Chapter 23 Gage
TWENTY-THREE
GAGE
I’m not going to tell her no, not ever, and especially not when she looks like this—lips bee-stung and glistening, hair a wild tumble, those dark brown eyes holding me captive like a siren’s song. Doesn’t she know I’d follow her anywhere? I’d have followed her six years ago if she’d have let me.
“I’m not going to stop you,” I murmur, my voice low and rough. “Not when you look at me like that.” My grin is slow, anticipatory. As if I’d ever fucking stop her from touching me.
She grins back, a flash of teeth before she plants a hand on my chest, pushing gently.
She turns around, and my hoodie rides up, revealing the luscious curve of her ass.
My palms find her hips, tracing the soft, warm skin beneath her waistband.
Fuck, I’ll give her anything she wants. I don’t think I know how to say no to her.
I swipe my tongue along my bottom lip, savoring the taste of her and counting down the time until I can taste her again.
She bends forward, putting her cunt in my face.
She slides my cock out of my sweatpants.
A soft greedy noise escapes her throat as she wraps her fingers around my length, a sound that sends a shiver up my spine.
She strokes me, her grip firm and sure, drawing a groan from deep within my chest. Then she takes me in her mouth, her lips hot and wet, her tongue swirling around my cock.
My brain goes offline, every thought evaporating as sensation takes over.
Her cheeks hollow out as she takes me deeper, and I wish I could see her lips stretched wide around me.
But this view is fucking perfect, so I wouldn’t change it.
I gently spread her open, exposing her dripping cunt. “Goddamn, Bell.”
She’s wet. Obscenely wet, slick against my fingertips when I part her, and the sight of her like this—swollen and glistening and aching for me—does something feral to the space behind my sternum. I already made her come once.
But Cruz gave her one too.
The thought snaps through me like a live wire.
That motherfucker gave her one, and he did it right under my nose, in my bed, with his hands on something that has never belonged to him.
My jaw tightens even as my cock throbs against her tongue. Possessive isn’t even the right word for what I feel. It’s something older, instinctual in a way I can’t shut off.
Two. I’m giving her two, and then she’s going to know exactly whose name to scream.
She strokes me in a slow, twisting pull, base to tip, as her tongue flickers against the sensitive spot underneath the head, and I have to look at the ceiling just to keep my fucking eyes from rolling back.
Six years—six goddamn, motherfucking years we could’ve been doing this.
Instead she left me without so much as a backward glance. Leaving me with only the memories of her. And it’s a pale, anemic thing next to my girl in the flesh.
Her mouth follows her hand. She takes me slow, dragging her lips down my length like she has all the time in the world, like she’s trying to see how fast I’ll fold for her.
Her tongue traces the underside, a long flat stroke that pulls a sound out of me I’m not proud of, and then she hollows her cheeks and sucks, and my whole nervous system whites out for a half second.
“Fuck.” Maybe she knows I’m already too close.
The word leaves me on a rough exhale. My hand finds the curve of her hip, fingers pressing in—not pushing, just holding, anchoring myself to something solid while she takes me apart from the inside out.
She hums around me, a low vibration that travels up my spine and detonates somewhere at the base of my skull, and I feel the sound more than I hear it.
I drag my attention back to what’s in front of me as a distraction.
This is the first time I’ve had her mouth on my cock in too long, and I’m not going to ruin it by coming too fast. The way she’s working my cock deserves some praise—and because the need to have her on my tongue pulses against my temple like a constant command.
I lick into her in one slow, deliberate stroke, parting her with my tongue, and the taste of her floods my mouth—and I feel something in my chest loosen and pull taut at the same time.
Goddamn, I could live here. I’d burn down everything to stay here—my mouth on her cunt, her thighs bracketing my face, the world outside this bed meaningless.
She gasps around my cock, hips stuttering forward, and I take that as the only invitation I’ll ever need.
I work her open with my tongue, slow and thorough, finding every place that makes her breath catch and her thighs tremble. And then I find the spot that makes her moan—that soft, wrecked sound she tries to swallow—and I stay there.
I tease her ass, tracing the rim with my tongue, light enough to coax a reaction, deliberate enough to drive her wild. Her back arches, a gasp escaping her lips as I focus on that sensitive edge.
She takes me deeper in retaliation, or maybe desperation, her throat opening around the head of my cock, and my hips jerk up involuntarily.
My groan is muffled against her, vibrating into her skin, and I feel her shudder.
We’re wrecking each other at the same time.
And it’s the most unhinged, perfect, right thing I’ve ever been a part of.
Her grip tightens on my cock in response and her thighs squeeze around my head, like she can’t decide whether to pull away or push closer.
Mine.
“That’s it, Bell. Give it to me.”
I spread her cheeks wide, the soft glow of the room lighting up the curve of her ass. She trembles as I lean in, the flat of my tongue pressing against her. Her breath hitches, a sharp inhale as I plunge into her tight heat, my tongue slick and insistent.
Her back arches, a low moan escaping her lips, her body tensing and releasing in rhythm with each thrust. I can feel her unraveling, her muscles coiling tighter until finally, she shatters.
Bellamy Calloway becomes a moaning, writhing mess for me.
