He kissed me like that forever. Long, drugging kisses that had my head spinning. Then he was on top of me, settled between my legs, his fingers on the top button of my white nightgown. I tried to sit up, and he raised his head, his blue eyes hot on mine when he said, “Don't move. I don't want you to hurt your head.”

“My head doesn't hurt,” I lied. I'd gotten so used to the dull ache from the bump on my head I was almost able to ignore it. I'd spent most of the day in bed, despite insisting that I was fine, outvoted by every single person in the household. Hell must have frozen over because even Mrs. W and Amelia had agreed I belonged in bed.

Gage shook his head. “If you think you can lay still, I'm going to undo this button. Then I'm going to undo the next one. And the one after that. But if you're going to move…”

I opened my mouth to argue, then abruptly snapped it shut. What the heck was I fighting about? Did I really want Gage to stop? I knew if I did, he would. All I had to do was tell him I wasn't interested, or I needed time, and he would back off.

In answer, I settled back into the pillows, a smug little smile playing across my lips as Gage slipped free the first tiny, faux pearl button. My nightgown, like my others, was made of sheer white cotton, trimmed in lace. It wasn't sexy, by any means, but it wasn't the virginal white flannel Anthony had made me wear.

It wasn't seductive, but it was pretty. Feminine. This one had a row of buttons from the scooped neck line to below my waist. So many tiny buttons and Gage was undoing them, one by one.

He lay between my legs, propped up on one elbow, his eyes fixed on the inches of skin he was baring, button by button. When he reached the bottom of my rib cage, I was sure he would fold the nightgown back to reveal my breasts, but he didn't.

He traced a finger along the inner swell of one breast, sliding it beneath the cotton to stroke my warm skin. A low hum of appreciation sounded in his throat before he withdrew his hand from the nightgown and went back to the buttons.

He slid down a few inches, putting his face level with my breastbone, and turned a little on his side so he could reach the last of the buttons, just below my belly button. Finally, finally, he folded the nightgown back, carefully, precisely, baring my breasts to his hot blue gaze.

“Sophie,” he breathed. That was it. Just, Sophie. Then, a little louder, his voice gravelly and strained, he said, “If you change your mind just tell me to stop, okay? Just tell me, and I'll stop.”

I didn't want him to stop. I couldn't imagine ever wanting him to stop. I wanted him to speed up, not stop. My nipples had drawn into tight beads under his eyes, my breasts swollen and hot, needing his touch. I shifted restlessly beneath him, and his eyes flashed at mine.

I saw a quick, mischievous grin before he murmured, “Don’t move and I'll give you what you want.”

I tried. I swear, I really tried. But as his hot mouth closed over one nipple and his finger teased the other, I just couldn't. I arched my chest, pressing my breast harder into his hand, rising to the heated suction of his mouth, the flick of his tongue against the tortured peak.

I heard myself gasp and moan. My knees lifted, legs wrapping around his body. I whimpered his name. I may have begged a little. He only switched sides, scraping his teeth against my skin, sending shards of pleasure arcing through my body.

When he lifted his head and said, “I'm taking this off,” I was so out of my head I had no idea what he was talking about. He tugged on the cotton pooled around my waist, and I understood. My nightgown. He wanted to take my nightgown off. Hallelujah. It was about time.

“You too,” I said, eyeing his T-shirt and pants. I wanted his skin against mine.

“Don’t move,” he reminded me.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “My head feels fine.”

“Humor me,” he said. Sliding his hands beneath the nightgown, over my shoulders, he peeled it down my arms, tugging it off beneath me, urging me to raise my hips just a little. Hooking his fingers in my panties, he drew them down along with my nightgown. He eased off the end of the bed, taking the nightgown with him, and I watched with wide eyes as he stripped off his own clothes.

At the sight of his aroused, naked body, my mouth went dry. Gage was beautiful. Strong and tall and imperfectly perfect with scars on his smooth skin and all those gorgeous muscles. My eyes took in his erect cock and skated nervously away. I'd never really seen one, an erection, up close like this. Anthony had been a strictly in the dark missionary kind of guy, over and done before I could really pay attention.

Gage's cock was a thing of beauty, long and thick, standing proudly. It was enticing, and a little scary. I hadn't expected it to be so intimidating. My brain said it wasn't going to fit, but my body was more than willing to give it a try.

Then he was back on the bed, but he only came halfway up, stopping with his shoulders pressing my knees wide, his face between my legs. I started to sit up, tried to put my hand there to block him, suddenly embarrassed and awkward. I knew what he wanted to do. At least I thought I did. I'd read about it, but no one had ever—I hadn't really imagined.

