Not out of concern. Because he knew his presence itself was the correction.
He’d missed her in ways he hadn’t let himself dwell on. Missed her voice. The scent of her hair. Having her pressed against him like this, his control over every breath she took, every sound she made.
He stopped, close to the bed. She didn’t even seem to notice where they were. She was too focused on him, eyes wide, wonder softening every line of her face.
His turn. “You went to a party tonight.”
“Yes.”
“Logan was there.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“I know. But he tried.”
“Are you mad?”
Gage leaned in and kissed her. Not gentle. Not asking. Bea kissed him back, mouth parting, but her lips faltered for a beat, like she had forgotten the rhythm.
He drew back, studying her. Not fear. Not lack of desire.
Time.
Time had dusted over what they were. Time had made her uncertain, almost shy. Like what was between them was new again, instead of half a year old and well traversed.
Gage reached for the zipper on her coat. She caught his wrist. His eyes met hers, soulful dark brown.
Slowly, she unzipped it herself.
The dress beneath was red. High neckline, low back. Elegant. Meant to be noticed. And on Bea, it would’ve been impossible not to.
“You wore that tonight?”
“Yes.”
“You said you wear red for special occasions.”
She bit her lip. He stepped closer, letting the silence stretch. Letting her feel the way he was looking at her. The way the room had looked at her.
He ran a hand down her spine, stopping at the zipper. Waited until she nodded. Then he slid it down. The dress loosened. Slipped easily over her hips. He let it fall. Watched it pool at her feet. Looked at her like he owned every inch of what he’d just unwrapped.
He removed the rest. She’d never hidden herself from him. Not once, not since she’d told him she loved him. His gaze dragged over her, surveying every dip and soft curve.
He stepped forward. One step. Two. She gave ground. Backing up, breath faltering, skin hot. Her knees hit the bed with a soft thud.
Then she turned. Climbed up without a word. Sat at the edge, spine tall. Waiting.
She wasn’t shy now. She’d been waiting for this.
Gage undressed in silence. Sweater. Belt. Slacks. And she watched him—watched every inch of power he revealed, until her eyes dropped and her breath caught.
When he came to her, it was with purpose. She was already warm, but not ready. So he touched her. Took his time. Until her hips arched into his palm, thighs trembling, dark eyes glassy. Until she was whispering things she couldn’t finish.
Only then did he shift over her, guiding himself in with a single, hard thrust.
Bea gasped, the sound high and broken, like she hadn’t expected to take all of him so fast. The sound of her, after nearly a month without, pierced straight into his chest.
Then he moved. He felt the instant her hesitation vanished. Her eyes went dark. Her moan was muted but raw. Her hands searched his back, his shoulders, anything she could hold onto while her body came undone.
