CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Gage is sitting on the couch with his back to me and a baseball game on the TV. The sound of the shower running behind me fills the room, and his head jerks to the side when it reaches him. Slowly, with half a smile across his mouth, he twists all the way around to look at me.
I…hide a little more than I intended behind the door and swallow around the ball of nervousness suddenly lodged in the base my throat. There's the new, ballsy Cassidy, and then there's the brazen level I haven't quite reached. Still, I say, "I've been in here a really long time."
There. My words hardly shake at all.
"I noticed." He walks around the couch, pausing by the arm, his half smile lifting wickedly. "Come out here and let me see you."
Something's bubbling up through me, a nervous, excited sort of energy. I bite back a smile of my own. "I'm dripping wet behind this door…"
He takes a step toward me. "Oh really?"
"I've been waiting for you to make good on your promise."
Another step. "The one where I threatened to come in after you if you took too long?"
"Uh, yeah." As if I've forgotten. "Damn, Gage, how long is too long for you? An hour? A year? Because that's how long it feels like I've been waiting for you, needing you under the water with me."
"Sweetheart, if that's how you feel, you won't be waiting another second," he says. In three long steps, he closes the distance to the door.
I laugh and shut it in his face, hopping back into the shower. Waiting to see what he'll do.
Hoping it's everything I've spent the last few minutes daydreaming about.
Wondering if there's any way it could be more. And the thrill that little thought sends through me is enough to have me revving even harder.
The door swings open hard enough to hit the wall. I resist sticking my head out around the curtain. I want the next expression he sees on my face to be dark, intense, full of wanting. Not another little peek around the corner.
Plus, my legs are a little shaky. I'm not sure I trust them to move at the moment.
"Cassidy." There's a hesitation in the way he says my name. His voice is rough, reaching toward me through the steam.
"Gage." Mine is breathless, hitched, a little higher than I'd like.
"Have you changed your mind?" Through the curtain, his silhouette stands very, very still in the doorway. I wonder how much of me is visible to him and run a slippery hand over my breasts and across my belly, imagining for a moment that it's his. Hoping he can see me. Scared he can, too.
Deep breath. Okay. Go for it. Just go for it, Cassidy. "You're taking too long again. I'm getting started without you."
The shadow of him behind the curtains strides immediately into the room, as though he was waiting to hear exactly what I said. In one smooth motion, he drags his shirt over his head and, after the distinct clang of a belt unbuckled, his pants down his legs. The fabric hits the floor with a dull thud that makes my breath catch—and, when he pulls back the curtain, it comes out in one silent whoosh. Because naked Gage… Wow. Sharp, gorgeous face. Disheveled hair, energized in all directions across his forehead. Broad shoulders. Smooth, taut chest. Tight abs… I can't bring myself to look lower, but my oh so excellent peripheral vision shows me he's already halfway ready to get where we're going.
The open curtain lets in a rush of cooler air. It hits my skin in the most sensitive way, raising goose bumps along my flesh, tickling my collarbone, and tightening my nipples. But that could just be him, standing here before me. Watching me as intensely as I watch him.
His tongue darts out to wet his lips. I've never been so turned on; I've never been so exposed.
I've never been so turned on about being so exposed.
All because of the way his gaze hones in on me, greedy as it slowly travels my body—and that wicked little grin across his mouth grows wickeder by the second.
A pulse flutters lightly between my legs, but it's growing wickeder by the second, too.
Only the knifelike pain in my lower lip alerts me to how hard I'm biting it. It feels swollen when I release it. "Are you going to leave me here all wet, or are you going to do something about it?"
Who knew I had it in me, this vixenish come hither alter ego? Now that she's been released…I never want to cage her again.
"You don't have to ask me twice.” His words are back to sounding a bit like growls.
Who knew those rough little sounds could make me so hot? "Really? Because I feel like I've asked you about a million times at this point."
He steps over the tub and into the water, his movements both lithe and decisive. Standing before me, he continues his study, this time looking down into my face, into my eyes, with such a depth of concentration I feel myself flush—and I drink in his face as well. His wide, brown eyes. Angled jaw. Lips I already know are perfect for kissing. And other things…
His breath grazes my skin, cool and sweet, and I notice the smallest fleck of a scar beneath his left eye. I touch it, letting my hand trail over the curve of his cheek, down the scratchy hint of growth along his sideburns, and under the edge of his face. He turns his head to kiss my palm, and then works his mouth out to my wrist. I wind my fingers through his hair, damp now from the water finding its way around me and onto him.
My lips are jealous of the attention he's giving my wrist. And my wrist is slowly melting away from my body.
He must read some of the longing in my expression, because he releases my hand and turns his face toward mine until our lips are less than an inch apart. The air in the shower is warm, but the tension in the space between us is sharp, almost stinging. My hand, still in his hair, tiptoes down his neck, over his chest, across his abs, into the line where his thigh meets his torso.
His chest jerks with a quick intake of breath and his eyes widen—and then he crushes his mouth against mine. There's no sweet, slow buildup here, only complete devouring. His tongue parts my lips, pushing through and gliding, twisting against my own; he tastes the roof of my mouth and I kiss him back just as hard.
