To Have and to Hold

I contemplate exactly what I need from him to make me feel what he’s saying, and the only thing I come up with is to reclaim what someone took from me. His kiss. “Kiss me like the first time you ever did.” Not even half a second after the words leave my mouth, his lips are on mine, and Gideon does not hold back. As he gives all he has into that one kiss, I’m thrown back to the moment he first kissed me and took my breath away.

I wipe away the feel of her on his lips, reminding him of what I can do and the pleasure only I know how to serve him. He needs to know I’m broken and that the next move, next word, the next step could really ruin me.

Pulling away, he drops his forehead to mine. “I wouldn’t throw away our marriage for someone who can’t compare to you, but most importantly, I wouldn’t throw away our friendship. You are it for me. Let’s go home. Let me show you what you mean.” Gideon and I both have no regard for my mother being there. In fact, I’m sure when Gideon and I get through this, he will make it a mission to be sure my mother knows her wrongdoings and make it impossible for her to be in my and our children’s lives if she doesn’t change the way she treats me.

Truth be told, I agree. I’m raising my kids differently than I was—a little girl who needs to know she is perfectly made and a son who needs to see women for who they are and not what they look like. Beauty is deeper than the skin; it’s what’s inside that matters. Not only do I need to teach them that, but also myself. Gideon was right, and that’s all I think about as he gets us home.

My mother ruined me, trained me to believe perfection was achievable and anything less meant I didn’t deserve the best in life. No one should ever believe that. And marrying a plastic surgeon only made me see it one-sided. Gideon doesn’t believe women need to be molded into perfection, but instead, he changes the things they want to change about themselves. If they feel it will make their inner-self happier and content, then that is what plastic surgery was made for, what my husband believes in.

I was taught to innately hate all I am and to fix every flaw just to feel loved and accepted by the world. Just the idea of Lilac thinking that way about herself makes me sick to my stomach.

Pulling into the driveway of our large home and parking in the garage, Gideon is out and around the car before I can even open to climb out myself. He made calls to Trish and David, working out how they would get their cars back, and really not much else was said, so what’s to come when we get inside is unknown.

“Come here, baby.” Helping me out of the car, he shuts the door and then reaches down to grab my ass.

“I want to straddle you, but my dress is too tight.”

Smirking, he sees no problem or roadblock on rectifying this. His huge hands, perfect and manly, reach down to the bottom hem of the front of my dress, and with little to basically no effort, he rips it right up the center, tearing it in two.

“Oh my God,” I moan, now in our garage in only my see-through white strapless bra and thong.

“Say my name. Who do you belong to?” he demands, picking me up with force, and I wrap my legs around him.

“Gideon Pierce. You, Sir. I belong to you.” He moves us toward the door to the house, and I take a bit of control. Grabbing his chin in my hand, I demand in return, “And who do you belong to, Gideon? Say my name.”

“Dirty baby, I belong to Scarlett Pierce, and she’s about to be fucked so damn good she won’t be able to deny it.”

“Do it. Take me. It’s been months. Please,” I beg, latching my lips to his neck. He uses his immeasurable strength and gets us up the stairs, unhooking my bra on the way. We make it to the bedroom, and he lays me down gently, standing back and undressing. I watch, playing with my breast, pinching my nipples just the way he loves it.

“Yeah, play with those sexy tits, beautiful. Moan my name while you do it,” he commands.

“Oh fuck. Gideon. Oh, Gideon,” I whimper, watching him take off his clothes, his body so damn defined it should be a sin.

“Turn over. Climb to the middle of the bed,” he instructs.

There is no denying my eagerness, and I don’t try to hide it.

When I’m there, he climbs onto the bed, and I wait, looking at him over my shoulder, watching him approach me like prey.