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"It's me," I say.

Gage turns.

"Sid's not scared. He's judgmental. That's his other setting." My voice isn’t steady now.

"The frost is mine."

He looks at the window. Then at me, half undressed on his counter in a house lit like a church.

He comes back across that kitchen and stands in front of me sitting on the counter. He still towers above me.

His mouth takes mine first, hard enough that my head tips back, and his hands go to my breasts and my bra is gone before I've finished deciding to help him with it. Then he palms my breasts with both hands rubbing his thumbs across my nipples. He bends his head down and his mouth closes over my nipple to gently suck. My spine arches so far I nearly go off the counter.

He catches me and he doesn't stop.

"Gage."

"Say my name again," he growls.

"Gage. That feels so good."

Teeth, grazing. Then his tongue is licking my nipple and he’s sucking until it’s hard and standing at attention, while his thumb rolls the nipple on the other side. The sound that comes out of me isn’t one I can remember ever making.

His hands take me under my thighs and drag me to the edge of the counter and I lay back. I'm laughing until his mouth is on me through the denim, and then I'm not laughing at all. He gets the button. He gets the zipper. He strips my jeans and everything under them down my legs and drops them somewhere behind him, and there's nothing left between me and the cold air but the heat rolling off his skin.

He kneels and his head is right between my legs. My legs are bent and my feet are at the edge of the counter. I’m wide open for him.

And then he stops.

He looks up at me and holds perfectly still, close enough that every breath goes over me warm, and he waits with his eyebrow raised. Because he won’t do one single thing in this life for me without my permission.

"Yes," I say. "Yes. Please. Now."

"Look at me while I do it."

He holds me open with his hands on both sides of my pussy and just takes his time looking at me.

“You are so perfect and pink and ready for me.” He looks up adoringly into my eyes. I have to admit I wasn’t expecting that and it melts me right away.

Then his mouth is on me and the kitchen goes far, far away.

I clench up against his mouth.

He finds my clit with his tongue and circles it, slow at first, then faster. I gasp and my back arches off the counter and a jar of something crashes to the floor. Neither of us care.

He sucks my clit into his mouth, gentle pressure, then harder.

"Fuck, you taste good," he mutters, and I laugh, half breathless, half desperate, before he slides two fingers inside me. My laugh turns into a moan.

“You are so wet and tight,” he says to me looking in my eyes as he curls his fingers forward, finding that spot, while his mouth keeps working on me too.

I’m getting close. My thighs shake and my breathing goes ragged and uneven. He’s focused entirely on me, making me feel good, and memorizing every reaction.

He adds a third finger, stretching me, and my nails dig into his scalp.

"Don't stop!"

He doesn’t. He sucks harder, flicking his tongue against my clit in quick strokes while his fingers move in and out, curling each time. My hips grind against his face and he lets me take what I need.