CHAPTER FOURTEEN

LINDY

Hypersexuality.

It can be a symptom of abuse. A way for someone to regain control of their body. I learned about it in therapy, although I hadn't experienced it until now.

When I clawed at Gideon for more, and he gave it back to me in spades.

Before I freaked the fuck out.

These stupid tears blur my vision as I grab my sleep clothes and rush to the bathroom—a jumble of emotions manifesting in a fucking sobfest. Probably scared the shit out of Gideon.

I hiccup in embarrassment. He didn't deserve the way I acted after the best orgasm of my life. But in the moment, it was all too much.

Undressing, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. Gideon left his mark on my body. Small bruises form on my thigh where he held me and dark red blotches are spread across my chest. My lips are puffy and slightly sore from his possessive kisses.

Tracing the love bite on my neck, my nipples tighten again at the memory of his hot mouth devouring me like I was worth more than his next breath.

Wetness seeps from between my thighs.

God, how am I still this aroused?

I just had my first not self-given orgasm in forever, yet my body is desperate for more.

But it's too soon, right?

Yes, Gideon can be kind, but I don't need a burly military veteran who is also part of a motorcycle club. Someone who could break my heart.

Didn't I remind myself that I'm not risking myself again for any man after that mysterious flower delivery?

And yet… I can't stop thinking about him.

"Even before tonight," I mutter to myself.

His protective nature, always a few steps away, ready to jump in at the first hint of danger to me. His silent demeanor, always watching and listening, rather than puffing his chest and talking over people.

And let's not forget the freakishly strong attraction I have for him. I've never felt this way around a man. I've always hovered around lukewarm and figured that was as good as it was going to get.

But Gideon's tattoos, beard, leather cut, motorcycle… Geez, I could list every single hot as hell thing about him for ages, and all of it would add up to being as far from lukewarm as possible.

I'm a fucking supernova when it comes to him.

For months, I've been drifting through the icy universe—lost in a blackhole—with Gideon orbiting around me until this week when we finally collided. Shattering my rocky shell to reveal the white hot light beneath.

Confused and excited, I jump into the shower and turn the water temperature to scalding, hoping it'll burn out the different kind of heat pervading my body.

The wash sponge scrubs my skin hard, trying to erase the effect Gideon had on me, to no avail. My body still trembles at the thought of his hands running over me.

Might as well give in. Who will know?

Closing my eyes, I brush my fingers over my breasts. Pinching the swollen nipples, I imagine his teeth biting down like earlier.

The small pain makes way for pleasure as my breathing picks up. Reaching one hand down, I draw my finger across my clit before drifting further to drag some of my wetness up, trying to recreate the same sensations Gideon brought out in me.

As my climax nears, I speed up, rubbing harder.

Soon, the familiar crest of an orgasm surfaces, and I lean against the shower wall.

That was… nice.

But much weaker than what Gideon gave me.

How is that possible?

Why do I need a man, specifically this man, to achieve such pleasure?

"Get it together, Lindy!" I berate myself. Feminists everywhere are probably screaming at me for these thoughts. I should be screaming at me, but all I want is Gideon.

Banging my head against the tile, I groan in annoyance and regret.

Because why would he still want me after I cried and ran away from him like a scared little rabbit?