Chapter 9

9

André had seen those weather forecasters on TV, reporting from hurricanes, staggering, feet dragging, teetering, and falling over under the force of the wind and rain battering them as they filed their reports.

That was what Gideon Winters was: a force.

He knocked André off his feet with a press of his lips. They were barely connected, lips clinging, and still, André couldn't breathe. Couldn't find balance. His lips parted on a gulp and Gideon took advantage—that was the kind of man he was, after all—tongue sliding in and twisting around André's.

He whimpered, couldn't help it, grasping Gideon's shoulders. Silently begging. He hadn't expected this when he'd opened his door, angry at whoever had woken him up from his sleep.

But Gideon…

He deepened the kiss and André let him because he wanted to, had imagined it while lying in that bed, hating himself for how much he didn't hate Gideon. But his imagination had nothing on this moment, Gideon's arms finally wrapping around him, hauling him into the hardness of his chest. André pressed closer still, shivers racking his body. He couldn't remember ever being as hard as he was now.

Gideon kissed hungrily, desperately, as if trying to stamp himself onto André's taste buds permanently. André didn't know if he should feel any way other than needy, wanton, eager for everything and anything. He tunneled his fingers into Gideon's hair, gripping tight and pulling.

The other man moaned, bucking into André and backing him into the wall. Eyes closed, André lifted a leg, wrapping it around Gideon's hip, rubbing on him in a mindless search for release, for more of that pleasure Gideon doled out so generously. It'd been a very long time since he'd been in someone else's embrace, since anyone had wanted him the way Gideon did.

How could André bottle that feeling for when he no longer had Gideon close?

One kiss, and he felt as if he'd been consumed.

What would it be like to have more, to go beyond this—the two of them dry-humping, their movements frantic and uncoordinated? When had the kiss devolved into this?

Gideon broke the kiss, lips skating over André's jaw. André tilted his chin up, head back, exposing his throat to a self-confessed killer. Teeth nipped his skin, slick tongue slid over him, soothing, and he trembled, both hands clutching Gideon's head close, urging him on as André struggled to catch a breath.

He had a million questions, but they all dissolved on his tongue when one of Gideon's palms slid down his chest and kept going, cupping André's cock through his pants.

"Ugh." He pushed into that touch.

Gideon's breath was hot and harsh, and every inch of André's skin he kissed felt as if he'd stayed out in the sun for too long.

Gideon made his way down André's chest, kissing him over his t-shirt, dropping to his knees, and pausing to bury his face in André's stomach. André cupped his nape with unsteady fingers, forcing Gideon's head back.

The other man blinked up at him with hazy eyes clouded with arousal. And exhaustion.

André shook his head to clear the lust. "When was the last time you slept?"

Gideon stared at him. "That's what you want to talk about?" Even through the material of his t-shirt, André felt the heat of his breath.

He smothered a shiver. "You look like you need to sleep."

Gideon's lips curved. "I'm this close to sucking your cock and you want me to go to sleep?"

André's dick twitched in response. He'd pay good money to have Gideon's mouth on him. Fuck, just the thought— He swallowed roughly, fingers flexing in the hair at Gideon's nape. "Is the offer time sensitive then?"

A slow smile crept over Gideon's features. God, he was gorgeous. And those heavy-lidded eyes gave away his exhaustion, as did the fine lines around his eyes. "The offer is open-ended."

André's heart lurched in his chest, but he kept his expression as impassive as he could and nodded once. "Good. Do me a favor?"

"Anything."

He had one of the most powerful and dangerous men ever on his knees, willing to grant him favors without hesitation. Power like that could go to a man's head. André released Gideon and took a step back, holding out a hand. "Get on the bed for me?"

Gideon took his hand without speaking and André tugged him to his feet, leading him the few short steps to the bed. Gideon climbed on, releasing a deeply satisfied sound as he buried his face in the pillows.

