It’s not until a few seconds later that I realize what I’ve just said. My eyes go wide. “That was a pretty weird thing to say.”
I bite my lip and hazard a glance at Gage, who just looks amused as he finishes the last couple bites of lamb and potato. “Orgasmic, huh?”
“Mmmhmm,” I mumble behind my water glass before taking a long gulp. “I guess I got a little carried away.”
Gage smiles down at his plate before his eyes cut to me. “No worries. Shit just got intense.”
He winks at me while he chews, and my mind rockets back to the day we talked through our kiss and my orgasm.
Shit got intense. It happens.
I’m tingling and hot all over all at once. I hop up and grab our empty plates. “Let me clean up.”
I head straight for the sink despite Gage telling me not to.
“Hey, no way you’re cleaning up.”
I flip on the faucet, relishing the feel of the water splashing over my skin. It’s cooling me off, and I really, really need that.
“I insist.” I wipe the plates with a sponge. “You cooked, so I should clean.”
“Becca, come on.” I can hear the smile and the playful frustration in Gage’s tone as he walks up behind me. “Let me clean up.”
“Nope.” I grab a pan and squirt some dish soap on it.
He huffs out a breath. “You’re not gonna make this easy, are you?”
There’s a hitch in his voice that amps up the determination inside of me. I can’t help but smile.
“Nope,” I repeat. “I’m a stickler about stuff like this, and I always have been. Whoever cooks shouldn’t have to clean. That’s the rule.”
“It’s my apartment, my rules.”
“Nice try. Still no.”
This playful teasing dynamic I’ve got going with Gage has me feeling like my whole body is on fire.
“Fine.” His arm shoots from behind me, shutting off the faucet. A half-second later his hands are on my waist and he’s flipped me around to face him. I’m holding back a laugh as I attempt to spin back around to the sink, but nope. His grip on me is too firm. I move to grab his forearms, but in a split second, his hands move to my wrists.
Gage quirks his eyebrow at me. “My place, my rules.”
When his ridiculously sexy, low growl hits my ears, my breath catches. It’s always hot to hear Gage speak like this, but when he’s clutching onto me, pinning me between his muscled body and the counter, I turn to putty. All I can do is stare at him, my chest heaving, and try not to melt.
I swallow as I take in how his burnt sienna gaze goes from focused to fiery the longer he looks at me. Our faces are barely an inch apart now. I’m so close I can taste his breath. My brain slingshots back to the night of our kiss and how good he tasted.
“So stubborn,” I rasp.
“Always,” he rasps back.
My eyes fall to his lips. His perfect plump lips. Lips that I’m dying to sink my teeth into and tease.
“I want to kiss you,” I admit in a shaky voice. “I-I know that I shouldn’t…I know that I said I wanted to be friends, and, um, friends don’t—friendsshouldn’tkiss each other…”
Gage’s grip on my wrists loosens. His hands fall to my hips, and he grips me hard. I moan. I can feel just how much he wants me in the way he digs his fingers into the fleshy part of my hips.
He closes his eyes for a long second. “I’m fucking dying to kiss you, Becca.”
My skin is on fire, and I’m trembling, shaking with need. Every part of me wants to kiss Gage.
