Page 38 of Gideon
“Thank you, Levi,” I answered with all the sincerity I possessed.
“Anytime, Gideon. Now go talk to your submissive, and then comfort your wife,” he chuckled knowingly.
“Sounds like crazy talk to know they are one and the same,” I muttered, sighing heavily.
“To anyone but a Dominant, yes, it would. Goodnight, brother.” The call ended, and I closed my eyes, readying myself for what I needed to do. I made my way off of the boat and headed to the house in search of my wife and the conversation that needed to happen.
Naomi
What in the hell was that? And more importantly, how did I feel about it? Thoughts ran in nonsensical circles through my mind, making me feel scattered and more confused by the second.
On the one hand, I knew to the depths of my soul that I would never allow another human being to take me the way those men had all those years ago. It was foolish to allow Gideon such liberties with me. I knew better. I damn well knew better. To put myself at such a risk with these people here in Zion? The thought alone made my stomach roll and sicken. He could have done anything. He could have taken me to his father, to the Elders, without a second thought. I fucking knew better!
On the other hand, he hadn’t taken me anywhere. He had taken me for himself, and I had never been more aroused in my life. It was heady, passionate, and incredible.
Until it wasn’t. Until I had come down from the heights of pleasure and remembered where I was, who I was, and most importantly, who I was with. A Temple. And no matter what he had said… he was a Son of Zion. And he was a fucking Temple. A son of one of the men who had taken me.
I steeled myself, resigning myself to the core values I had pledged as a young girl, and held tightly to this day. Even as I bolstered myself in the knowledge and strength of my convictions, the memory of his hands on my skin and his commands whispered into my ear haunted me. They called to me like a voice in the night I couldn’t help but answer.
Knock! Knock!
My eyes went to the sound at the bedroom door, and I knew he was there.
“Yes?” I called out timidly, cursing myself for sounding so frightened and small. That was not the image I wanted to portray to him. Not now. Not ever.
“Naomi? We need to talk. Will you unlock the door, please?” There was no anger or forcefulness to his voice, and yet, I hesitated.
“I need some time, Gideon,” I called out with false bravado and courage.
“I know, and I will give you time and space. I swear it. But we need to talk first. Please let me in,” he reiterated. I could hear the pleading tone in his voice and I wanted to answer it. But I was afraid. Not of him, but of myself. I was afraid if I let him in, I could not say no to him, unable to hold fast to my truth and my plan.
“Not now, Gideon. Please,” I implored him.
“Naomi, I’m serious. We need to talk about what happened. There is more you need to hear; more you need to understand. And then I will leave you be. I will not ask you to do anything. I won’t even touch you,” he begged.
He wouldn’t touch me? The thought gave me hope and disappointed me, all in the same breath of space. But maybe he was right. Maybe he could give reason to the confusion I felt. I couldn’t make sense of my own thoughts, and that had never happened before. Not once in my life.
“You swear it?” I called back in response, standing from the bed, but not ready to concede just yet.
“On my life, I swear it,” he sighed heavily. Still, I faltered and stayed silent, unmoving.
“Naomi?” he called out when I did not respond.
“I swear on the Ataraxia,” he begged. I heard a thud. Was he knocking his head against the door? “Please, Naomi. Please.” He whispered the last word, and it was my undoing.
I walked to the bedroom door, unlocking it and backing away to the bed once more. I wasn’t afraid of him, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. One look at him, and I feared I would give up all my convictions and beg him to take me again. And I didn’t want that.
Did I?
I didn’t know anymore.
I stood there as he entered the room, my arms wrapped around my torso in an attempt to hold in the desire I felt to go to him. I could feel his presence in the room, and the tension between us — both awkward and sexual — settled like a fog.
“Sit and talk with me, Naomi. Please,” he asked with such gentleness I could feel it pierce the thin layer of armor I held dear. I simply nodded. We sat together on the edge of the bed we shared, both of us quiet for a long moment.
“I fucked up,” he admitting. To say it surprised me was the biggest understatement of the year.
“How?” I asked, not understanding.
