Chapter 19
19
Amelia
After I cleaned up the bedroom disaster scene and handed off my child to her uncle, Gage brought me to his place. He asked me what I wanted him to order in for dinner. All I could think was I needed carbs. Urgent carbs. Soul-repairing carbs. I may have said all those words to him. I may also have told him I needed to be emotionally held by parmesan. I didn’t even care about the way he looked at me at that point. Like he was thoroughly amused by me. I told him to please find me real carbonara. The good kind. No cream, no lies.
He ordered dinner, opened a bottle of pinot noir (which I’ve now decided is my preferred emotional support beverage until further notice), and pulled me down onto his couch like we do this every Monday.
Oh, and he may have discarded all those black items of clothing and changed into a slate-grey henley and dark jeans in the middle of all that. Don’t get me started on what that did to me.
Dinner was amazing. The absolute best carbonara in New York. Gage obviously knows people. Lucky for me he’s currently focused on dating me. I may insist on him arranging all my future meals. I’ll tip with emotional vulnerability and general cuteness.
We’ve talked our way through the evening like we’ve done this a hundred times before. Like this is just...what we do.
Wine. Pasta. Low lighting. My parmesan-providing god in a henley that could end civilizations.
And somewhere in between the pinot and the pasta, I’ve moved past my earlier spiral. Gage hasn’t pressed me to talk about it. He’s just let me come down slowly. Which, honestly, is sexy. I might be catching feelings for a man because he handed me cheese and didn’t ask follow-up questions.
After dinner, I’m basking in full post-pasta bliss when Gage sets his wine glass on the coffee table and reaches for me. He pulls me onto his lap, his hands sliding up my thighs around to my ass. One hand then comes up to my neck, and he brings my mouth down to his.
He kisses me like he’s been thinking about it every second since we had sex. It’s downright dirty the way he uses his tongue and the way his hand stays glued to my ass like he owns it. Like he’s not planning to let go anytime soon.
Breathing is now more of a suggestion than a reality.
“Fuck,” he growls when he finally breaks the kiss, his breath ragged like mine. “This mouth...” He drags his thumb across my lower lip, his eyes locked on it like he’s memorizing the shape. He doesn’t finish that thought. Just pulls my mouth back to his.
He’s rough.
All tension and zero patience.
His hands are under my sweater, leaving fire in their wake as they find my breasts. When he reaches them, he groans so deeply into my mouth that I feel it in my core, in my toes, in parts of my body I’m not sure I even knew existed.
It drives me absolutely wild, to the point where everything is too much, and I need a minute.
Tearing my mouth from his, I put my hands to his chest and just breathe .
Gage’s hands move to my waist, his eyes finding mine. He’s just as affected as me. “You okay?” God, his voice . The gravel. The need I hear.
I nod, still searching for breath. “Yes. I just... you can’t groan like that and expect a girl to be able to go on.”
His eyes go dark, and a second later, his hand’s on my back, hauling me into him like he’s done playing soft. “I need you spread out under me. My cock so fucking deep inside you.” He curls his hand around the back of my neck. “I’m going out of my fucking mind here, Amelia.”
“I know,” I agree, because god , I know. “But I’ve just eaten...like, a heroic amount of pasta, and I’m gonna need a hot minute before you claim my soul with your dick.”
He stares at me for a second, still feral for me, but processing what I just said. Then he swears, “Fuck,” his voice still rough with all that gravel and need, “you’re fucking killing me.”
There’s something dangerously hot about hearing this man say he’s dying because he can’t have me right now.
“Seriously,” I murmur against his lips, “how are you even in the mood for sex? Do men get bloated, or are you just built different?”
His grip on my neck doesn’t ease, and neither does his stare. “I didn’t carb-load like you, Princess.”
Princess .
And just like that, Gage gets me in the mood.
Not for sex, because no way am I up for that yet, but a blow job? I think I’d like to see what damage I can do to this man by getting on my knees.
I slide off his lap and down to the floor, my eyes never leaving his. When my fingers reach for the button on his jeans, his eyes flare hotter, and he spreads his legs like he’s already picturing my mouth on his. Like he’s a king about to be worshipped by his queen. And he fucking knows it.
