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I follow Gage without question when he takes my hand and guides me down the hallway.
I’ve wanted this since he walked back into my life, even if the desire was buried beneath a mountain of anger and grief.
Just as we enter his bedroom, he turns to me. His gaze searches my face for something. I know what it is. He wants reassurance that I’m ready.
He looked at me the same way the first time we made love.
I wasn’t as nervous back then as I am now.
“Are you sure?” he asks, the rasp in his voice touching every part of me. “If you’re not ready…”
Darting up to my tiptoes, I cup the back of his head so I can kiss him.
His hands circle me, tugging on my hips until I’m against him. The steely girth of his erection presses into me.
I break the kiss, dropping my hands to the front of his sweater.
“Take this off,” I whisper. “Let me see you.”
He nods before he tugs the sweater over his head, tossing it onto a chair in the corner.
A streetlight outside floods the room with a soft glow.
I stare at his body.
Everything is the same, yet it’s different.
His chest is smooth. Tattoos or scars have never touched his skin.
The freckles I remember dot his upper chest. The trail of hair that leads to the waistband of his jeans is just as tempting as it was when I first saw it.
“It’s your turn,” he says, fisting his hands at his side.
I know Gage. I know that’s how he tries to temper his need for me.
When we lived together, I’d make him wait while I’d dance around him naked, telling him that I wanted to see him hard before I’d let him touch me.
He would always laugh and point at his cock.
I know he’s as hard in his jeans as he was every time I teased him.
“I’ll help,” he offers, circling his finger in the air.
I spin on my heel, bunching my hair into my hand. I hold it to the side, giving him access to the zipper that I struggled to do up at home when I was getting dressed.
I shiver when he grabs the zipper pull.
“I’ll be gentle,” he whispers into my ear, his breath racing over my skin.
I close my eyes when I feel the zipper open. I don’t turn because I want him to slide the dress from my shoulders.
“Katie,” he says my name in a rush as my dress falls to the floor. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
I soak in the power of those words and the depth of need in his voice.
“Turn around,” he urges with a hand on my hip. “Let me see you.”
I move slowly, spinning back until I’m facing him. My hands fall to the lace waistband of my black panties.