"It smells like you." His words were muffled by the pillows, but they still made André's pulse race. "I like it."

"Good." His voice cracked. "Get some rest."

Gideon didn't make a sound of protest, so André went about removing the other man's shoes. By the time that was done, soft snores reached his ears.

He stood next to the bed, hands fisted at his sides as he gazed down at Gideon. He slept on his stomach, hugging the pillows. So still, he looked so vulnerable. André wanted to know so much about him, the kind of life he led.

A killer.

The kind of man Gideon was, André didn't know how to deal with him. They wanted each other—and yes, that kiss was something else—but was André setting himself up for heartbreak by getting involved with Gideon?

Men like Gideon, like André's father, all they did was take you, destroy you, then discard you before they moved on to the next. So why was André standing there, chest filled with anticipation for a repeat of what they just did?

It was dangerous to hold the interest of Gideon Winters.

But that interest was all-consuming. It made him feel special. It could be addictive, too. André already suspected he wouldn't escape any of this unscathed. He should put a stop to it; that first kiss should be their last.

But there was something in the way Gideon looked at him. In the way he put his hands on André. In the way he kissed him.

André felt him down to his bones.

And he didn't want that feeling to go away.

"Why are you in André's bed?"

A soft hand landed on Gideon's shoulder and he jerked his head up, blinking blearily at whoever was speaking. It took a while for his vision to focus enough for him to make out André's bedroom, the door hanging wide open, and Jules's curious stare.

"What—" He swallowed a curse and glanced around. He'd fallen asleep in André's bed? Fuck.

"So?"

He returned his gaze to Jules again. She watched him too closely, and there was too much happening behind her eyes that he didn't care to acknowledge. "Miss Juliette." He cleared the sleep out of his voice and tried to act as if this was where he was supposed to be. Didn't have to act much, though. Last night, he'd felt as if he'd die if he didn't get to kiss André.

And he had.

Then he'd… What? Fallen asleep? Because he was still fully dressed, sans shoes. From the position of the sun shining through the window, it was quite late in the day. He'd slept the day away. Samir must be pissed.

"You slept here?"

Jules wasn't letting up and he wasn't about to answer her questions. "Where is your brother?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I came in and you were here." She paused, eyes narrowing. "Don't think I haven't noticed that you're not answering my questions." You'd think she'd have taken the hint, but nope, she kept on. "Why are you sleeping in André's bed?"

"Jules!"

Oh, thank God.

André appeared in the doorway, throwing a glance over his shoulder before entering with a plate piled high with food—food that included bacon, it smelled like—and a cup of coffee. He put the plate and cup down on the night table near Gideon and turned to his sister.

"What did I say about entering a room without knocking?"

"You weren't here. How do you know I didn't knock?"

André made an exasperated sound. "Go away." He touched the top of her head. "I need to talk to Gideon."

Her expression turned shrewd. "And will that conversation be about why he's sleeping in your bed?"

"Mind your business." André grasped the handles of her wheelchair and gently turned her toward the door. "Go eat the food you convinced the chef to make and I'll see you later."

"Bye, Miss Juliette," Gideon called out.

She flashed him a scowl over her shoulder but wheeled herself out of the room when André held the door open. Once she was gone, André closed the door and leaned against it, facing Gideon. He fidgeted from foot to foot, and Gideon realized André had yet to look at him since entering the room.

"Bacon for dinner?" Without asking permission, he snagged a strip of bacon from the plate André brought in, eyes closing when the flavor exploded on his taste buds. Fuck, he was hungry.

"Yeah. Jules asked the chef to make breakfast for dinner. He made waffles and pancakes, bacon and eggs, fruit and a whole bunch of other?—"

"You're rambling," Gideon cut him off.

"Um." André's gaze settled somewhere above Gideon's head. "Feel free to leave at any time."

He'd begun to feel bad for falling asleep on the other man before they'd had the chance to get to the fun stuff, but now Gideon frowned at André's almost panicked tone. "What's going on?"

