Chapter 26
Gage
Ipark a block away from my sister's house, sitting in the car with the engine idling and my hands locked tight on the steering wheel.
I've faced down angry parents, tenure reviews, and grilling from the university board, but nothing winds me up like this.
Nothing compares to the nerves eating at my gut right now.
Because this isn't just about my career or reputation. This is about Skye. About Megan. About a past that's never fully let go.
I finally shut the engine off, pocket the keys, and step into the warm afternoon air.
Her house is still the same cozy cottage tucked into a quiet street, with ivy crawling over the porch railings, and flower boxes bursting with life.
The sound of laughter carries out through the screen door, mixed with the soft hum of an acoustic guitar from her playlist. Megan always liked her music mellow.
When I knock, the door swings open and there she is, barefoot, a spatula in one hand, a knowing smile already curling on her lips.
"Gage," she says, eyes lighting up as she pulls me into a hug. She smells of rosemary and lemon. It’s the scent of her kitchen, and her sanctuary. "You look like you're about to confess to a murder. Come in before you scare the neighbors."
"Hey, Megan," I mutter, hugging her back with a tight squeeze.
She ushers me inside. Her husband is stirring something on the stove, and he waves with a friendly grin before turning back to his culinary masterpiece. I nod in return, but Megan's already dragging me toward the living room.
She shoves me onto the couch and flops into the armchair across from me, crossing her legs and studying me with narrowed eyes.
"Okay. Spill."
I take a breath. Then another. And I tell her. Everything. From the moment Skye walked into Club Red and into my classroom. The electricity, the way she pushed past every one of my carefully laid boundaries. How I tried to resist, and how I failed.
When I’m finished, Megan's face goes still. Blank. “She’s your student?" she asks, her voice carefully neutral.
"Yeah. I didn't know at first. But once I did... it was already too late. I was already in."
She doesn't say anything at first. Her fingers twist the hem of her loose dress, and her eyes are glassy.
"You always tried to protect me from him," she finally says, her voice softer now. "Even when you were just a kid yourself. You took the brunt of everything. You kept me out of his way."
I know she is talking about the guy our mom dated right after my dad left. Mom was always chasing love. It didn’t matter how the guy treated us. Most of her boyfriends made sure there was food in the house and gave us money to leave them alone, but Justin wasn't like that. We were in the way.
"You deserve to be happy, and I know you worry about being like him, but you won't because you are a good person," she says.
How did she know? Because I don't think I could voice the worry I'd always pushed away.
Megan's eyes flick up to mine. "Is she good to you?"
"She's everything. She's smart, fierce, and brave. She's more than I ever thought I could have."
Megan exhales slowly and leans back, her expression unreadable.
"You know," she says after a pause, "I was pissed for like... a minute. But then I remembered who you are. You never got to have a normal life because you were too busy shielding me from everything. You gave up so much for me. And perhaps this is your chance to at last have something of your own."
"But if this gets out, it could affect you too..."
"We have stood through worse. We’ll get through it because we’re family." She waves me off.
"She has me to protect her now," Megan's husband, Ian, steps out of the kitchen.
"Are you sure you're okay with this?" I ask.
She shrugs, smiling faintly. "If she makes you happy, and you make her happy, then screw everything else. I want you to be happy, Gage. You've earned that. And I really want to meet her."
I sit with her for another half hour. We talk about old memories. She tells me about her husband's recent promotion, how they're trying for a baby. And through all of it, my chest feels lighter. Like something I've carried for years has finally lifted.
When I leave, I don't drive home. I go straight to Skye's.
She opens the door in leggings and a tank top, her hair in a messy bun, barefoot and sleepy-eyed. She looks real. She looks like home.
"Hey," she says, voice cautious but warm.
"Can I come in?"
She nods and steps aside. I follow her in, close the door, and turn to face her.
"I need to say something. And I need you to let me finish."
She straightens, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. "Okay."