His breathing slows, just for a moment, and I see the control he’s fighting for. But the second I touch his jeans, everything shifts. His chest rises fast, shallow now, as if I’ve pulled the air right out of him.
He watches me like I’m about to undo him completely.
I lower his zipper, being sure to look at him while I do that. I’ve worked out that Gage gets off on eye contact. On me watching him while I wreck him.
I pull his jeans and underwear down enough to take hold of his cock. The hiss he makes as I wrap my hand around him sends lust racing through my entire body. Eyes still fixed on his, I lick the tip. Slow. Sure. And I increase the pressure of my hold on him just a little, just to madden him a bit more, before I lick the entire length of him.
He thrusts his dick into my hand as he growls low, “ Fuck , Amelia.”
I take him into my mouth, all the way to my throat, then I pull back enough to swirl my tongue along the underside. He groans again, louder this time, and his fingers slide into my hair. He’s not holding me down, just searching for contact.
I work my mouth around him, taking my time with every inch, learning the way he responds when I hollow my cheeks just right.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he rasps, his fingers tightening in my hair.
His thigh tenses beneath my palm, and I dig my nails in enough to make him feel it while taking him deep again. I glance up, and he pins me with a stare that’s so damn dirty, and then his hips jerk, hard.
A rush of desire crashes through me. That look of his that says he’s barely holding on is all mine. I’m the one doing this to him. And the way that turns me on is obscene.
I pull back and drag my tongue from base to crown. Then swirl my tongue over the head, watching him begin to unravel as I lick the pre-cum. He finally loses all restraint, letting out a guttural sound so raw it vibrates through me.
And then, he’s on his feet and taking his cock from me with one hand while the other fists in my hair, done letting me lead.
“Open your mouth for me, Princess.”
Fuck .
I never thought I’d be so into a man ordering me around like this, but here I am. On my knees, desperate to comply.
I part my lips, and he steps in, sliding himself back past my tongue. His hand in my hair shifts to the back of my head, not forcing, but I feel his need in the way he guides me.
He’s slow at first. Controlled. Eyes demanding mine. Each thrust a little deeper.
I rest my hands on his thighs, but then, needing to really feel him, I slide them around to the backs of his legs, gripping him there.
His breath drags rough through his throat and his hips move with more intent.
“Fuck,” he groans, voice raw. “Just like that.” His eyes blaze with heat. “Let me use that mouth.”
Holy. All. Things. Filthy.
I should not like that so much.
But Gage could say that to me anytime he wants, and I would give it to him.
He reaches down, his hand finding my jaw, guiding it even wider, and when I take him right back, a string of curse words falls from his lips. Words I’ve never had said to me.
He keeps thrusting. Keeps dirty talking. “Mouth so fucking tight, Princess. Take it all for me.”
He’s so crude.
So purely masculine.
And he’s so fucking gone.
His hand tightens in my hair while his other one keeps hold of my jaw. “Where do you want it?” he grits out, close to the edge. “That pretty mouth, or do you want me to cover you in it?”
I don’t answer. Just take him deeper, my lips sealed around him, my eyes locked on his.
That hand on my jaw flexes. “Fuck, your mouth it is.”
His hips jerk, his control fractures, and then he comes, hard and deep, growling, “ Fuck ,” while he spills down my throat.
I swallow all of it.
And lick my lips after.
While looking at him.
When he finally stills, spent, he doesn’t let go. His hand stays right there at my jaw, thumb brushing my cheekbone. “You’re gonna fucking destroy me.”
While I’m still processing the way he just said that, the way he’s looking at me like I’m the only woman in the world, and the way I just became a woman obsessed with dirty talk, he pulls me up, grasps the back of my neck like it’s his to do what he wants with, and kisses me.
He steals every thought of mine before he’s done with my mouth, and then he says, “That mouth should come with a fucking warning. I’m gonna be hard every time I look at it.”
Somehow, I manage to gather myself. “Good. Because I’m a hot mess whenever I have to deal with your existence. It’s only fair that I fuck with you too.”
