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My experiences with intimacy up to that point were confined to kissing and some touching. I’d felt a man’s hands on my skin, but never to the point of an orgasm.
My first kiss with Gage changed everything. I almost came from the taste of his lips and his hands squeezing my ass.
We made love for the first time a month later. It was tender and everything I needed. Gage was compassionate and loving.
After that, some days we’d go at each other like we were starved. Our fucking would be frantic and quick, driven by our desperate need to feel each other.
Other times, we’d take it slow. Hours would pass while we savored each touch and taste.
I craved all of it.
He stands when he sees me, revealing a pair of dark gray pants, a black belt, and a white button-down shirt. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.
He raises his hand in the air in a greeting, drawing glances from the women sitting at nearby tables.
I feel the same magnetic pull toward him that’s always been there, so I go to him, sensing that the conversation we’re about to have will change everything.
***
I sip from the white ceramic coffee mug as I watch Gage watch me.
“What’s the deal with you and Preston?”
His question catches me off-guard. I take a deep breath, trying to mask the surprise in my tone. “Preston?”
“The guy you’re seeing.” Disdain colors his words. “How serious is that?”
I could resort back to my standard that’s none of your damn business response, but I opt for honesty. “That’s over.”
“Over?” He doesn’t bother hiding the wicked grin on his mouth. “Who ended that?”
“You didn’t just ask me that,” I quip.
He doesn’t say a thing as a barista approaches us with a carafe of coffee in one hand and a wicker basket filled with cream cups and sugar packets in the other. “Would either of you like a refill?”
I wave a hand over the top of my cup. “I’m good.”
She turns her attention to Gage. “Sir?”
“Please,” he says to her even though his gaze is pinned to me.
She makes small talk about the weather as she fills his cup. Her eyes linger on his face for a beat too long before she finally walks away, leaving us alone again.
“What’s running through your mind right now, Katie?”
That’s a loaded question. I blurt out the first thing that I can think of. “When did you move to New York?”
“Six months ago.” He taps his fingertips on the table.
I stick with the current line of questioning even though he’s the one who invited me here. “Why did you move to New York?”
“Something inside of me told me that this is the place I needed to be.”
I smile at that answer. It’s something twenty-four-year-old Gage would have said. Back then, he had a vision that included a medical degree, summer weekends spent on his parents’ sailboat, and trips to Paris for our wedding anniversaries.
Neither of us had been to France when he proposed the idea, but he said that something inside of him had sparked an urge to visit the City of Lights with his bride.
We were supposed to celebrate our honeymoon there. The trip was a wedding gift from his mom and dad.