I take a deep breath and reach for her hands, pulling them gently away from her body so I can hold them in mine. Her fingers are warm, soft, and they anchor me.
"I went to see my sister today. I told her about us." Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn't pull away. "I was terrified, Skye. Not just about what she'd think of me, but about what this could mean for her if everything goes sideways."
Pausing, I study her face. Those warm eyes focus entirely on me, patient and steady.
"My whole life, I've been careful and controlled.
I built walls around everything because I had to.
Because someone had to be the responsible one, the one who didn't make mistakes.
" My thumbs brush over her knuckles. "But with you, all of that falls apart.
You make me want things I never thought I could have. "
"I've been fighting this. Fighting you. Because of the rules. Because I thought I was supposed to. But I can't anymore. I'm in love with you, Skye."
The words hang in the air between us, and I watch her face carefully, searching for any sign of what she's thinking. Her lips part slightly, and I can see the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
"I love you," I say again, stepping closer. "I love your brain and your stubbornness. The way you challenge me. The way you let me take care of you, even when you pretend you don't need it."
Her breath catches. "Gage..."
I take her hands in mine. "You don't have to say it back. Not now. I just needed you to know."
She squeezes my hands, her eyes glistening. "I'm falling in love with you. I think I already have."
Her words wash over me like warm water, sinking into places I didn't know were cold until now. I pull her closer, one hand sliding up to cup her face.
Pressing my forehead against hers, I breathe her in. The scent of her shampoo, something floral and fresh, fills my senses. My thumb traces the curve of her cheek, and I feel her shiver under my touch.
"I want all of you," I tell her. "Not just in the club. Not just in bed. Everything."
She rises on her tiptoes, her mouth a breath away from mine. "Then take it."
I crush my lips against hers, and she melts into me with a soft moan that vibrates through my chest. Without taking my lips from hers, I guide her to her room.
Her bedroom is dimly lit, the late afternoon sun filtering through sheer curtains. I kiss her again, deeper this time. She tastes like mint and something uniquely her that makes my head spin.
"I need you to understand something," I murmur against her lips. "This isn't just about tonight. This is about everything. You and me, whatever comes next."
Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer. "I understand."
As I study her face, I search for any hesitation, any doubt.
Finding none, I let my hands drift down to the hem of her tank top.
She lifts her arms without a word, trusting me completely.
The fabric slides over her head, and I take a moment to appreciate the sight of her, bare except for a simple black bra.
"You're beautiful," I breathe, my fingers tracing the delicate curve of her collarbone. I unhook her bra with practiced ease, letting it fall between us. She doesn't shy away from my gaze. Instead, she stands taller, more confident than I've ever seen her outside the club.
"Your turn," she whispers, tugging at the buttons of my shirt.
I let her undress me, savoring the deliberate way her fingers work each button, the brush of her knuckles against my chest. There's something different about this moment, something more intimate than the scenes we've shared at Club Red. This isn't about power or control. This is about connection.
When we're both naked, I guide her to the bed, laying her down gently against the rumpled sheets. I hover above her, drinking in every detail —the flush spreading across her chest, the way her pupils dilate as I lower myself against her.
"I want to worship every inch of you," I whisper, my voice rough with need. "Slowly. Thoroughly."
Her breath hitches as I trail kisses along her throat, tasting the salt of her skin. My hands run over the curves of her body, which I have memorized from every interaction before this. She arches beneath me, soft gasps escaping her lips.
"Gage," she breathes, her fingers threading through my hair. "Please."
But I take my time, lavishing attention on every sensitive spot I've discovered on her body. Her pulse point. The hollow of her throat. The soft swell of her breasts. Each touch draws another sound from her, and I drink them in like a man dying of thirst.
When I finally settle between her thighs, she's trembling with anticipation.
I look up at her, meeting her eyes as I worship her with my mouth.
She throws her head back against the pillow, her hands gripping the sheets as I work her slowly, deliberately.
I know exactly how she likes to be touched now—the perfect pressure and rhythm that makes her come undone.