She comes with my name on her lips, half moan and half sob, her thighs clamping around my face, her hips grinding down like she can’t help it, like her body’s just chasing the feeling without her permission.
I ease her through it, gentling my tongue but not pulling away, drawing it out until she’s shaking and gasping and her arm barely holds her up.
Two.
Her mouth on me never stops—even through it, even while she’s coming, she works me with that devastating grip, and I’m so far gone I can feel it building at the base of my spine, a low, tightening pressure that’s been coiling since the moment I opened my eyes and saw her face.
She pulls off just long enough to breathe, her forehead dropping to my thigh. “Gage, I’m too sensitive.”
“You’ve got one more in you.” My voice doesn’t sound like mine. It’s too rough, scraped raw.
“I’ve already come three times.” It’s a garbled plea coated in disbelieving laughter.
“I need one more, Bell. Are you gonna give it to me?” Desire for her opens up inside me, vast and endless.
I want her so fucked up on me she can’t think straight. To take up so much space in her nervous system that there’s no room left for anything else—no room for Cruz, no room for Rafe, no room for the six years she spent somewhere I couldn’t reach her.
She makes a sound—half laugh, half whimper—and then her mouth is back on me, hungrier now, urgent, and I match her. I leave no inch of her unexplored.
Mine. The word lives in my chest like a heartbeat.
I work her harder this time, my fingers curling deep in her cunt while my tongue moves in tight, relentless circles around her clit, and I feel the moment it shifts—the way her thighs start to shake, the way her breathing turns ragged and shallow, the way she loses her rhythm entirely and just holds on.
She comes apart like something giving way—a low, broken cry, her whole body shuddering, clenching around my fingers so hard I groan against her. And the sound of her, the feel of her, the taste of her flooding my tongue—it tips me over the edge I’ve been walking.
I come with my face buried in her cunt, her name a ruined exhale into her skin, my whole body going taut and then slack, pleasure crashing through me in long, rolling waves.
The air outside is cooler. It doesn’t help.
She’s still on my skin, still inside my nose, and I can’t tell if that’s the problem or the only thing keeping me upright right now.
The door clicks shut behind me. The lot is empty, washed in that sick yellow light that makes everything look like evidence.
Cruz is perched on the back edge of the SUV like he owns it. One foot on the ground, the other hooked on the bumper, a joint burning slow between his fingers. Smoke drifting up into nothing. The picture of a man with nowhere to be and nothing on his conscience. He looks up when I get close.
“Tell me, brother,” he says, and takes a drag and exhales it toward me. “Whose name did she call out—mine or yours?”
My fist finds his jaw before I decide to throw it.
He spits blood onto the pavement. Works his tongue along his teeth, unhurried, like he’s taking inventory. Then he tips his head back to shake the hair out of his face and laughs—low and mean, the kind that isn’t meant to be funny.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“It’s not,” I say.
“No?” He tilts his head. His eyes don’t move off mine. “You should’ve felt the way she clenched around me.” He groans—slow and deliberate—and raises the joint to his mouth. He inhales along the line of his fingers before he reaches the joint.
I stare at his hand—and the fucking fingers that were just inside my girl.
I know he’s fucking taunting me—and yet, I fucking rise to the occasion anyway. I fist his collar and shove him back against my SUV. “She's not something for you to play with just because you're bored. Don't treat her like that.”
He grins, but it’s cruel around the corners. “I don’t know, brother, I think she likes it when I treat her like that.”
“Don’t fucking push me on this, Cruz. I mean it.” I shove him back once, releasing his shirt from my fists.
He straightens up, rolling his shoulders back. “Or what?”
“Or you’ll answer to me—”
A dry laugh scrapes out of him. “Is that supposed to be a threat?”
“And Rafe,” I continue. I feel the edges of my face twist into something ruthless.
Cruz shakes his head, but he doesn’t lose the smirk even when his eyes narrow. “So you’re cool with Rafe fucking her, but not me? Did I get that right?”
Irritation flares at the reminder that the only fucking girl I ever loved is fucking around with me and my brother.
And my other brother, I guess.
What the fuck is going on?
I don’t say anything. What is there to say?
He takes another drag from his joint and releases it with a shake of his head. “Fuck you, man.”
I step into his space again, plucking the joint and flicking it further into the parking lot. “No, fuck you, Cruz. We’re running a job in less than an hour and you’re getting fucked up? After that shit inside?”
We’re not even ten seconds into this standoff and I already want to put Cruz’s head through the windshield.
He doesn’t even blink—just tilts his chin up, that infuriating little twitch at the corner of his mouth like he’s two steps ahead and already knows how I’m going to play this. He’s always been like this—never met a boundary he wouldn’t stick a knife in, just to see if it’d bleed.
The motel door opens.
“Everything okay out here?” Bellamy’s voice tempers the tension brewing between us.
“We’re good, baby girl.” Cruz tips his chin up and smirks. “Ain’t that right, brother?”
I drag my glare from my brother to my girl. “Yeah. We’re good.”
She arches a brow. “You sure? Because you guys should tell your faces that.” She circles her index finger in the air, toward us.
No one says anything for a minute.
She huffs and rolls her eyes. “Okay, well if you two think you can get over whatever this is, do it. We’ve got a job to do. Otherwise, let’s go home.”