With His Touch. Dawn Atkins
to see her in it.
She wanted him to. “Okay. I’ll try it on.”
The suit fit like a second skin, she saw in the bathroom mirror, with a front zipper for the jacket and a side one for the skirt, and she even looked slimmer in it. She stepped, barefoot, into the heels she’d kicked off earlier and walked out to him.
Gage’s jaw dropped at the sight of her. “Men will follow you like dogs. Howling.”
“Hardly.” She blushed, walking closer, stopping when she was a breath away.
“Are you kidding? They’ll rip each other apart to get to you first. But then, I knew that when I bought it.”
“It feels good on.” She ran her hands down the sides of the skirt. Gage’s eyes followed like a breath on her skin.
“Let me see.” He fingered the open collar, brushing her collarbone with his knuckle. “Glove leather. Very soft.” She could tell he was contemplating ripping the suit right off her.
She swayed in the magnetic pull of his desire. Two zipper yanks and she’d be nude except for panties. She’d skipped a bra, which she did whenever her clothes were opaque enough.
“It’s gorgeous, Gage, but you spent too much on me.”
“Worth every penny to see you in it.”
Or out of it?
She forced herself to step back, breaking the force field. “So, did you bring birthday candles?”
He patted his pocket. “What do you think?”
“You’re always prepared.” Did he have condoms? She had some in her purse….
He held out the box. “I say we do seven,” he said. “Thirty-five twice is seventy. A candle per decade between us.”
“Sounds good.”
She made her way shakily back to the table, the suit creaking as she moved.
Together they found room for the candles among the plump strawberry slices on the yellow-cream surface of the cheesecake and Gage lit them all with one match. What great fingers he had.
All the better to stroke you with.
Stop. But it was tough, with the candles casting mysterious shadows on Gage’s face in the room’s low, golden light. Her entire body was alive to Gage’s every breath, the twitch of each muscle, the gleam of candlelight in his dark hair, those caramel-swirled chocolate eyes.
It’s just lust, Sugar.
So, go with lust. Lust is good.
Could they just sleep together one time? Get it over with?
What about the L word? Maybe he’d mistaken lust for love. Maybe lust was the L word he meant.
“Make your wish,” Gage whispered.
I wish we could sleep together.
Too risky, even for a wish. She shook her head to clear it.
“What’s the matter?”
“Just figuring the best wish.” She shut her eyes. I wish we would come to our senses.
They leaned over the cake, faces close, the candle flames making Gage’s pupils seem on fire. Whatever he was wishing was something hot and sweaty.
They blew out all the candles in a sweep of warm breath. And the swirl of smoke and burnt smell made her think of sad endings and lost chances.
“What did you wish?” Gage asked, his face close over the tiny cake.
“If I tell you, it won’t come true.”
“Maybe we don’t want your wish to come true,” he said softly. “Maybe we want mine.”
Maybe they did. She realized Gage had always been there for her. Comforting her during the bad times, celebrating the triumphs, always with his wry smile. They’d been through a lot together, the early years of financial pinch, the fat of recent success. They’d shared everything. They were close.
And all this time, she’d blocked her attraction. But that ability was gone for good. Now, wearing the suit he’d given her, looking into his dark, hungry eyes, desire flooded through her so strong and inevitable she was powerless to resist it.
Screw thinking, screw being sensible, going numb, waiting until it faded. She wanted this man now. She grabbed Gage’s face in both hands and kissed him with all her might.
He tasted familiar, but new, of himself and the meal and the wine. He leaned into the kiss and held her face, too. The table jiggled and she realized they’d both leaned into the cheesecake, getting some on their clothes, but she didn’t care.
Gage stopped the kiss, but held her face still. “What are we doing?” He seemed to be struggling for breath.
“What we both need,” she said. Before she went for him again, she threw in, “Friendship with benefits.” Whatever.
The steel plate covers clunked to the floor. Silverware rattled, a wineglass toppled, but neither of them seemed to care. All she knew was that she had Gage’s tongue and he had hers and they were turning their faces from side to side, bumping noses, gasping to breathe while gobbling each other up as though they were the Splenda-sweetened cake neither had tasted.
Wanting body-to-body contact, she pushed to her feet, taking Gage with her, moved away from the table and walked Gage backward, still kissing, until they both landed on the bed, her on top.
Gage slid his hands under her arms to cup her breasts through the spongy leather, then tugged at the jacket zipper. “Why is this okay again?” he murmured.
“Because we’re friends and we want each other and what’s the point of saying no when it’s driving us crazy?”
Her jacket flapped open, exposing her breasts. “Good enough for me,” Gage said, taking one breast deep into his mouth, greedy for it, his breath hot on her skin, the suction thrilling her. He ran his tongue across her nipple, making her squirm against him. Her skirt rode high on her thighs. “Ohhhh.” Lord. When had this ever felt so good?
Except there were so many damn clothes. She went for Gage’s belt, but he shifted to the other nipple and she was lost to the sensation—the pull, the heat, the pressure, the tease.
Her mind flitted, like static electricity, flaring and zipping everywhere. What are you doing, Sugar?…Don’t think…. Stop thinking…. What’s the deal with this belt? Can I tear it open with my teeth? You’re thinking again….
She gave up on the belt and touched him through his pants. She wanted the hard length of him inside her. Now. Now. Now.
She hadn’t been this frantic since, well, forever. She wanted him more than she’d wanted anyone. Ever.
He shoved her skirt higher, reached between her legs and stroked her through her panties.
“Oh. Yes. Yes.”
He slid two fingers beneath the elastic to find where she was wet for him, and she lost complete control, crying out, moaning, managing garbled syllables.
“I’ve wanted you so long,” Gage breathed. “I never let myself know how much.”
“I know,” she said. There was so much here. Too much. Her body responded as though someone had blown open a door that had been barricaded shut. She rocked against his fingers. He held her gaze. She felt pinned to him, locked to the feeling only he could give her. She was afraid she might never, ever get enough.
She felt the twining sensation of her body warming up for release.
I could come with him. The fact startled her. She handled her own climaxes, pushing herself over the edge after her partner came or sometimes just before. A minor glitch in her system, but many women didn’t come during intercourse. Or at least not all