Chapter Three | Lacey #2
My pulse thundered in my ears. "You had no right—"
"Your studio door doesn't lock, Lacey. The mechanism's stripped. Anyone can walk right up those stairs and push that door open." His voice dropped. "No security cameras. No motion lights. Main entrance unlocked during your classes. You're vulnerable up there. Your students are vulnerable."
The bathroom window. The shadow watching me change.
"Friday night," I heard myself say. "Someone was at the bathroom window. First floor. I was changing and I heard scraping on the glass. When I looked, there was a man watching me." My voice shook despite my best efforts to keep it steady. "I screamed and he ran."
Gage went absolutely still. Fury and fear warred across his face. "Did you see him? Get a description?"
"No. He was backlit—just a silhouette. I don't know who it was."
"You call it in?"
I shook my head. "I didn't... I couldn't describe him."
"Could be some vagrant," Gage said. "Or someone with worse intentions. Either way—"
"It could be my ex." The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
"Boyd. He moved to Dallas two years ago, but he was obsessive when we were together.
Showed up at my work constantly, drove by my apartment, needed to know where I was every second.
" I wrapped my arms around myself against the cold.
"What if he came back? What if he found out about the pole fitness and decided I needed him to 'protect' me? "
Gage's expression shifted—understanding, then something harder. "How long were you together?"
"Two years. I lived with him." I hated how small my voice sounded. "He used money to control me. His roof, his rules. When I discovered pole fitness, it was the first thing that was mine. He forbade me to keep going. I went anyway. That's when I finally left."
"Good," Gage said quietly. "Took guts."
I looked away. "Or it could be my father. He knows about the classes—we had a fight about it eight months ago. Haven't spoken since. What if he sent someone to spy on me? To prove his point about the kind of men my business attracts?"
The irony wasn't lost on me. Here I was, standing in a parking lot at night, alone with a man who'd just admitted to following me home. A man whose protective instincts felt dangerously close to the kind of control I'd fought so hard to escape.
Gage ran a hand over his face. "Look, I already bought security equipment. Deadbolt, wireless camera, motion light. Was planning to install it tomorrow if you'd let me."
My spine went rigid. "You what?"
"I know how that sounds—"
"Do you?" The anger flared hot and bright. "You already made decisions concerning my business. Already bought equipment. Without asking me. Without even telling me."
"I was gonna ask—"
"When? After you'd already spent the money? After you'd already decided what I needed?"
"I can handle my own problems," I said, straightening my spine.
"I know you can." Gage took another step closer. "But that doesn't mean you should have to."
"Yes, it does." The words came out harder than I intended. "Because the second I let someone else handle things for me, the second I accept someone else's 'help,' I lose my agency. My independence. Everything I've built."
"That's not—"
"Isn't it?" I challenged. "You're already making decisions for me. Following me. Checking on me. When does 'protection' become control, Gage?"
His jaw tightened. "When it's about power instead of care."
"And how am I supposed to know the difference?"
"Because I'm here." His voice roughened. "I'm standing here telling you about it instead of just doing it. And if you tell me to return all that equipment, to walk away right now, I will."
I wanted to. Should have. Should have protected myself, kept the walls up, held myself back.
But the truth was—I was tired. And scared, even if I hated admitting it. And so damn attracted to this man I could barely think straight when he stood this close.
"I've been crazy about you for months," he said, the admission raw and honest. "Been finding every excuse I could think of to bring Judge into that clinic just so I could see you.
And when I saw you Thursday night—when I saw you on that pole, strong and beautiful and completely in your element—" He stopped, shook his head.
"Then I saw that creep watching you. Saw your building with no security. And I can't—"
His voice cracked slightly. "I can't stand the thought of someone hurting you. Can't think about anything else."
The vulnerability in his voice matched the fear I'd been trying to ignore since that shadow at the window.
"You're being possessive," I managed weakly.
"Yeah." No apology in it. "I am."
"You followed me home."
"I did."
"That's not okay."
"I know." He raised his hand slowly, giving me time to pull away, and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
The tenderness in that gesture made my breath catch.
"But I'm terrified someone's gonna hurt you Lacey, and I won't be there to stop it. I’m a sheriff, goddammit. How do you think I’d feel if someone got to you on my watch, my territory?
