Page 50 of Gideon
“Always,” I muttered against her hair as my eyelids closed heavily and sleep claimed us both.
CHAPTER13
GIDEON
The next two days flew by, filled with conversations about Naomi’s past, and about kink in nearly equal measure. For as deep and painful as her story was, pulling us both into anguish each time she unearthed new and more horrifying details, her excitement to learn more about the world of kink knew almost no bounds. It was exquisite to watch as she came alive with each question she asked and each thing I explained.
She was anxious and excited to try everything out. More than that, she was growing frustrated that two whole days had passed, and I had not actually showed her yet. It was important that she understood before we engaged in anything further, but if I were being completely honest with myself, it was also far too much fun to make her wait for it. Her natural bratty nature was a near perfect match for my brat-handler side. I didn’t want to tame her, to force her down into submission — not yet, anyway. It was way too much fun, watching her squirm and grow antsy with glorious anticipation. I wanted her to not just want it, but to need it. To need to understand and explore it. With me.
Yesterday had been full of information from both of us. It had been a draining day in the end. We spent half of the day discussing her story, going over every harrowing event in greater detail, and looking for clues in her memory. The other half had been filled with constant discussions about what things were in the kink world, and how we both felt about them. It was one of the most intense and yet also down-to-earth negotiations I had ever been a part of.
Today, however, had been a new game. A game I was desperate to play. I had decided when I woke up this morning that today would be the day we would take that first proper step into kink. She had shown so much desire to learn that it was obvious she consented. When she had said the words, actually stated it aloud, that she wanted to take this journey with me, I knew it was time. We both knew that this endeavor would be on a case-by-case basis. Each step we took together could be the last, should she decide it wasn’t the right choice for her. I was not afraid of that. It was always the case with kink. Consent could be revoked at any time. For her, it was a monumental decision. To trust me to take her to that place… I didn’t take it lightly.
Tonight, we would have our first real scene. I wasn’t going to count our previous play, as we hadn’t fully negotiated it, let alone consented to it. Tonight would be the beginning. Which meant that today had been full of tireless flirting. I wanted her on edge. I wanted her needy.
“Gideon?” she called from the kitchen. She had been preparing our lunch for the last twenty minutes, her loud clattering only matched by the sound of her cursing. The woman was a disaster in the kitchen. I mean, a downright train wreck. I was no chef, but good Lord! The poor girl could burn water! It was a fact I found endlessly amusing.
“Yes, dear?” I called from the spare bedroom. Naomi had made the room an organized masterpiece of random things. As it was, I was searching for a box of things I had shoved in here a few months ago, and was having absolutely no luck.
“Gideon!” she called even louder. I chuckled as I made my way down the stairs to see what was the matter.
“Yes, Naomi. What seems to be the — Fuck! What happened!” I screamed as I dashed into the kitchen at the sight of smoke and fire coming from the stove.
“I don’t know what happened!” she shrieked, holding a cup in her hand.
I quickly grabbed the lid to the skillet from the counter and covered the fire, coughing and swatting at the thick smoke clouding the room.
“What happened?” I sputtered out through my coughing as I leaned over the sink to open the window to air the room out faster.
“I was making fried chicken and something happened,” she coughed.
“What happened?” I reiterated my question. Not understanding how frying chicken resulted in fire.
“Oh, like you can do it better, Mr. I-Can-Make-Three-Things,” she snarked, her hands immediately going to her hips and that brow quirking up in sheer sass.
“Aw, you’re just jealous because you can only make two things,” I teased right back, earning me a smack to the arm as she literally growled in agitation. “Vixen’s got some fire, huh?” I teased her, pulling a towel from the countertop and swatting it towards her. She shrieked and jumped back, already giggling at our antics.
I chased her, spinning the towel and flicking it towards her. She dodged it once, then twice, before I finally landed a perfect snap, right on her pert little ass. She tried to run into the living room, but I caught her around the waist, pulling her to me.
“What happened in the kitchen, little vixen,” I teased sensuously, rocking us back and forth slowly to non-existent music.
“I was trying to fry the chicken,” she began, her hands winding up my chest and around my neck. Her fingers twined into the hair at the nape of my neck, and I gave a low, rumbling sound of approval at her touch. “Something happened and poof, fire. So I threw my cup of water on it—”
“Shit,” I hissed, realizing her mistake.
“And the tiny flame became a big flame,” she continued.
“Water will do that to a grease fire. You’ve got to cover it,” I explained, chuckling at her misfortune. It was a funny situation now, in hindsight.
“I’ll tuck that tidbit away for next time,” she chuckled along with me.
“See that you do, or the house might go down in flamesnext time,” I teased, kissing the tip of her nose. My hands moved over her back, sliding down to her hips and cupping that perfect little ass of hers. She nuzzled in closer as my lips found the shell of her ear. “Your ass feels so good,” I groaned, soft and low.
“Mmm,” she murmured against me, nuzzling closer. Her leg slipped between my own as we danced to our own secret rhythm. “You feel good like this.”
“Like what?” I asked her, urging her to continue that train of thought.
“Against me, with me,” she whispered against my neck. Her soft breath fanned over my skin. Every single touch, every breath of hers felt like electricity sparking over my skin, setting me on fire. Much like the now ruined skillet of chicken that sat discarded on the stove.
