by Olivia Chase
Gage’s office is small and gray from floor to ceiling. And in it, he’s sitting at his desk, a bunch of papers and charts spread in front of him. He’s wearing a button-up shirt not unlike the one he put on the other day, and I remember him standing in front of his closet, those washboard abs on full display.
“Keri?” he asks, not bothering to hide his surprise when I open the door.
“Hey,” I say. It comes out like a squeak.
He’s suddenly all business. “What can I do for you?”
“Uh,” I begin, shutting the door behind me. I’m not entirely sure how to go about this. I told myself last night and this morning that I’d be strong. That I’d just march in here like a boss lady and tell him what I need to do, and too bad if he doesn’t like it, because it’s my college career we’re talking about. “About your class.”
“The one you dropped?” Gage’s face darkens a little. “What about it?”
Oh no. He’s already looking agitated. “Well, the thing is, um. I kind of need to… not drop it.”
His eyebrows almost shoot off of his head. “Excuse me?”
Toughen up. “Yeah,” I say. “See, I went to see an advisor about it yesterday, and I had every intention of dropping it. But nothing else was open. And I really, really need this class.”
I expect him to be irritated. I expect him to sigh, or to give me some attitude, or even to just kind of sit there glowering at me for a minute. What I don’t expect is for him to toss his pen onto his desk in anger. “No,” he barks.
“No?” I search his face, but there’s no sign of the warm, dark brown eyes from last night. They’re wild and full of indignation. The stubble on his cheeks has darkened a little bit, and I remember what it felt like to kiss him, to have that stubble brushing against my cheeks, my thighs, my… oh, God, Keri focus. I gather my thoughts. “What do you mean, no?” I ask haughtily.
“I mean, no. We discussed this. Or were you not present yesterday when we agreed? You’re the one who offered to drop it.”
“I was present,” I say. “And I know I did. But I didn’t know that literally nothing else would be open except classes I’ve already taken or don’t need, and will just be a waste.”
“So whose fault is that? Mine?”
“No!” This isn’t going how I hoped it would. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just saying, I know it’s weird and all, but I can’t drop your class.”
“For Chrissakes,” he mutters, closing his eyes, like I’ve just frustrated him beyond what anyone can take.
I open my mouth to apologize, then close it. Why should I be sorry? It took two of us to do what we did, not just me. “Look,” I say. “I said I was sorry for lying about my… occupation.”
Gage opens his eyes long enough to roll them.
“But that doesn’t mean I can afford to just drop your class. And really, it’s not very fair for me to have to. Why should I have to be the one inconvenienced? You’re not expected to resign from your class.”
“That would be ridiculous. I committed to it.”
“But expecting me to drop isn’t ridiculous? I committed to it, too.”
“It’s a lot more unobtrusive for you to bow out than for me to,” he says, voice dripping with impatience. “If I give it up, it will be a slightly bigger deal than if you do.”
God. He’s turned absolutely frigid. And cocky as all hell.
“I just want to graduate on time,” I say, not willing to give in. “Which will be a lot harder to do if I don’t stay in your class.”
“No more courses, really?” Gage looks like he’s in some mix of denial and disbelief. “Nothing at all that would apply to your concentration?”
“Are you that hell bent on getting rid of me?” A tiny wobble creeps into my voice, but I swallow it down and keep going. “Would my sitting in a desk twice a week really be the end of the world for you?”
“Yes,” Gage snaps. “It really, truly might.”
The words come like a smack across my cheek. I bite my lip. He’s just sitting there glaring at me, like I’m the worst person ever or something.
Am I? All I did was be a business student who had a hookup, and that hookup just turned out to be Gage Ramsey.
“I didn’t know you were you,” I say, fully aware of how dumb I probably sound to him. “I knew Gage Ramsey was teaching my class, but I didn’t know you were him. And--”
“Great.” His tone is somehow even icier than before. “Perfect. So you’re staying, then? Awesome.”
“You like to interrupt me,” I say, trying to stay composed. He rolls his eyes. He’s so accustomed to talking over the peons, it’s probably second nature to him.
