Reflected in You(55)

"Only you, Arnoldo," he said dryly in response to something his friend had said.My wrist was caught just as I tugged at the top button of his jeans.


He lifted my hand to his lips, the gesture appearing to be an absentminded show of affection.


The quick nip of his teeth into the pad of my finger caught me by surprise and made me gasp.


Arnoldo smiled; it was the knowing and slightly mocking smile one bachelor gave to another who'd been caught by a woman.


He said something in Italian.


Gideon replied, his pronunciation sounding fluid and sexy, his tone wry.


Arnoldo threw his dark head back and laughed.


I squirmed in my seat.


I loved seeing Gideon like this, relaxed and enjoying himself.


He looked at my empty dessert plate, then at me.


"Ready to go?" "Oh, yes."


I was dying to see how the rest of the night would go, how many more sides of Gideon I'd get to discover.


Because I loved this side of the man as much as I loved the powerful businessman in the suit and the dominant lover in my bed and the broken child who couldn't hide his tears and the tender partner who held me when I cried.


He was so complex and still a huge mystery to me.


I'd barely scratched the surface of who he was.


Which didn't stop me from being in too deep.


* * *


"These guys are good!" Shawna yelled as the opening act barreled headlong into their fifth song.


We'd left our seats after the third, working our way through a writhing crowd to the railing that divided the seating area from the mosh pit in front of the stage.


Gideon surrounded me, his arms caging me on both sides, his hands gripping the rail.


The audience pressed in around us, collectively pushing forward, but I was cushioned from it by his body, just as Shawna was by Arnoldo beside us.


I was sure Gideon could have gotten us way better seats, but I didn't have to tell him that the way Shawna had scored her fan-only tickets and the fact that she'd invited us meant her seats were our only option.


I loved him for understanding that and for going with the flow.


Turning my head, I looked at him.


"Is this band with Vidal, too?" "No.


But I like them."


I was stoked that he was enjoying the show.


Lifting my arms in the air, I screamed, feeling pumped by the energy of the crowd and the driving beat.


I danced within the circle of Gideon's arms, my body drenched in sweat, my blood raging.


When the act was done, the stagehands quickly set to work breaking down the equipment and setting up for Six-Ninths.


Grateful for the evening, for the joy, for the awesomeness of going wild with the man I loved, I turned and threw my arms around Gideon's neck, mashing my lips to his.


He lifted me and urged my legs around his waist, kissing me violently.


He was hard and pressing against me, luring me to grind into him.


Around us people whistled and catcalled things that ranged from "Get a room" to "Fuck her, man!" but I didn't care and neither did Gideon, who seemed as swept away by the sensual craziness as I was.


His hand on my buttocks rocked me into his erection while the other fisted in my hair, holding me where he wanted me as he kissed me as if he couldn't stop, as if he were starving for the taste of me.


Our open mouths slid desperately across each other.


He tongued me deep and fast, f*cking my mouth, making love to it.


I drank him in, licking and tasting, moaning at his insatiable need.


He sucked on my tongue, the circle of his lips sliding along it.


It was too much.


I was slick and aching for his cock, nearly frantic with the need to feel him filling me.


"You're going to make me come," he growled, before tugging on my bottom lip with his teeth.


I was so into him and the ferocity of his passion for me that I barely registered when Six-Ninths started.


It wasn't until the vocals kicked in that I was jolted back to where I was.


I stiffened, my mind clawing its way up through the fog of desire to process what I was hearing.


I knew the song.


My eyes opened as Gideon pulled back.


Over his shoulder I saw handwritten signs held up in the air.


BRETT KLINE IS MINE! And BANG ME, BRETT! And my personal favorite, BRETT, I'D HIT IT WITH YOU LIKE THE WRATH OF GOD!!! Hell.


What were the chances? And Cary had known, of course.


He'd known and hadn't warned me.


Probably thought it'd be hysterical for me to find out by accident instead.


My legs loosened from around Gideon's hips and he set me down, protecting me from the frenzied fans with the shield of his body.


I turned to face the stage, feeling a mad fluttering in my belly.


Sure enough, it was Brett Kline at the mic, his deep, powerful, sexy-as-hell voice pouring over the thousands who'd come to see him in action.


His short hair was spiked and tipped with platinum, his lean body clothed in olive cargo pants and a black tank top.