Water rains over us, flowing like a stream past my neck and between my breasts, rushing like a river down my belly, and emptying between my thighs. The places where our skin combines are slippery and wet from both water and steam, and I want to slide over him and under him and never, ever stop touching him. I slip my hand lower and wrap my fingers around him, squeezing lightly, sliding my grip along his hardness. He strains against my fingers.
And a second later, he snakes a hand around my wrist, dragging it back up, fastening it around his neck. "Jesus," he whispers against my mouth, spinning us so that the water's at his back. "You're about to make me lose control already."
"Good," I say, my lips still pressed to his. "I want you to." And then I lick between his mouth and nip his lower lip.
His hips rock forward, his erection slides through my legs, and I hike up a knee to give him access to the place I need to feel him most.
He pauses there, pressing flat against me and everything inside of me begins to quiver, begins to ache. I nearly beg. I nearly wrap my leg around and take him exactly how I want him.
Patience has never been my strong suit.
"I want you." I've never spoken with more truth. I've never been this ready, this needy, so quickly. I curve my knee, hooking it around the side of his waist. "I've never wanted anything—anyone—the way I want you right now."
He moves his hips again, thrusting between my thighs, but still not into me. A sound I barely recognize unfurls from the back of my throat. His name. I think that's what it was. Unrecognizable to either of us.
He bites my neck, teasing the skin lightly between his teeth, before responding. "We have all night, Cassidy. And I plan to fuck you more than once."
He lifts his head to stare so deeply into my eyes, I forget how to breathe. The shifting of his weight pushes him more solidly against me, the length of him sliding, teasingly, still there, between my legs, and forget trying to breathe, I c
an't even remember my own name. "But I also plan to explore you first. Thoroughly."
"Oh." Oh.
His hands massage the back of my neck before sliding slowly down my chest, stopping when they reach my nipples, rolling them between his fingers until they tighten into his touch, until the knee still beneath me nearly buckles, until my toes are curling.
All I am is a rush of nerves, burning, burning, burning down.
I hold onto his shoulders, steadying myself, but only barely. He wraps one hand around my hip and splays the other across my stomach, sliding lower, lower until he's cupping me between my thighs. His palm is warmer than the water cascading down around us, and the heat that spreads into my skin where he touches me is delicious. Tantalizing. I squeeze my leg tighter around his hip, and he pushes his palm harder against me—and nerves between my legs become shooting stars of pleasure, launching through me through me through me.
He twists his wrist until his fingers find purchase, exploring me, like he promised. His thumb presses into my abdomen; his fingers vary skillfully in pattern and pressure, playing me like a piano, strumming me like a guitar, spreading my skin every place he touches until nothing, not one inch of me, is hidden from them.
The pads of his fingers are calloused and the way he uses them is somehow both sweet and harsh, and raw and carnal against every part of me that's exposed. Rough heat. Pinching caresses. It's almost more than I can handle. In the best way. Now my hips rock forward against his hand, and I moan and he swallows the noise into a demanding, tongue-thrusting kiss.
And down below, he traces me.
He taunts me.
He taps his fingers to a rhythm of his own design against me, for me, into me. Curving, curling, corkscrewing through me. Between us, his forearm turns, turns, turns along my belly. His shoulder, hollowed against mine, dips and rises, matching the movements of his fingers.
But a second later he slides them out of me. I moan again, this time in disappointment, but he swallows it just like he did the first, his tongue never pausing in its rough takeover of my mouth. His hand smoothes down the thigh that's raised, and he hooks his fingers under my knee—instantly, I miss the feel of him between my legs. Then his mouth breaks contact with mine, and I miss the connection there almost as much.
"Gage, please," I plead, not sure for what. Wanting something more.
Wanting him.
But he shakes his head and kisses my jaw, running his tongue down my neck, trailing the path his hand first explored. He takes his time, licking the water from my collarbone, spiraling his tongue around my nipples and catching them lightly with his teeth until they're so hard, so tight I feel the tension deep in my belly.
I push my hips against him, needing more, but he just glances up to smile lazily at me before dragging the edges of his teeth down my stomach, licking, licking, licking… Dropping slowly to his knees.
My hands are laced in his hair; my own is soaking wet, falling in my face so that the coconut scent of my conditioner fills my nose every time I breathe—which is happening faster and faster. Heavier and heavier. Like I actually am running a marathon—but I never, ever want to reach the finish line.
His name is a neon shape in my mind and I cling to it, to him. I don't know what else I want to say, but I can't keep it from falling between my lips. "Gage."
He shushes me and his free hand slides around the side of my hip to grab my ass, digging into my skin so hard I might have a mark later. I hope I do. I want to remember this moment. He tightens his hold under my knee and blinks up at me, water catching in his lashes, streaming around his eyes—once such a light brown I thought they were golden, now so much darker with desire. "Spread your legs, sweetheart. Show me where you want my tongue."
Oh, God.
My mouth drops open, but there are no words to be found.
This is…
So completely charged.
He pushes my leg and with only the smallest moment of hesitation, I let him swing it outward, guiding my knee until the tips of my toes rest against the cusp of the tub where it reaches the wall, his eyes never leaving my face.
