Entwined with You(97)

“GIDEON,” I gasped, my head thrashing as the orgasm poured through me.


His sweat dripped onto my chest, his hips tireless as he stroked his magnificent penis into me over and over, rolling and thrusting, shallow then deep.


“That’s it,” he praised hoarsely, “squeeze my dick just like that. You feel so good, angel. You’re going to make me come again.”


I panted for breath, boneless and tired from his unrelenting demands. He’d woken me twice before, taking me with skilled precision, imprinting onto my brain and my body that I belonged to him. That I was his and he could do whatever he wanted to me.


It made me so hot.


“Umm …” He purred, sliding his cock deep. “You’re so creamy with my cum. I love the way you feel when I’ve been at you all night. A lifetime of this, Eva. I’ll never stop.”


I draped my leg over his hip, holding him in me. “Kiss me.”


His wickedly curved mouth brushed over mine.


“Love me,” I demanded, my nails digging into his hips as he flexed inside me.


“I do, angel,” he whispered, his smile widening. “I do.”


WHEN I woke, he was gone.


I stretched in a tangle of sheets that smelled of sex and Gideon and breathed in the salt-tinged breeze drifting through the open patio doors.


I lay there for a while, thinking over the night and the day before. Then the weeks before, and the few months since I’d met Gideon. Then beyond that. Back to Brett and others I had dated. Back to a time when I’d been so certain I would never find a man who loved me for who I was, with all my emotional scars and baggage and neediness.


What else could I say besides yes, now that by some miracle I’d found him?


Rolling out of bed, I felt a flutter of excitement at the thought of finding Gideon and agreeing to marry him without reservation. I loved the idea of eloping with him, of our first vows spoken in private, with no one watching who harbored doubts or dislike or bad wishes. After all we’d both been through, it made perfect sense for our new beginning to be filled with nothing but love and hope and happiness.


I should’ve known he’d plan it all perfectly, from the privacy to the exclusive locale. Of course we’d get married on a beach. Beaches held fond memories for both of us, not the least of which was our last time away at the Outer Banks.


When I saw the breakfast tray on the coffee table in the bedroom’s seating area, I smiled. There was a white silk robe draped over the back of the chair, too.


Gideon never missed a trick.


I pulled the robe on and reached to pour myself a cup of coffee, wanting a caffeine boost before I searched for him in the suite and gave him my answer. That was when I saw the prenuptial agreement tucked beneath the covered breakfast plate.


My hand froze halfway to the carafe. The agreement was tastefully arranged beneath the single red rose in a slender white vase, with the silverware gleaming from an artfully folded cloth napkin.


I don’t know why I was so surprised and … crushed. Of course, Gideon would’ve planned everything down to the last detail—starting with the prenup. After all, hadn’t he tried to start our relationship with an agreement?


All of my giddy happiness left me in a rush. Deflated, I turned away from the tray and headed into the shower instead. I took my time washing up, moving in slow motion. I decided I’d rather say no than read a legal document that put a price on my love. A love that was precious and priceless to me.


Still, I feared it was too late, that the damage was already done. Just knowing he’d had a prenup drafted changed everything and I couldn’t blame him for that. For God’s sake, he was Gideon Cross. One of the twenty-five richest men in the world. It was inconceivable that he wouldn’t demand a prenuptial agreement. And I wasn’t na?ve. I knew better than to dream of Prince Charming and castles in the sky.


Showered and clothed in a light sundress, I pulled my hair back in a wet ponytail and went for the coffee. I poured a cup, added cream and sweetener, then slid the prenup free and stepped out to the patio.


Down on the beach, preparations were under way for the wedding. A flower-covered arch had been placed by the shoreline and braided white ribbon had been draped across the sand to mark an impromptu aisle.


I chose to sit with my back to the view, because it hurt to look at it.


I took a sip of coffee, let it soak into me, then took another. I was halfway done with my cup when I gathered enough courage to read the damn legalese. The opening few pages detailed the assets we owned separately prior to marriage. Gideon’s holdings were staggering. When did he find time to sleep? I thought the dollar amount attributed to me was wrong, until I considered how long the principal had been sitting in investments.


Stanton had taken my five million and doubled it.


It struck me then how stupid I was for just sitting on it, instead of investing it where it could help those who needed it. I’d been acting like that blood money didn’t exist when I should’ve been putting it to work. I made a mental note to tackle that project as soon as I got back to New York.


After that, the reading got interesting.


Gideon’s first stipulation was that I take the Cross name as my own. I could keep Tramell as an additional middle name, but with no hyphenation as a surname. Eva Cross—it was nonnegotiable. And so very like him. My domineering lover made no apologies for his caveman tendencies.