I knew he wasn’t going to be thrilled. But I didn’t know he’d act quite like this. I feel like I’m basically being berated.
“All I want is to graduate!” I exclaim. “Just to fucking finish college. Is that insane or something?”
“That in and of itself isn’t insane, no.” Gage stands up now, leaning over his desk with both of his palms on the desktop. “What’s insane is that you think you can just parade in here and announce that you’re going to be in my face for an entire semester. It’s insane that you think just dropping by here for a visit is going to make me okay with it. And it’s insane that you think it’s even remotely a good idea, whether you need the course or not. Do you know what anyone with sense would do? Besides not lying to me in the first place? They’d realize the instructor cannot step down without a shitload of repercussions—for everyone involved—even if he doesn’t explain exactly why. And they’d realize that one class is something they can deal with at a later time, as a consequence of a situation they created by lying.”
My knees buckle a little when he says the words step down. It reminds me of step back.
Sorry, Keri, Becker needs to step back.
Fucking Becker. Leaving me for dead after two years.
Fucking Dr. Pepper and my mom’s Texas cooking, and genetics, and whatever else caused my father’s heart to be fucked up.
Oh, no. No no NO. Do not cry. Do NOT.
The sobs come full-force. Pushing them down just makes them sound even uglier.
“I’m sorry,” I gasp, and bury my face in my hands.
The feeling of a firm hand between my shoulder blades catches me off guard, but I’m too tear-streaked to look up. “Hey.” Gage’s voice is warmer somehow, softer. “Hey. Are you alright?”
“No!” I squeak. Does it look like I’m alright?
“Okay.” Gage’s hand isn’t moving, and his touch is burning my skin through my shirt. He sighs. “Come on, let’s sit.”
He guides me to the chair facing his desk, which, though it’s presumably for guests like myself, I haven’t felt like I have the right to sit in it. Gage sits on top of his desk, his hand on my arm now. His touch is warm. “Look, I know I can come off pretty blunt and harsh sometimes.”
“It’s not that.” I gulp, trying to find my voice. “It’s just a bunch of stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“After I got dumped, and met you, and then found out who you were.” I have to pause, to collect enough air in my lungs to finish. “I found out my dad has heart disease and it’s not good.”
“Oh, shit,” Gage murmurs.
“And I did try to find another class to pick up instead of yours.” My shoulders heave a little, and I force myself to calm down. Which only backfires, because I just start crying harder. “But there wasn’t anything!”
My body is racked with sobs. I don’t know how to stop them. I’m aware of Gage’s arm on me, and of being handed a bunch of tissue, which I accept without looking up or saying thanks. I’m sure I have snot all over my face.
“Keri.” Gage’s tone is soothing, gentle. “Keri, I had no idea.”
“I didn’t either,” I sob. “About any of it until yesterday.”
Gage moves his fingers back and forth across my arm. It’s a simple gesture, so small he might not even n
otice he’s doing it. But for some reason, it settles me a little.
“Is your dad in the hospital?”
“No,” I say, sniffing. “At least, not yet. But he’s on medication and has to go to the doctor a lot more, and has to go on a diet and basically not set a foot wrong, or it could be disastrous. And my parents are trying to be strong, but I know they’re both scared shitless.”
Gage exhales. “I wish I’d known. I mean, I know you didn’t even know yourself. But if I’d known, my God. I wouldn’t have acted so—”
“Churlish?”
“That’s a good word.” I can hear a smile in his voice now. “I would have been nicer, I’ll put it that way.”
Now I do raise my head to look at him. “Why couldn’t you be nicer before? Even without knowing what kind of week I’m having?”
Gage is silent. “That,” he says after a minute, “is a very good question.”
“I get that you’re a superstar. But there had to be a time when you were just one of us, right?”
“I’m more aware of that time than most people know.”
“Well, excuse me for saying this, but you’d never know it.”
“You’re excused.” Gage’s hand on my arm tightens, as if the fact that I’m talking back to him makes him want to hold onto me more.