Been losing my mind thinking about it since Thursday night. "
I should have stepped back. Should have told him this was exactly what I didn't need—another man trying to place limits on my life, make choices for me that should be mine to make.
Instead, I was staring at his mouth.
"Tell me to leave," he said quietly. "Tell me you don't feel this, and I'll go. Won't follow you again. Won't interfere with your business. I'll respect your boundaries. You have my word."
The fact that he was offering me the choice—really offering it, not just paying lip service—made something inside me crack.
I closed the distance between us and kissed him.
Gage made a rough sound of surprise and hunger and relief all mixed together. Then his arms came around me, hauling me against him, and the kiss turned desperate.
His mouth was demanding, taking everything I offered and giving it back tenfold. I gripped the front of his coat, felt the solid warmth of him even through the heavy fabric, and desire ignited low in my belly.
Months of wanting. Months of stolen glances and careful distance and professional boundaries.
All of it burned away in seconds.
"Inside," I gasped against his mouth. "My apartment. Now."
He pulled back just far enough to search my face. "You sure?"
"If you don't take me upstairs right now, I'm going to lose my mind."
A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. "Yes, ma'am."
We made it to my door somehow. I fumbled with my keys, hands trembling, and Gage pressed against my back, mouth on my neck, making it impossible to think straight.
"You're not helping," I muttered.
"Not trying to help." His teeth grazed my pulse point, and I nearly dropped the keys.
Finally—finally—I got the door open. We stumbled inside, Gage kicking it shut behind us, and then his hands were everywhere.
Shrugging out of his duty belt. Unbuttoning his uniform shirt beneath his coat. I yanked my jacket off, tossed it somewhere behind the couch, and reached for the hem of my shirt.
"Wait." Gage caught my wrists, stilling my hands. "Let me."
The command in his voice sent heat straight through me.
He took his time peeling my shirt off, his gaze tracking over every inch of newly exposed skin like he was memorizing it. When I stood there in just my sports bra and leggings, his pupils were blown wide.
"Jesus, Lacey." His voice had gone gravelly. "You're so damn beautiful."
Before I could respond, he dropped to his knees.
My breath stopped.
Gage looked up at me from that position—uniform shirt hanging open beneath his coat to reveal a tanned, muscled chest, eyes dark with want—and hooked his fingers in the waistband of my leggings.
"Gonna taste you," he said.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
He pulled them down slowly, taking my panties with them, and I stepped out of the fabric. Then his hands were on my thighs, guiding me backward until my hips hit the small kitchen island.
"Up," he commanded.
I boosted myself onto the cool tiled surface, and Gage stepped between my legs, spreading them wider.
The first stroke of his tongue against me made my head fall back.
"Gage—oh God—"
"Got you." His grip on my hips steadied me. "Let me take care of you."
Then he went to work.
Slow, deliberate licks that had me quaking. Soft kisses that turned harder, more demanding. His tongue circling my clit in a rhythm that built and built until I was panting, one hand fisted in his hair, the other braced against the counter.
"That's it," he murmured against me. "Let me hear you."
I was too far gone to be self-conscious. Every nerve ending was on fire, and he seemed to know exactly where to touch, exactly how much pressure to use. When he slid two fingers inside me and curled them just right, I cried out.
"Gage—I'm—"
"I know. Let go."
The orgasm hit hard and fast, pleasure crashing through me in waves. I might have screamed his name. Might have begged. I wasn't sure of anything except the way he kept working me through it, tongue and fingers relentless until I was shaking and oversensitive.
Finally, he pulled back. Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Looked up at me with raw masculine satisfaction.
"Bedroom?" he asked, voice rough as gravel.
I could barely form words. "Down the hall."
He scooped me up like I weighed nothing and carried me. I wrapped my legs around his waist, felt the hard length of him pressing against me through his uniform pants, and bit his neck.
Gage groaned. "You're gonna kill me."
"Good."
He carried me to my bedroom and deposited me on the bed. I reached for him, but he caught my wrists again.
"My turn first," he said. “You deserve to feel good.”
Then he stripped off his coat and shirt, and I forgot how to breathe.
Broad shoulders. Defined chest. Abs that looked carved from stone. That military tattoo on his forearm I'd been admiring for months.