And then they do.
His gaze trails down my body, caressing me with almost as much silky pressure as his hand did, and his mouth a moment ago.
He licks his lips, studying me, and in the back of my mind I realize the old me would've been mortified, but this new me's way too turned on to care. I…I like it. All of it. Every single detail of this moment and every single one that's lead to it.
His face turns toward my knee and he nibbles my skin along the curve, his tongue riding up, up the inside of my thigh. Higher, and higher, he stops here and there to nibble again and then he's so close so close so close I can barely stand it and he knows what he's doing to me, the way I'm aching for him, trembling everywhere.
His fingers tighten around my hip and under my leg. He nuzzles me with his nose—and slowly, slowly tilts his head back to look up into my eyes again.
And then he licks me.
One unhurried, continuous stroke of his tongue gliding over me…gliding through me.
I almost unravel completely.
The sight of him watching me, the sight of his face pressed against me, the sight of his jaw loosening to release his tongue even further…it replaces the blood in my veins with shocks of pleasure, rushing through me, tearing into me, electrifying me.
He teases me with his tongue, flickering it across my sensitive skin, light as a whisper and then harder, more urgently—dipping into me, with deep and steady strokes. Need unfurls across my belly, down my legs, pulsing, throbbing, aching until it's all I can do not to grind against his face. I throw an arm out, striking my hand into the tile of the shower wall, using it to steady myself. Ignoring or actually secretly a little bit enjoying the stinging in my palm.
So much pressure, so much tension, flowing up my legs and down my arms and into my belly while he does these things with his mouth and with his teeth, somehow rough and gentle at the same time so that heat tears through me, almost to the point of burning. I twist his hair in my fingers and he laps against me a little more softly, until the flames under my skin simmer into embers—and then he sparks them up all over again.
His hand slides down from around my hip to join his mouth and now his tongue is feathering against me and his fingers are sliding into me and curving through me and my body begins to tighten around them. I swear to God I'm nervous I might get a concussion because I'm about to freaking black out and this floor is slippery and oh, Jesus, everything is spiraling, spiraling, constricting in my stomach and shooting lower, and I moan so loudly when I come it echoes through the steam of the room around us.
My entire body shudders and if he wasn't holding me so tightly I really would slip, fall, disappear into the trembles spanning out for miles, rippling under my skin.
He releases my knee and wraps his hand around my back, steadying me as he stands. "Hang on," he says, though the words barely reach me through the bubble of pleasure still quivering, echoing over my body and in my mind. "Hang on, sweetheart. Because that was just the beginning."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Just the beginning.
Just the beginning.
I've been looking forward to a night with Gage from the moment he showed up to work—but after what he just did to me?
I've never looked forward to anything more.
I…have a feeling I might not be able to walk tomorrow. And he hasn't even been inside me yet.
Well, not counting his agile fingers and very talented tongue.
And now I'm blushing.
He's watching my face, a smirk across his own, and he wipes a trail of streaming water away from his forehead before it reaches his eyes. "Your expression's so unguarded. I can read you like a book right now."
It doesn't bother me. Not if he truly knows what I'm thinking. "Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah." He reaches behind him and turns off the water. The room's so steamy the temperature barely
dips. On my skin, and under it.
I peer up at him, blinking innocently. "You must be mistaken. If you could read my mind you'd know I'm not nearly ready to step out of here. And neither," I dance my fingers down his stomach, grabbing hold of him, as if to remind him he's harder than steel, “is this very convincing part of you.”
His expression tightens the same time my hand does and he winces a little when he speaks, like the words are hard to get out. They do sound a little strained. "I think…" He clears his throat. "I think we need to get somewhere more comfortable. I have a long night planned for us… And as much as I've enjoyed our time in this tub, it isn't going to cut it."
"You sure about that?" I run a finger over him, smearing a bit of wetness from his tip and he closes his eyes, his breath jerking out of his lungs.
"No," he sighs. "But only because you make it very hard…" He peeks at me from one eye, cracking a smile. "To think, that is."
"I can make it harder," I promise, squeezing a little.
Now both his eyes shoot open and his smile turns downright wolfish—but he slides my hand off of him and weaves his fingers through mine. "I have no doubt that you can. That you will." He steps over the edge of the tub, tugging me with him. "But I care about your comfort, sweetheart, and I need you to save some of that wild energy swirling in those green eyes of yours."
"Fine." I pout, trying not to grin when he laughs at my expression. "Your loss."
"But not for long," he promises. He grabs my robe from its hook, handing it to me. "Get comfortable. I'll grab you a glass of water."
"There’s a bottle of water on my nightstand already," I say. "And the only thing I’m thirsty for…is you. So come to bed with me, instead."
"That," he says, "I have no problem with."
I open the door that leads into the guest bedroom—my bedroom, for now—and use the robe to dry off a little as I walk, then wrapping it loosely around my shoulders. I turn when I get to the bed, and sit on the edge. He's watching me from the doorway, running my towel across his body and ruffling it through his hair. I don't know why that turns me on, but it does.
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