maybe just after I left with the girls.
“Umm. Tell me how to earn one of these naked hugs every day.”
“Just be you, ace.” I rubbed my cheek against his. “You’re all I need.”
I slid out of bed and padded over to the bathroom with the small amber bottle in my hand. I guzzled the contents down with a shudder, brushed my teeth and hair, and then washed my face. I pulled on a robe and returned to the bedroom, finding Gideon gone and his laptop lying open in the middle of the bed.
I passed him in his office, seeing him standing with his feet planted wide and his arms crossed, facing the window. The city stretched out in front of him. Not the skyline view he had in his Crossfire office or his penthouse, but a closer vantage. More grounded and immediate. The connection with the city more intimate.
“I don’t share your concern,” he sai
d briskly into his earpiece mic. “I’m aware of the risk … Stop talking. The subject isn’t open to debate. Draw up the agreement as specified.”
Recognizing that all-business note of steel in his voice, I kept walking. I still wasn’t sure exactly what was in the bottle, but I suspected it was vitamins and liquor of some sort. Hair of the dog. It was warming my belly and making me feel lethargic, so I went to the kitchen and made a cup of coffee.
Supplied with caffeine, I plopped down on the couch and checked my smartphone for messages. I frowned when I saw that I’d missed three calls from my dad, all before eight in the morning in California. I also noted a dozen missed calls from my mom, but I figured Monday was soon enough to deal with her again. And there was a text from Cary that shouted, CALL ME!
I called my dad back first, trying to swallow a quick drink of coffee before he answered.
“Eva.”
The anxious way my dad said my name told me something was wrong. I sat up straighter. “Dad … Is everything all right?”
“Why didn’t you tell me about Nathan Barker?” His voice was hoarse and filled with pain. Goose bumps swept across my skin.
Oh, fuck. He knew. My hand shook so badly, I spilled hot coffee on my hand and thigh. I didn’t even feel it; I was so panicked by my father’s anguish. “Dad, I—”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Or Monica. My God … She should’ve said something. Should’ve told me.” He sucked in a shaky breath. “I had the right to know!”
Sorrow spread through my chest like acid. My dad—a man whose self-control rivaled Gideon’s—sounded like he was crying.
I set my mug on the coffee table, my breathing fast and shallow. Nathan’s sealed juvenile records had broken open upon his death, exposing the horror of my past to anyone who had the knowledge and means to find it. As a cop, my dad had those means.
“There’s nothing you could’ve done,” I told him, stunned, but trying to hold it together for his sake. My smartphone beeped with an incoming call, but I ignored it. “Before or after.”