He mutters a curse, brushes his lips over mine, and then gets bossy with me. “I hope your carbs have settled, because I’m taking you into my shower and doing every indecent thing you’ll let me.”
Gage wakes me early the next morning. With his hands to my body in a way I’d happily wake every day. Except not so freaking early.
“It’s five a.m.,” I grumble, horrified as I eye the time on his bedside clock. “I need at least one more hour of sleep if I’m going to survive today.”
His mouth closes over my nipple, his finger pushes inside me where I’m already wet for him. And he just carries on like waking early should be part of my morning routine.
He fucked me in his shower last night, and then after giving me a couple of hours to recover—which he spent talking with me like I was the most interesting person he’d ever met—he laid me out on his bed and devoured me all over again.
My muscles need about five years to function properly again.
Gage’s muscles, however? Apparently god-level.
I’m convinced he could go all day and still look like he just stepped out of a fitness ad.
I’m caught between “please don’t stop but also I might die.”
I push gently at his shoulders, trying to slow him down. “I need a minute.”
He pulls back and I head into his bathroom where I lock myself in and take more than a minute. I pee and then freshen up, combing my fingers through my hair, splashing water on my face, and stealing some of Gage’s toothpaste.
When I crawl back into the bed, he’s watching me closely. “What’s happening in that pretty brain of yours?”
“Nothing.” I roll toward him and wrap my hand around his dick that’s hard and ready to go.
He reaches down to remove my hand, looking like it’s the last thing he wants to do.
At my frown, he says, “Talk to me. You don’t like morning sex?”
“What? Why do you think that?”
“I realized I got carried away and didn’t pay attention when you said no before.” His eyes are searching mine so earnestly, trying to get a read on me, and god , I love that he’s a man who is so aware, who cares this much.
“I was just grumbling about the time. I don’t hate morning sex.” I give him a pained look. “Having said that, I think I have to say no to you today. I don’t think my legs or vagina can take you today.”
He grins. Or more accurately, he smirks, and I don’t even want to remove this one from his face. He’s too damn sexy for my own good.
His hand goes to my hip and curves over my ass so he can drag me closer. “So, just today?”
I ignore the way my core screams, “ Yes! Just today! ”
“We’ll have to see,” I play with him. “Because it turns out that when you put your mind to making me take it all, you get the job done real well.”
“Jesus,” he says. “Has this mouth always been so filthy?”
I arch a brow. “Oh, that’s not filthy. I’m learning what filth is from you, and that’s nowhere near close.”
“Right. So, I need to stop feeding you carbs, and I need to pace your pussy better. Got it.” With that, he presses a quick kiss to my lips and then leaves the bed.
I stare at his naked ass all the way until I can’t see him anymore, and then I collapse onto my back and commence praying for divine intervention.
This man.
We don’t have sex. We do shower together and he manages to restrain himself. Then, he makes coffee and breakfast. When he leaves for work at 7:30 a.m., he kisses me and tells me to take my time. No rush to leave.
I don’t intend on taking my time, but I do spend a minute collecting myself after he’s gone. I sit on his bed and check my messages in case Tim needs me for anything. It turns out my brother can take care of my daughter without any help. I find silly photos of them that he’s sent through, and a photo of her in her costume for today, smiling and happy.
I let my head fall back and release a sigh of relief that all is okay with Sarah. That’s when I see them. Three cameras. Discreet. But watching. Cameras I missed while Gage fucked me in here last night.
It doesn’t surprise me. I mean, he owns a company built on intelligence and security, and he runs on control. On protection. Of course, he has cameras in his home.
What does surprise me is the question that hits next.
Did he record us?
And if so, is he going to watch it back?
Because that’s exactly where my brain goes.
To him watching .
And instead of being creeped out, I’m not. I’m hot and bothered, like I just got caught enjoying something I shouldn’t.
Which is fine. Totally fine.
I mean, it’s not like I know for a fact he recorded us. He may have turned them off last night.
But also, maybe he didn’t.
Oh god.
Maybe they’re recording right now.
I glance at one of the cameras. It doesn’t blink or do anything suspicious. Which somehow makes it worse. Because now I’m wondering if there’s a motion alert.
