Page 109

I take my coffee and slide onto the stool next to him instead of retreating to the dining table. It’s not much, but it feels like something. A choice not to pull away entirely. A way to say I’m still here, even if I don’t have much to give right now.
“Did you sleep?” I ask because he’s been fighting insomnia.
“A little,” he says, without looking up from his screen.
I wrap both hands around my mug, focus on it and the warmth seeping into my palms as I ask, “Have you got a busy day today?”
His fingers still on the keyboard, but he doesn’t answer right away.
Then he says, “Princess.”
It’s just one word. But the way he says it cuts through all the noise in my head. His tone is softer, lower, slower, and it feels like he’s speaking to the part of me I’ve been trying to hold together. It reminds me that he sees straight through me.
I glance over, and he’s watching me now, focused but not intense. Calm. Anchoring.
“We don’t have to play the polite game. I’m here. However you need. If that’s space, take it. If it’s quiet, I’ll give it to you. But don’t pretend. Not with me.”
I release a breath.
“Thank you.” I reach across and curve my hand gently over his forearm, leaving it there for a moment while I just watch him.
Then, I let him go, and he turns his attention back to his computer. What he’s really doing though is giving me space without letting me feel alone.
We stay together at the breakfast bar for half an hour. Gage works on his computer, and I do some work admin on my phone,replying to emails. My first meeting isn’t until ten, but I need to run some errands first, so when it’s eight, I stand to go into the bedroom and collect my purse.
Stepping close to Gage, I place my hand on his back, gliding it across a little, suddenly needing that contact. His scent, too. It’s been here all this time, but now, it’s what I need. “I’m sorry I’m not myself this morning,” I murmur.
His arm circles around me. Immediately. And his eyes come to mine. “You never have to say sorry to me. Not for taking what you need.”
I bring a hand to his jaw and rest it there for a moment before nodding and saying, “I’m just gonna grab my purse, and then I have to go.”
“Do you need the car?”
“No. I’m going to brave that humidity you hate so much.” Thinking about just how much Gage complains about it, I smile. “Honestly, how are you into so much outdoor sport when you barely survive walking around Manhattan in summer?”
“You try wearing a fucking suit in the humidity, see how much you like it,” he grumbles.
“Maybe you should ditch the clothes. I don’t think you’d get too many complaints.”
“Fuck,” he growls before reaching out and dragging me in close, one arm tight around me, one hand to my jaw, eyes burning with heat. “I know you need space today, but I need one kiss before you go.”
The second he says that, I feel it.
That pull to him.
It’s not just physical. It’s so much more than that, but god, the need for physical connection we both feel is stronger than anything I’ve ever known.
We haven’t had sex this morning. Haven’t even really touched. It’s the first time in three months that we’ve woken up together and not torn each other apart before breakfast.
And now he’s asking for one kiss.
Not taking.
Not demanding.
Just asking.
My body instinctually presses into him as I bring a hand to his face and kiss him. It’s slow. And I feel Gage trying to keep it that way. It’s in the way his arm tightens just a little bit more around me, the way his fingers tighten a fraction on my jaw, and the way his mouth moves with mine, letting me take the lead. It feels like he’s kissing me soft when his whole body’s begging him not to.