"Please," she gasps, her thighs trembling around my shoulders. "I need you inside me."
I rise above her, positioning myself at her entrance. Our eyes lock as I push into her slowly, both of us gasping at the sensation. She's so warm, so perfect around me, I have to pause, fighting for control.
"I love you," I whisper against her lips, my voice breaking slightly on the words.
I can love her enough for both of us. The way emotion spills from her actions is enough.
Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me deeper, and I lose myself in the rhythm we create together.
This isn't the controlled dominance of our club encounters. This is raw and honest and desperate. Her nails dig into my shoulders as I move within her, and I can feel her walls fluttering around me, drawing me closer to the precipice.
"Look at me," I command softly, and her eyes flicker open to meet mine. The connection between us is electric, overwhelming. I can see everything in her gaze- her love, her trust, her complete surrender to this moment.
When she comes apart beneath me, my name falls from her lips like a prayer.
It’s enough for me to follow her over the edge.
The release is earth-shattering, but it's the way she holds me afterward that really undoes me.
Her arm wrapped around my shoulders, her fingers stroking through my hair as our breathing slowly returns to normal.
I roll to my side, pulling her with me so she's tucked against my chest. Neither of us speaks for a long moment, content to exist in this bubble we've created.
"Let's get cleaned up. I've been dreaming of showers with you for far longer than I should have," I tell her.
She laughs, a sound that's both breathless and delighted. "Only you would think about logistics right now."
I press a kiss to her temple, breathing in the scent of her hair mixed with the musk of our lovemaking. "I'm a practical man. And I've had a lot of fantasies about having you in a shower where I don't have to worry about time limits or other people."
"Mmm." She traces lazy circles on my chest with her fingertip. "What kind of fantasies?"
"The kind where I can take my time washing every inch of you. Where I can press you against the tiles and make you come on my fingers while the water runs over us." My voice drops lower. "Where I can kneel in front of you and taste you until your legs give out."
I stand and pull her out of bed. She follows me to the bathroom, her hand warm in mine. Turning on the shower, I adjust the temperature until steam fills the small space. The intimacy of this ordinary act strikes me at how domestic it feels, how right.
"You know," she says, leaning against the counter while the water heats, "I never thought I'd see you like this."
"Like what?" I ask, turning to face her.
"Relaxed and unguarded." Her eyes travel over my naked body without shame. "You're always so composed, even when we're at Club Red. But right now, you just look... happy."
I pull her against me, skin to skin. "I am happy."
The shower is barely big enough for two, but that's exactly what I want. Her body slides against mine as water cascades over us, slick and warm. I reach for the shampoo.
"Turn around," I murmur.
She does without questioning.
I work the shampoo through her hair, my fingers massaging her scalp in slow, deliberate circles. She melts back against me, a soft sigh escaping her lips as I take care of her. The simple act feels profound, more intimate than anything we've shared at the club.
"I could get used to this," she whispers, her head falling back against my shoulder. "No one's ever done this for me."
I still. "Never?"
She shakes her head. "People give me things. Money or access. But not this. Not care."
Gently, I tilt her chin back and kiss her forehead. "Then let me."
I press soft kisses along her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth as I rinse the shampoo from her hair, watching the suds spiral down the drain. She turns in my arms, reaching for the soap, her eyes never leaving mine.
"My turn," she says, lathering her hands.
Her touch is gentle yet thorough as she washes my chest, my shoulders, and trails down my arms. There's a reverence in her movements that makes my throat tight.
I've dominated her body, claimed her submission, but this, her hands moving over me with such tender attention, feels like she's claiming something of mine.
Her touch says everything her words haven't yet.
When we finish, we stand under the spray, water cascading over us, foreheads pressed together. No masks. No roles. Just two people choosing each other.
I think of Megan's words. Of all the ways I've tried to protect myself.
But this woman? I don't want to protect myself from her.
I want to protect her. Love her. Build something that lasts.
And this? This is where it starts.