Free Reflected in You: A Crossfire Novel by Sylvia Day Page B

sound of delight that had me salivating.
    The water pounding at my back and the billowing steam that plumed between us only added to the eroticism of the picture he presented. His hand quickened, sliding rhythmically up and down. He was so long and thick. Undeniably virile.
    Unable to bear the ache of my tightened nipples, I cupped my breasts and squeezed.
    “There you go, angel. Show me what I do to you.”
    There was a moment in which I wondered if I could. It hadn’t been so long ago that I’d been embarrassed to talk about my vibrator with Gideon face-to-face.
    “Look at me, Eva.” He cupped his balls in one hand and his cock in the other. Shameless, which was such a turn-on. “I don’t want to come without you. I need you with me.”
    I wanted to be as hot for him. I wanted him as aching and needy as I felt. I wanted my body—my desire —to be burned onto his brain the way this image of him would be burned onto mine.
    With my eyes locked with his, my hands glided over my body. I watched his movements . . . listened for the catch of his breath . . . used his clues to know what drove him wild.
    It was somehow as intimate as when he was inside me, maybe more so because we were wide open and on display. Totally bared. Our pleasure reflected in each other.
    He started telling me what he wanted in that raspy sex god voice: Tug your nipples, angel . . . Touch yourself—are you wet? Push your fingers inside you . . . Feel how tight you are? A hot, tight, plush little heaven for my dick . . . You’re so fucking gorgeous . . . So sexy. I’m so damn stiff it hurts . . . See what you do to me? I’m going to come so hard for you . . .
    “Gideon.” I gasped, my fingertips massaging my clit in rapid circles, my hips grinding into my touch.
    “Right there with you,” he said hoarsely, his hand jacking his cock with brutal speed and violence in his race to orgasm.
    At the first jolting contraction of my core, I cried out, my legs quaking. My palm slapped against the glass enclosure for balance, the climax stealing the strength from my muscles. Gideon was on me in a second, gripping my hipbone in a way that conveyed greed and possession, his fingers flexing with restless agitation.
    “Eva!” he growled, as the first thick, hot burst of semen hit my belly. “Fuck.”
    Hunching over me, his teeth sank into the tender spot between my shoulder and neck, a painless hold that conveyed the rawness of his pleasure. His groans vibrated against me and he came violently, spurting repeatedly against my stomach.
    * * *
     
    It was a little after six o’clock in the morning when I slipped out of my bedroom. I’d been up for a while, watching Gideon sleep. It was a rare treat, because I hardly ever managed to wake up before he did. I could stare at him without any worries that he’d be weirded out.
    I padded down the hallway until it emptied into the expansive open floor plan of the main living area. It was ridiculous that Cary and I lived on the Upper West Side in an apartment large enough for a family, but I’d long ago learned to pick my battles when it came to arguing with my mother and stepfather over my safety. There was no way they were budging on location or security features like a doorman and front desk, but I could exploit my cooperation on my living arrangements to get them to ease up on other points.
    I was in the kitchen waiting for the coffee to finish brewing when Cary joined me. He strolled in looking amazing in a pair of gray San Diego State University sweats, sleep-mussed chocolate brown hair, and a day’s worth of stubble along his square jaw.
    “Morning, baby girl,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple as he passed me.
    “You’re up early.”
    “Look who’s talking.” He grabbed two mugs out of the cupboard, then the half-and-half out of the fridge. He brought them over and studied me. “How are you doing?”
    “I’m good. Really,” I insisted, when he shot me a