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“Nope, it’s true. And normally I wouldn’t mind so much, but there’s just one thing—” She stopped herself from going into details, because it was those details that made it hard to swallow the failure rising in her throat.
“What one thing, sweetheart?” he pressed. “You want to cook something special?”
She was playing a dangerous game with a man that she knew better than to play with at all. Their one rule, “casual,” had kept her safe every time he’d come and every time he’d left. But now he’d changed the rules. Now he wanted “romance.” Now he wanted her to open up to him. Now he wanted her to feel for him with her heart, not just her body.
“Forget it,” she said.
“No.” His voice was blunt and deep. Not harsh, but that one word was said with such authority that Chloe registered the intent. He was telling her he would not forget a thing.
“I want to make something specific for the restaurant anniversary coming up, but I’m struggling. Happy now?” she said with her own snap. She didn’t want to go into her shortcomings. Didn’t want to discuss “real” things, like how she missed her mother and how she hated the loss of her. Hated how her mother had lived her last several years with a broken heart because she was waiting on a man. Hated that deep down, Chloe feared she was looking at the man who could ruin her the same way.
She shook her head. No way in hell would she think about this, much less tell Gage about it. Time for the sex. Not the reality.
“Now can we get back to this…” She reached into his pants a little further.
“Chloe…”
“I’m right here.” She placed another soft kiss over his nipple. “The question is, what are you going to do about it?” She bit down on his meaty pec, and he growled and drove his hands into her hair. He pressed her against the nearest tree and kicked her legs apart.
Chloe smiled, and the low hum of need she’d been fighting burst into overdrive. She was done with reality. Done with talking. Now it was time for what they did best.
She clawed at his hips, pulled him close between her spread legs, and rocked on his hard cock, hitting the perfect spot. Even between their pants, he knew how to move, where to touch, how to turn her on.
He kissed her hard as the grip on her hair tightened further. He pulled—and she gasped. The shock of pain and pleasure always hit her like a surprise, and she loved it. Gage didn’t wait. Didn’t negotiate. He took her exactly how she liked it.
“You drive me crazy.” He bit her tongue. “So fucking crazy I want to remind you who’s in charge.”
“Yes, do it!” She grinded her hips against him. She was wild for him. Desperate. He looked like her personal Army of One, and she needed him.
Her eyes snapped open. She looked him over—a wall of muscle, glory, camo, and the face paint? He was rugged and “her type” to the Nth degree of hotness.
“You did this on purpose.” She shoved at his chest, but he gathered her wrists and locked them behind her, wedging them between the tree trunk and her back.
“You dressed like this on purpose. Tried to get me to give in to you,” she said.
With his free hand, he unbuttoned her jeans and tugged them down. Once they bunched around her thighs, he pushed them to the ground with his foot, then locked her legs at her ankles. With his weight on her pants, the bunched cloth acted like cuffs. She was standing, legs spread, and couldn’t move.
“Just because I happen to look like your own personal fantasy, doesn’t mean you should hold it against me,” he said. “Besides, isn’t this what you wanted?” He unfastened his pants.
Yes, but he’d made her give up a real detail about herself. “I want you. But you…you’re…”
“Not playing fair?” he finished.
He reached into his pants, gripped his cock, and ran the head along her folds. She groaned. “Kind of like that little stunt you pulled the other night with your ‘quick meal’?”
He had her there. She might have used that to her advantage, like Gage was using his camo and manliness to his. And she was melting for him.
“Please take me now,” she begged as the hot crown of his cock barely nudged her opening. She lifted her hips to try to take him into her body, but he stilled her.
“We haven’t had a dinner date yet. And fucking in the woods doesn’t count as romance.”
Her eyes met his. “Then what…”
He thrust hard against her, running his big rod along her sex, and her head fell back. Her legs and hands were pinned. His big palm pressed against her stomach to keep her from moving. He had her in every way. And he wasn’t going to take all of it.
The thought sent fire raging through her; a cocktail of frustration mixed with lust and pent-up need.
“Feels like a compromise,” he said. The way he worked his hips was out of some manual for How to Be a Sex God without Actually Having Sex.
