OBSIDIAN GUARD BOOK 2

CHAPTER 8 FIRST KISS

POV Ollivander

The world came back to me in layers of ache and heavy, radiating heat. My body felt like a well-used instrument, tuned to the point of breaking, but for the first time in my life, the aftermath wasn't a cold stone floor; it was warmth.

I opened my eyes, my cheek pressed against a silk pillowcase. Gideon was a furnace at my back. The room was dim, the sulfurous light of the Guard barely bleeding through the heavy drapes.

Valeryen stood by the mahogany escritoire, already dressed in her sharp leather doublet. She looked as though she hadn't spent the last six hours dismantling a member of the Syndicate; she looked stunning, every hair in place, her composure iron-clad.

I started to shift, my muscles screaming in a dozen different languages of pain, my instincts screaming at me to drop to the floor at her feet.

She turned. Our eyes met, and she gave a small, sharp shake of her head. It wasn't a dismissal; it was an order to stay. She looked down at the massive, muscular arm draped over my waist, Gideon's arm, and then back to me.

A ghost of a satisfied smirk touched her lips, but also something else, something foreign, was that the look of sadness? She tapped a folded note on the desk, and then she was gone, slipping out of the room with the silence of a shadow.

I stayed. I had no choice. Gideon was a mountain, and I was pinned beneath his tectonic weight. He shifted in his sleep, a low, rumbling groan vibrating through his chest and into mine. He didn't wake; instead, he pulled me closer, tucking my head under his chin and wrapping his legs around mine like a child clutching a prize.

I was the "little spoon" to a man who could stop a heart with a thought, now seeking warmth from the boy he'd spent the night worshiping.

The note on the desk, I knew, held the future of two cities. It was an invitation: The Queen will meet Alistair. Halfway between the two cities at the fork in the road.

Hours later, the mountain moved.

"Mmm," Gideon hummed, the sound deep and gravelly. He didn't let go; he simply rolled, pinning me into the mattress with his sheer bulk. He looked down at me, his face softened by sleep, his eyes lacking the jagged, manic edge of the night before.

"Morning, little flower."

I reached out, my fingers trembling slightly as I brushed them against the stubble on his jaw. The skin there was hot, surging with the vitality of a man who always took what he wanted. Gideon closed his eyes, let out a long, ragged groan of pure pleasure, and pressed his face into my palm.

"Gods," he rasped. "Take a break, little flower. You're going to get me going again, and if you don't eat something soon, you'll wither away right in front of me."

"It wouldn't matter," I whispered, my voice thin. "One wilted flower in a garden is easily replaced."

Gideon's eyes snapped open. The playfulness vanished for a split second, replaced by a terrifying, heavy intensity. "Don't say that. You and Valry... you're flowers in my garden now. You're irreplaceable."

I looked away, staring at the dark obsidian carvings on the ceiling. I didn't believe him. I couldn't. I was a tool, a spy, a failed soldier who had found a niche in the dirt. In my world, everyone was a resource to be spent. I was a candle being burned at both ends; eventually, the Queen would simply light another.

"What should we order for breakfast?" I asked, shifting the topic. "Valry has already left for work. It's just the two of us. I can feed you your meal, if you like. I'm perfectly fine eating from the floor after you do."

Gideon stared at me for a long beat. Then, he reached out and unclipped the heavy leather collar from my neck, then his own, tossing them onto the nightstand with a metallic clack.

"Nonsense," he said, a slow, mischievous glint returning to his eyes. He sat up, grabbing my wrist and pulling me toward the edge of the bed. "You'll eat at the table with me, little flower. Or you won't eat at all." He grinned, his teeth white and sharp. "And if you try to sit on the floor, I'll just have to find a less gentle way to get you back into your chair."

The breakfast that was delivered was a spread of exotic fruits and spiced meats, but I was the only one being consumed. Gideon couldn't stop touching me. It was a constant, frantic sort of contact, a hand on my neck, a thumb tracing the line of my jaw, as if he were trying to prove to himself that I was still real.

"Come here," he rumbled. He didn't wait for me to move; he reached out and hauled me onto his lap, straddling me over his massive thighs.

In an instant, the world shifted. Being on his lap meant I was taller than him for once, but the power dynamic didn't shift an inch. His hands were iron bands around my waist. Beneath the thin fabric of his pants, I could feel the blunt, heavy heat of his hardening groin. He was already straining against me.

"Open," he commanded.

I complied, my mouth parting as he picked up a slice of blood-orange. He fed me slowly, his eyes locked on mine. After a few bites, he didn't reach for more fruit. He held his fingers out, stained with juice. "Clean them, little flower."

I took his fingers into my mouth, my tongue swirling around the sticky sweetness. As I sucked the juice from his skin, a sharp, familiar ache bloomed in my own lap. I was getting hard, the friction of his movements beneath me stoking a fire I couldn't put out.

Gideon looked down at the bulge in my silk trousers, then back up at my face. "You like that, my little flower?"

With his fingers still in my mouth, I nodded.

He leaned back slightly, his grin turning predatory. "Would you like to suck on more than my fingers?"

He removed his hand, leaving my mouth cold. I looked down, my voice hesitant, my training taking over, the political, distant submission of a spy. "Would you like me to put my mouth around your shaft, sir?"

The air in the room curdled. Gideon's face didn't soften; it twisted with a sudden, violent flash of anger. His fingers dug into my hips, the pressure so intense I knew I'd have purple bruises by noon. He jerked me forward, slamming my chest against his.

"Try again," he hissed, his breath hot against my lips. "And this time, make me believe you want this as much as I do. Don't look away. Don't call me 'sir' like I'm some customer in a brothel. Look at me."

The pain in my hips cleared the fog. It gave me a jagged courage. I felt the weight of him beneath me, the sheer, staggering size of his need, and I realized I wasn't just performing. I wasn't gathering information.

For the first time in my life, I was hungry.

I leaned in, my lips brushing his. "I want you," I whispered, the honesty of it more frightening than any whip. "I want to taste you, Gideon."

The Heart Weaver let out a sound that was half-growl, half-sob, and his mouth crashed against mine.

It was a clumsy, desperate collision of teeth and heat, a revelation that left us both breathless, as the master of hearts and the seasoned spy realized they were finally experiencing the one thing neither had ever experienced before: a first intimate and romantic kiss.