Page 34 of Collide

We stroll hand in hand for a bit, and then he pulls me into his side. We don’t talk much, sharing trivial things here and there, until Gage asks, “Do you have a name picked out?”

“Ava or Adeline. I can’t decide.”

He hums before he answers. “Ava Everly. I like the sound of that.” He’s pleased with himself and his lip curls, but I’m instantly concerned. He’s jumping too far ahead.

“Gage,” I warn, worried for him. He’s painting a future I can’t have with him. We—baby and me—won’t fit into the lifestyle he wants. He doesn’t need a family as a young guy in a band. He needs to be single and wild.

He kisses my forehead in response. As we walk, his hand strokes my shoulder and massages my neck, and by the time we return to the penthouse, I’m a hormonal hot mess. A fire has been lit in the patio pit, casting a romantic glow to the rooftop. Gage takes a seat on the loveseat, and I straddle his lap. My mouth crashes into his.

I want this man and the image he draws, and it’s dangerous. So dangerous.

Our mouths move, sucking and nipping. My tongue traces the curve of his lips before dipping forward. I swirl over his tongue, drawing it into my mouth. My hips move, simulating what I want from him.

“I want you,” I tell him, murmuring against his mouth.

“I want you too, babe.” His hands trace my sides, leading up to my breasts. He cups under each of them, pushing them together and upward. I pull back from his mouth, and he lowers to kiss each breast over my dress. He nips me through the material, forcing my already hard nipples to throb. Tingles shoot through each breast like a live wire and ignite my core. I rock against his lap with more purpose.

“Gage,” I purr, slipping my fingers into the hair on the back of his head. I tug and fall forward, kissing him once again. “I want you inside me.”

He groans. “One day, gorgeous.”

“Tonight,” I whine.

“You need love first, Ivy.” He mischievously smiles up at me.

“Shut up,” I mumble. I don’t want to hear such words. I don’t want to add to the fantasy I already have of him, and me, and my baby. I can’t add visions of a family to the hope in my chest.

“I’ve never seen anyone so in need of it. You’re desperate for it,” he murmurs.

The words piss me off even more. “Just fuck me,” I growl and rock with more vigor along the bulge in his jeans. I think I’m about to get my way when his hands climb both my thighs and slide under my sundress.

“No,” he snaps, and we glare at one another until a finger traces down the seam of my thong. I’m already wet and panting. He draws back up the crease, toying with me, teasing me. “I’m gonna take my time with you, gorgeous. I’m going to keep things slow,” he whispers as his lips hit my neck, and his fingers slip under the cotton. I gasp as he thrusts one up, filling me. I undulate over him, holding the digit in my depths.

“I want to learn every curl and curve and whimper and sigh,” he breathes under my ear, adding a second finger. The fuller feeling rolls my hips, and I move as if he were in me—another part of him, that is—which is long and thick under my sex. He meets my motions with the rock of his hips, thrusting upward, forcing his fingers deeper.

“I want to feel every fold and dip of your skin,” he mutters before nipping where my neck meets my shoulder. “And I want to own every orgasm.” His thumb stretches to the sensitive spot, timing all his fingers to move in a rhythm that pushes me over the edge. My fingertips dig into his shoulders as I lower my forehead to his. I bite my lip to hold back a scream until he commands, “Give it to me.” Then he covers my lips, and I moan against his tongue while I clench his fingers inside me.

When we slow both our thrusts and our kisses, he withdraws from me and sips his fingers like he did the other day. I chuckle until he kisses me one more time, forcing me to taste the saltiness of myself on him. We stare at one another a second.

“I want to believe you,” I tell him, scared of the admission. “I want to believe in all of it.” I shrug, vulnerable in what I’ve said.

“You will, babe.” Wrapping his arms around my back, he slips his fingers up into my hair to hold the nape of my neck. And for the first time in a long time, I get the hug I’ve needed. I don’t want him to ever let me go, which is a dangerous thought.

16

IVY

The next morning, I face my uncle for the first time since yesterday afternoon. He doesn’t appear pleased, and I’m grateful Gage and I didn’t end up in my room. Gage kissed me at the door, pressing me up against the wall until I was begging him to take me like he had the first time we were together.

The reminder set him off.

This isn’t happening until you’re mine, he stated, and I wonder once again what he meant. I’m thinking about this when my uncle coughs for my attention. I’ve been staring at the coffee machine as if willing it to make the necessary drink faster.

“You think I’m a child, don’t you?” I say, keeping my eyes on the coffeemaker.

“I think you’re acting like one.”

The comment sets me off. “Why? Because a good man is paying attention to me? Because he’s being nice to me? For once, someone seems to see me, and this makes me a child.”