I look up, and his eyes lock on mine. God, he is gorgeous.
“Whatever,” I manage. “I should go.” Which makes no sense, since we haven’t worked anything out. But something about sitting here with him makes me afraid of what is going to happen next, like I’m standing on some cliff I’m about to go tumbling over.
I stand up, and so does Gage. But neither one of us makes any move towards the door. His hand is still on my arm, and it tightens even more, so hard it almost hurts. Still, I don’t move, even when he pulls me toward him roughly.
His dark eyes, so forbidding and angry earlier, are now searching, set deeply onto my own.
“Fuck,” he murmurs.
The sweet crash of our lips happens within a breath.
For a few moments, it’s just pure, sweet bliss. Innocent, beautiful. His mouth gently plies mine, and then the kiss deepens and it’s not so innocent anymore. His tongue presses against my mouth, past my lips, sweeping through my mouth.
He twists and strokes my long black hair like it’s some captivating treasure. He takes some of it in his fist and brings it to his nose, closing his eyes and letting out a long breath.
Gage stretches the length of my torso against him, and I can feel his cock hard against me. I bit my lip to keep from moaning.
Stop, I tell myself, get out of here, run as fast as you can.
But I’m helpless, rooted to the spot.
Gage runs his hands from my hair down the sides of my body, grazing the rounded sides of my breasts, and lifts my shirt up at the bottom, his fingertips sweeping softly over my bare stomach. “You got my cock hard as soon as you walked into my office,” he whispers into my ear. A moan escapes my lips, as he pulls off my shirt and bra, then runs his tongue up my jaw and down my neck, sucking my nipple into his mouth before returning to my lips.
I must be some sort of walking emotional roller coaster. I’ve been indignant, angry, anxious, a crying wreck, and now? Now I want Gage to fuck me.
We kiss without regard for the minutes passing. Without regard for the fact that anyone could knock on that door at any moment. That has no bearing whatsoever on my body, which responds to this man in ways I never thought possible. Nothing like with Becker. I never got this turned on, this quickly. Not until Gage.
I know what I want. But I don’t know if he’s thinking the same thing, at least to the same extent. I know it’s crazy, but I don’t want to go someplace else and break this hypnotic moment we’re in. And I really don’t want to stop and just leave.
Because now, this proves it. The other night wasn’t just drunken antics, or just being horny, for a piece of ass. Gage Ramsey and I have some kind of electrical connection.
The office starts to spin a little as his hands wander over my body. “You know,” he says into my ear, “I’d say we have a little problem now.”
“Problem?” I repeat, trying to control my breathing and failing. Jesus, he’s sexy. “And what might that be?”
“I don’t have a lot of soft surfaces in this office.”
“Ah.” It’s a half response, half moan. So he does want to take this further.
Gage cups my ass and then moves his hands up to my waistband, feeling beneath it with his fingers and playing with my thong. “Midnight blue and white again?”
“Not exactly.” I swallow, suddenly embarrassed. “I wasn’t planning on getting this close to you today.”
“Yet here you are,” Gage says. His fingers make figure eight movements around the band of my thong. “Close. Very close.”
“It’s blue,” I say, and a little laugh slips out. “But it’s, um… it’s got a Bristowe B on it.” My cheeks flame.
Gage’s eyes flash with amusement. “They make Bristowe thongs?”
“Well, the school doesn’t sell them. I got mine online.”
“You must have some kind of school spirit.”
“I thought it was cute.”
“I’m sure it is.” He pulls my skirt down in front, just enough. “Very collegiate.” His eyes drink up the sight, and his lips come together as he breathes out, like he’s trying to collect himself.
“Like I said, I wasn’t… mmm.” I abandon that defense as he rubs the front of the thong, his hand moving over my lower stomach. I silently beg for him to move a little lower, to discover that I’m waiting for him. I feel his firm ass, exploring those defined muscles again, and my hands find their way to his belt buckle, unable to stop themselves.