I’m wondering if he’s sitting somewhere, phone in hand, getting a ping that says, “Amelia’s moving. Bedroom cam. You might want to tune in.”
And good god, why does that thought make my thighs clench like I’ve just read a smutty one-bed trope romance with a six-foot-five lumberjack and a praise kink?
I fan myself. Literally. With my own hand. Like that will fix me.
And then, because of course, my inner bad girl decides to strut in like she owns the place, tosses her purse to the floor, and says, “Don’t worry, babe. I got this.”
Fully aware of where each camera is now, I stretch out and lie across the foot of the bed on my side. I rest my head in my hand and stare up at one of the cameras. Nothing too obvious. Just enough to say: You watching? Good .
And because apparently, I now have zero shame and a newfound taste for attention, I crawl up the bed like I just remembered I’m a lingerie model and forgot to mention it earlier.
By the time I settle back against the pillows and remove my sweater, I’ve fully decided that if he’s watching...he’s going to enjoy the show .
My sweater hits the bed and a second later, I’m cupping my breasts through my bra.
Soft, slow, and teasing.
I let my thumbs graze over the fabric, over my nipples, watching the camera like it’s his eyes on me. The knowledge that this might be live, that he could be watching right now, causes a fresh wave of heat to pool in my belly.
I unhook my bra and slip it off, deliberate and sexy as if I’ve rehearsed this scene a hundred times. I haven’t. But it turns out I’m a fast learner when properly motivated.
My hands trail down my body to my jeans. I undo them and shimmy out of them.
One hand returns to my breast. The other slips into my panties. And just as I drag a single finger along the slick heat between my thighs, my phone rings.
I glance at the name on the screen.
Gage.
I let a sexy smile make its way across my face, keeping my eyes on the camera. On him .
Then, I answer, breathless and just a little bit wicked. “Hi.” My voice is pure innocence. My hand is still between my legs.
“Be a good girl and spread your legs for me.”
My body hears that command and decides it’s his now.
My inner bad girl practically purrs, “ Took you long enough .”
I obey him and wait.
“You’re in my bed. Touching what’s mine. Are you soaked?”
“Not as much as I would be if it was your fingers inside me.”
“That mouth,” he growls. “That fucking mouth.”
A beat of silence that’s all lust.
Then he says, “You’d be dripping down your thighs if was there. You’d make a fucking mess all over my hand, and I’d keep going until you did it again.”
“Oh god,” I moan, my back arching, heat flooding between my legs like his fingers are actually there.
“Take those panties off, Princess. I want to see that pretty pussy.”
I don’t even know who I am anymore.
His sharp hiss of approval once my panties are off only gets me hotter.
“Show me what I’m missing,” he orders. “Use two fingers.”
I slide two fingers in. And because I know exactly what it will do to him, I bite my lip and start fucking myself.
Gage goes quiet.
Not a breath. Not a word.
Just silence that somehow feels filthier than if he said anything.
I keep going.
Just to see how long I can keep this man speechless.
When he breaks the silence, his voice is rougher than I’ve heard it. “I’ve got a meeting, so you’ve got one minute, Amelia. Come for me. Make it fucking loud.”
I keep my eyes on the camera.
My fingers work faster.
I lift my hips, angling myself so I can reach deeper.
Gage swears and my orgasm teases.
Deeper.
Faster.
Harder.
Fuck .
My eyes close and I imagine Gage between my legs, face buried, making a mess of me.
“Fuck!” I cry out as the orgasm starts to rush.
And then I come.
Hard and loud, exactly as he told me to.
Right here on his bed.
Right here in front of his cameras.
Right here with him listening.
“Jesus,” he rasps. “I’m not going to get any fucking work done today.”
I hear rustling and then a car door closing. And then he says, “The next time you want to put a show on for me, give me some notice. I’ll clear my whole goddamn schedule.”
And then he’s gone.
I reach for my phone to send him a text.
Me:
I’m gonna need the recordings of you making a mess of me last night.
Gage:
That mouth. I’m gonna make a fucking mess all over it the next time I see you.