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“Why are you doing this?”
My voice came out small and vulnerable in the pause between us. At the Blackjack clubhouse, I could put on a brave face and trade sarcastic barbs with his crew. I didn’t have to think about where I came from, or why I was on the run. Now that I was in Gideon’s private home, I felt like I was intruding. An outsider barging into the lives of these people, this family that had been forged among them.
“Told you before,” Gideon replied. “I know a thing or two about runaways. I ditched the foster system when I was sixteen. Dumpster diving for my next meal still haunts me to this day. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”
He stepped aside and gestured down the hallway.
“Come on. Time for some shut-eye before you try to steal my bike again.”
“I thought you said I had to steal your keys first,” I replied, trailing after him as he led me to the guest room.
Gideon patted the pocket of his vest.
“I’d like to see you try.”
“A hand job would do the trick. Or a blow job. Whatever turns your brain off and buys me a head start.”
Gideon ground to a halt so quickly that I almost bumped against his back. I retreated a few steps, startled.
“I didn’t bring you here for sex,” he said.
I snorted and rolled my eyes.
“Right. That’s why your biker buddies were calling me your girl. I’m not stupid. I know how these things work.”
Gideon shifted closer, gazing down at me as he arched an eyebrow. The heat that emanated from him was intoxicating.
Mother of God. That look made me want to act up and get into all kinds of trouble.
“You’re my guest,” he said. “Nothing more. And if I ever take advantage of your situation in exchange for sex, Crash will hand you a knife himself so you can keep my balls as your trophy. God knows I won’t deserve them.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, fighting the dirty, filthy thoughts racing through my head. How much heat was he packing below the belt? He had that big dick energy swagger—the unwavering confidence that came with being hung like a horse. At his age, he probably knew what he was doing, too.
Did he leave his partners boneless with satisfaction? Did they come crawling back for more, frothing at the mouth for a man who knew how to wring every last drop of pleasure out of them?
Or maybe he was more the type to be hands-off, sitting back while his partners did all the work and thanked him for it afterward.
Either way, I wouldn’t mind indulging my curiosity.
“Is that clear?” Gideon prompted.
I gave a mock salute.
“Yes, sir.”
I could have sworn his eyes narrowed slightly, as if he was on the verge of challenging my attitude. In the end, he said nothing.
The room was sparse, devoid of personal touch, but it was bigger than my closet-like room in the trailer I used to share with my brother. I dropped onto the edge of the bed, smoothing my hands over the sheets.
Gideon moved to the adjoining bathroom and flipped the light on.
“There’s a spare toothbrush, soap, and towels under the sink. If you need something that isn’t there, let me know. I can run to the drugstore on the corner. Feel free to raid the fridge if you get hungry. There are plenty of leftovers.”
A pause settled over the room. This was the part where I was supposed to say thank you. I curled my fingers into the sheets. Was this a dream? If I pinched myself, would I wake up? Why did it feel too good to be true?
Gideon stepped closer and cupped my chin in his hand. He tilted my head up.
I blinked in surprise at how gentle his touch was—firm, commanding, but gentle.