André licked his lips and took a step forward. Gideon's belly warmed at the reminder of what that tongue could do. "I didn't want Jules to know you were here." Once again, he looked everywhere but at Gideon.

Gideon cocked his head. "Why?" It wasn't disappointment or hurt that tightened his voice, he was sure. Everyone wanted to be seen with him, wanted to brag that they knew the Winters's Prodigal, but the man he wanted—the man he definitely shouldn't fucking want—didn't want to be seen with him?

"Look." There went that tongue swiping across André's lips again. Gideon's dick liked it a little too much. "I don't— It's not a good idea for me to get involved with you. You're…you're the Winters and dangerous, and I'm?—"

Gideon lost his appetite. "You're what? Look at me." He waited until André's reluctant gaze met his. "You're what?" André's jaw ticked, but he didn't respond. "You didn't like my mouth on yours?" Gideon lifted an eyebrow, voice getting frostier by the second. He didn't appreciate the sliver of hurt that worked through him. "Would you have preferred my mouth on something else?"

André's nostrils flared and Gideon swore the other man blushed. "It shouldn't have happened."

"Why not?" Gideon demanded. "You wanted it. I wanted it." He gentled his tone and tried not to sound too much like he was begging when he said, "Still do."

"Gideon."

"You should come closer. If you're so far away you won't be able to smell me. I know how much you love the way I smell," he finished smugly.

André definitely blushed that time. "I wasn't in my right mind when I said that." But he moved within arms' reach.

"No? Sorry, I can't say the same. I was definitely in my right mind when I offered to spit-shine your dick."

André pressed his lips together, doing that fidgeting thing again. But he was hard, Gideon found when he raked his gaze down the other man's body, stopping at the impressive bulge at the front of André's jeans. It was his turn to lick his lips. André made a sound, a soft little whimper, and Gideon's gaze flew to his.

André watched him with wide eyes and parted lips. "So, you just want to fuck me?"

Gideon shook his head with a broken chuckle. "I have a feeling there's no ‘just fucking' when it comes to you." Which should be all the warning he needed to get the fuck up and walk away. There were plans in place, plans that involved the other man. None of those plans that took years to strategize, formulate, and put in place included going multiple rounds on that bed Gideon lay on.

But that was all he wanted.

To be wrapped in André's warm skin, his taste smothering Gideon's taste buds, and his sounds of pleasure battering Gideon's ear drums. That was what Gideon wanted.

"Your people know you're in here."

Ah, fuck. He was in no mood to hear shit from Samir. "Do they?" he asked nonchalantly.

"I don't think they'd be happy to know I had the Winters's prodigal on his knees ready to grant me favors."

Gideon smirked. "You'd be surprised to know what makes my people happy." Not that though; they would have him committed. He reached out and grabbed André's wrist, yanking him down to sit on the edge of the bed. "I asked you a question last night. One you didn't bother answering."

André stared down at where Gideon continued to hold him. "What question?" He sounded strained.

Gideon knew the feeling. "Who is Ty Levins?"

André's gaze darted away quickly before coming back to Gideon's. "A friend."

Gideon narrowed his gaze. "A friend you fucked?"

André rolled his eyes. "Yes."

"A friend you're still fucking?"

"That matters why?"

Gideon tightened his grip on his wrist. "Answer the question," he growled.

"No." Fuck, the stubborn tilt of André's chin should not have Gideon ready to cum on himself. "Answer me first. Why does it matter?"

"It matters because I want to be the only friend you fuck."

"You're not my friend," André fired back. But the fire in his eyes matched the same flames from their kiss, and it took everything in Gideon to keep from lurching forward and swallowing the other man's tongue.

He leaned forward, lips brushing André's jaw. "We could be enemies," he whispered. André shivered, and satisfaction curved Gideon's lips. "We could be whatever. As long as we fuck."