particularly concerned about my pleasure. Only occasionally had I found a guy who’d keep fucking me after he came so I could get myself off with my own hand. Things hadn’t changed much even after I'd made my first million.
Wealth and being openly gay had meant men had started to come out of the woodwork but I’d quickly tired of the game. I’d only ever found one man that I’d thought I’d truly connected with, but that relationship had ended in disaster.
Once my vision had actually started to deteriorate, I hadn’t wanted anyone to find out about it, so being with another man hadn't been an option. Truth be told, I’d been too busy trying to prove my doctors wrong to even think about seeking out male companionship. So it was strange that being around someone like Gideon who, first off, wasn't my type, and second off, wasn't even gay, would be so relaxing. I reminded myself that I couldn't get used to moments like these.
"You want some more?" Gideon asked. "There's plenty."
I shook my head and automatically reached for my plate. “No, thank you. It was delicious, Gideon.”
Gideon's hand stopped me. "Don't worry, I've got the dishes," he said.
I knew it made more sense to just let him take the dish, but I didn't want to be sensible. I wanted to be normal. I wanted to prove to myself that I could be normal.
“Rule is if you cook, you don't have to do the dishes," I said as I stood up, not giving Gideon a chance to argue with me. I held the plate firmly in both of my hands as I maneuvered up from my chair and around the table. I knew what general direction the sink was in, but now that I was up and moving, I immediately felt disoriented. I was forced to stop when I realized I had no clue which way to go.
"Here," Gideon said from behind me and then his big hands were gently closing over my shoulders. I nearly jumped at the contact, but not because it frightened me. I allowed Gideon to maneuver me into place and then his hands were closing around my forearms. My breathing picked up as Gideon pressed up against my back. As Gideon began to explain where the faucet was as well as the handles, all I could focus on was his groin pushing against my ass. His warm breath drifted over my neck as he got me going on the first dish. It was all I could do not to drop the damn thing and turn in his arms.
He's straight. He's straight. He's straight.
I silently chanted the phrase over and over as I washed the first dish and carefully set it on the towel that Gideon had said was next to the sink. Thankfully, he had moved away from me and was clearing the table. Normally, I would've offered to do that myself, but I figured I was pressing my luck as it was. As Gideon put more dishes in the sink, his arm would occasionally brush mine and all these little delicious sensations would fire up and down my arms. It was definitely the first time that doing dishes had gotten me all hot and bothered.
"Whose rule is it?" Gideon asked. He was somewhere to my right.
"What?" I asked, not sure what he was talking about.
"You said it was a rule. That whoever cooked didn't have to do the dishes."
"Oh," I began. "My family's."
"So you're married?" he asked. I looked in his direction and saw a dark shape, but since it wasn't moving I couldn't be sure it was him.
I shook my head. "No, not married."
Gideon was silent but I could practically hear the wheels spinning in his head.
"Sorry, it's just that you said you didn't have any parents…" he began to say before his voice dropped off awkwardly. My past wasn't something I typically talked to anyone about, especially not strangers. I could count on one hand how many people knew about my past and every single one of those people was a man I considered a brother.
"I don't," I confirmed. "I grew up in foster care. But I have brothers. Four of them. All older."
Gideon let out a clucking sound and said, "Wow, four older brothers. That must've made for an interesting childhood. I'm envisioning lots of wedgies and pantsing."
I found myself laughing heartily as I said, "Wedgies? Pantsing? How old are you?"
Gideon actually gave me a light shove. Not enough to