Page 26 of Decked By The Grumpy Golem
The sound of it breaks something open in me. Ten years of longing, of writing heroes who looked like him, of measuring every man against the ghost of what we used to be. All of it crashes over me in a wave of desperate need.
I pull back just enough to look at him, my breathing ragged. His gray eyes have gone dark as storm clouds, and there's something raw and hungry in his expression that makes my core clench with anticipation. The careful control he usually wears like armor has cracked, and he looks at me like I’m his entire world.
"I've missed you," I whisper, the confession torn from somewhere deep in my chest. "God, Gideon, I've missed you so much."
His hands tighten on my hips, pulling me closer until there's no space left between us. I grind myself against the hot, hard length of hiserection, and the knowledge that he wants me as much as I want him sends heat spiraling through my veins. Heat floods through my body, wetness spilling between my legs.
I’ve lived this moment in my dreams, in every one of my novels, over and over.
"Show me," he says, his voice rough with desire. "Show me how much."
The command in his tone makes my pulse spike. This is the Gideon I remember. The boy who kissed me like he was drowning and I was air.
I reach for the hem of my sweater with shaking fingers, my eyes never leaving his face. The cream wool lifts over my head and I discard it on the sofa beside us. I’m wearing a lace bra underneath, and I watch his pupils dilate as more of my skin comes into view.
"Fuck," he breathes, his gaze trailing over my exposed chest like he wants to carve the sight in his memory with a chisel. "You're so beautiful."
The reverence in his voice makes my throat tight with emotion. His hands move from my hips to my torso. His palms are rough with the texture of stone, but his touch is gentle as he traces the line of my collarbone, the curve of my shoulders.
"Your skin," he murmurs, wonder threading through his voice. "It's so soft, so delicate."
I lean into his touch, my head falling back as he trails kisses down my throat. His mouth is hot against my pulse point, and when he sucks gently on the sensitive skin there, I can't help the soft moan that escapes my lips.
"You’re so hot," I gasp, my hands fisting in his shirt. His skin radiates heat like he's made of molten stone, warming me from the inside out. "Your skin, it’s burning up."
His lips curve against my throat in what might be a smile. "Golem thing," he explains, his breath hot against my ear. "We run hot when we're aroused."
The admission sends a fresh wave of desire crashing through me. I pull back to look at him, noting the faint glow emanating from his skin, the way his eyes seem to shimmer with inner fire. He's beautiful like this, powerful, otherworldly. And mine.
"I want to see you," I tell him, my fingers working at the buttons of his flannel shirt. "All of you."
He helps me push the fabric off his shoulders, revealing the broad expanse of his chest. His skin is gray with that subtle earthy undertone I remember, marked here and there with thin scars from years of working with sharp tools. But it's the heat radiating from him that steals my breath. It’s like touching the surface of the sun.
I trace the line of one scar with my fingertip until the heated skin burns with a subtle glow, and he shudders beneath my touch. "Does it hurt?" I ask, suddenly concerned that his elevated temperature might be uncomfortable.
"No," he says quickly, catching my hand and pressing it flat against his chest. "It feels good. You feel good."
To prove his point, he leans up and captures my mouth again, this kiss hungrier than the first, more dominant. Possessive. His hands slide up my back to the clasp of my bra, pausing there.
"Can I?" he asks against my lips, and the fact that he's asking permission makes my heart stutter in my chest.
"Yes," I breathe. "Please."
The bra falls away, and suddenly his mouth is on my breast, hot and wet and perfect. I arch against him with a cry that echoes off the stone walls, my hands tangling in his dark hair. He takes his time, lavishing attention on first one breast and then the other, until I'm writhing in his lap and making sounds I didn't know I was capable of.
"Gideon," I gasp, my hips rocking against his cock. "I need… oh God."
"I know," he says, his voice rough with desire. "I know what you need."
He stands suddenly, lifting me with him like I weigh nothing at all. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, and I can feel every step as he carries me through the house and up the stairs.
His room is exactly as I remember it, simple furniture, exposed beams, stone walls. The bed is larger than it used to be, but everything else is achingly familiar. The workshop smell of wood and metal that clings to his clothes. The window that looks out over the fields behind the house. The sense of safety and belonging that I've never found anywhere else.
He sets me down gently beside the bed, his hands framing my face as he looks at me with an intensity that steals my breath.
"Are you sure?" he asks, and I can hear the vulnerability beneath the desire in his voice. “We can stop if you want.”
“Don’t you dare,” I say breathlessly.