He grabs my wrist, stopping me. “Not until I say.” The fingers of his other hand sweep downward, brushing my clit through the thin fabric of my thong, and I inhale sharply.
“Mmmmmm, God,” I murmur. “Do that some more.”
“Say please.”
“Please!”
Gage’s finger strokes harder, and he increases his speed. It’s all I can do to remain standing. I’ve never felt like this before, especially from touch alone.
He places my hand back on his belt buckle, and I unbutton his pants, acutely aware of how much his body is anticipating this. Unzipping reveals black boxer briefs, and I waste no time sliding my hand in and covering his cock with my palm. I feel a drop of wetness, and Gage’s body tenses. His touch becomes more urgent, and I close my eyes to absorb the feelings he’s giving me, then reopen them to get the full view of Gage’s dick.
I expose him, and he murmurs his encouragement.
“Good girl,” he says, his voice low and husky. “Take my cock out.”
Pulling him out of his boxer briefs, I behold every inch of him in the office light. His dick is as flawless as I remember—as I suspected, I wasn’t grading him on a curve due to being inebriated. If anything, it looks more beautiful now that I’m sober.
I bend and kiss the tip, and he puts his hand on the back of my head, pushes the head of his cock past my lips, then pulls me back up by my hair so that I’m standing up in front of him.
His hand doesn’t want to leave my slit. I grip him tightly, giving him one slow stroke, then another.
I want to lean over again, and take his entire shaft into my mouth. I want to look up at him while I suck on it. But he’s making me dizzy with pleasure, and I can feel how easily Gage’s fingers slide around my pussy.
“You’re so wet,” he says, sounding pleased with himself.
“I know.” My own voice sounds almost raspy.
“Then why is this still on?” He tugs at my thong. “It’s definitely cute, but it’s got to go.”
Gage pulls the blue fabric down, and I step out of it.
My hand is still on his dick, and I stroke it as he claims my mouth in another hot, deep kiss.
When he finally breaks it, he pushes me down
to my knees.
“You look so fucking hot down on your knees like that.” His eyes are hooded with desire, and I feel my pussy get even wetter just from the way he’s looking at me. He takes his hard cock in his hand and pushes it toward my lips. “Lick it.” There’s a note of sweet torture in his tone.
I run my tongue up and down his entire length, rolling it over his perfect thickness, eyes closed, getting lost in the taste of Gage. I repeat my path with my eyes open, staring up at him, so he can watch my eyes as my tongue roams all over him. I taste some more of Gage’s salty impatience, and he emits a low groan.
“I can’t,” he breathes. “I can’t anymore.”
“Can’t what?”
“Can’t wait.” He pulls me to my feet. “I can’t wait anymore, Keri. I need you.” I feel my nipples react in happy longing as Gage pulls my skirt up, up, high around my waist. His hands clasp my breast, giving them a squeeze, and then his voice is heavy in my ear. “Bend over.”
I obey him. My elbows come to rest on the desktop, and Gage’s hands slide from my tits back down the sides of my thighs. I feel the tip of his cock brush against me.
“I hope when you came here you wanted to get fucked.” The authority Gage is used to having makes itself heard. “Because that’s what you’re getting.”
Gage’s tip finds its way into me and I stop breathing. Holding himself there, he rubs my inner thigh, breathing hard. Then, without warning, he rams himself into me, all the way, my wetness readily accepting him.
It’s all I can do not to cry out. To yell his name, to exclaim how superior this moment is to anything I ever experienced before him. But as if Gage suspects it, he gives me more instruction. “Shhh.”
I gasp and let it out, gasp again and let it out.
“Good girl,” he whispers. His own breath is coming out in rasps as his hips move back and forth. He moves in and out of me, slowly, rhythmically, like he knows precisely how to drive me wild.
I can’t help myself. “Ahh,” I murmur.
“Quiet,” Gage reminds me. “Or you’ll get in trouble.”
“Trouble?” I turn around and look up at Gage, whose face is entranced. “I’m already in the professor’s office.”