Before I could get my thoughts together, Gage's hand closed over mine, and he eased it back, baring my body to him.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked.

Before I could get my head together enough to answer, he pressed a kiss right there, right on the center of all my need, all my pent up desire. I shuddered with the illicit pleasure. I’d never imagined being kissed there, but now that Gage had, I wanted him to do it again.

He pulled back and rose up above me, his eyes on mine. “I'll stop if you want me to, but I think you should trust me. Can you do that?”

His lips touched mine, and I tasted myself on him. I was done with thinking. Done with being embarrassed or afraid. I nodded. Gage settled back between my legs.

I tried to brace myself for what was coming, but I had no clue. His tongue traced me, taking his time. He wasn’t in a rush, or racing to some end goal, trying to make me come so he could get his.

Gage explored me, tasting, teasing me until I was writhing against the pillows, gasping from the rising tension. When he closed his lips over my clit and sucked, the crash of pleasure took me by surprise, and I cried out, rolling my hips into his mouth. He murmured his approval against me, the rub of his lips drawing out my orgasm.

He pressed his cheek to my thigh, stroking my legs as the tremors in my muscles calmed, and I caught my breath. Just when I was sure he’d move over me, one long finger slid inside, parting my heated flesh, filling me.

I had the fleeting thought that if one finger felt like that, there was no way he would fit. He proved me wrong when a second finger joined the first, smoothly pumping in and out, his fingertips grazing something inside that sent hot shivers up my spine, had me rocking into him, taking his fingers deeper and harder.

I was panting, calling his name, every nerve in my body wound tight with blissful tension when, finally, he withdrew his fingers and rose above me. I watched with desperate, fascinated attention as he picked up a condom from the side of the mattress and rolled it on.

Then he was back, pressing into me, and the stretch of his body inside mine was delicious. Perfect. I arched into him, taking more, wishing he would slam into me and push me over the edge into the orgasm that hovered just out of reach.

Gage thrust in slowly, in gradual pulses that teased more than satisfied. It seemed to take forever before he filled me all the way. He stayed there, motionless, his breath ragged. His mouth came to mine, and he kissed me, more of those long, deep, languid kisses that spun my head in dizzy passion.

His hips moved in the same slow, patient rhythm, drawing in and out, fucking me with iron control. Gage trembled above me, pushed to the edge from holding himself back. For me.

This man, this warrior who could take what he wanted, who could have anything, was claiming my body in slow, dreamy strokes, protecting me, treasuring me even in this.

The pleasure built higher with each stroke. Every time I thought I’d hit the peak and would tumble into bliss, he slowed down and pushed me higher.

I tore my mouth from his and begged. “Please, please, Gage, please. More.”

His mouth took mine again, this kiss raw and a little rough as he rode the edge of control. He moved faster, fucking me harder, sliding his hand under my shoulders and bracing me, trying to keep his thrusts from jolting my head.

I wasn't feeling any pain. All I felt was Gage and the wave of pleasure he’d built so high I thought I would lose myself when it broke. And I did. The tension cracked open, and I fell into a bliss so sharp, so sweet it sucked me under, drowning my senses. Drowning me in Gage.

He stiffened between my legs, taking me in short jerky thrusts, drawing out my orgasm. I tightened my legs around him, holding him to me, my mouth pressing kisses anywhere I could reach, his jaw, his neck, his shoulder.

Tension drained from his body, and he rolled to his back, pulling me on top of him, his fingers stroking my hair from my face. When we both had our breath back, Gage slid out from under me and disappeared into the bathroom. I heard the water run and the toilet flush before he reappeared, a washcloth in his hand. Warm, soothing heat between my legs. He was gone again for a minute before he returned, sliding into bed and pulling me into his arms.

“How's your head?” he asked, his voice heavy and languid.

I giggled, the light, happy sound surprising me. I tightened my arm around his chest in a squeeze of reassurance. “All of me feels wonderful,” I whispered. I drifted into sleep, holding onto Gage, his heat and strength and kindness, and trying not to think about what we’d just done. How it would change everything.

I couldn’t forget what he’d said that night on the couch.

If you let me get inside that sweet angel’s body of yours, I’m not going to be able to let you go.

The memory of his words washed through me. The last thing I needed was another man who thought he owned me. Gage wasn’t Anthony. I knew that. That didn’t mean he was what I needed. I wanted to be sensible. Smart.

But more than that, I just wanted Gage.