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“And you do that at your clubs?”
“I have. Not so much anymore, though.”
“Why not?”
“I guess...I didn’t want that kind of sex anymore. The kind with no emotional connection. Which was all I wanted after my divorce. I just wanted the pleasure, and I found that at the clubs. But it’s the emotional connection that’s my biggest turn on, so I stopped chasing something that wasn’t doing it for me anymore.” He pauses. “I stopped going to the clubs about four months ago. And I hadn’t had sex for three months before you.”
The space behind my ribs hushes, my breath folding in as my body tries to rearrange itself around everything he just gave me. It’s not just the words. It’s how he offered me the softest thing he owns. How he decided I should have this part of him.
My hand finds his and I move into him. Because when a man gives you the kind of truth most people keep locked away, you reach for him. You show him it’s safe.
“Thank you for telling me all that,” I say softly.
His eyes search mine, his arm now around me. “I don’t need anything but what you’re giving me.”
“Okay.” I want to leave it there. I really do. But I think even Gage knows by now that I don’t have that setting. “So, youdon’twant to take me to one of your clubs?”
An amused smile ghosts over his face. “Now’s the time to say all the things on your mind, Princess. Doyouwant to go to one of my clubs? I’ve made it clear where I stand.”
“Well, no, not really.”
“Really, I did.” I think that ghost smile is turning into a smirk. “I just told you I’m a happy man fucking you the way I have been. I don’t think a guy can be any clearer than that.”
Okay. Now I’m internally rolling my eyes at his smug little “I’m right and you know it” attitude.
This man.
I’m not telling him he’s right.
“Just so we’re on the same page, my sex club overlord, when I had to stand on a stage as a teen and sing for people, my soul exited the building. Having crowds of people watch me do something is my idea of hell on earth. So, I’m not convinced hanging at a sex club is my scene. Not if it involves people watching me. However, if you were to build me my own private room at one of your clubs, and deck it out with all the kink you wanna explore with me, I’d be up for that.”
Because I can already see his filthy mind calculating just how fast he could build that room, I press myself really hard into him, get a little grindy, and say against his ear, “And I am absolutely going to want the recordings from that room too. I’m building myself my very ownPrivate Gageflix Collectionand I think we could call those reelsThe Smutcut.”
His hand immediately grips the back of my neck, which I’ve started calling “The Submission Switch.” Trademark pending. Dignity not included. And heaven help me, but when he does it like he is now, his hand not even bothering to slide under my hair, just grabbing it all like it belongs to him? Yeah, I’m ferally invested.
“Consider us on the same page,” he growls, all filth and dominance, and just like that, I’ve got a brand-new fetish. “And we’re getting started on your highlight reels tonight. You wanna rub yourself all over me like that, you’re getting face-down, ass-up, and I’m fucking the brat right out of you.”
24
Amelia
“Do they do this every year?” I ask Kristen as I watch Gage and his brothers in his living room immersed in what might be the world’s longest tailgate party. A week ago, I knew nothing about football. Now, I’m more across the NFL than I really think is necessary for someone who still thinks RedZone sounds like a subscription service for serial killers.
“Every year,” Kristen confirms. “We call it the Draftpocalypse.”
“Yep,” Olivia says. “Welcome to seventy-two hours of testosterone, trash talk, and draft picks.” She grins and takes a swig of her beer. “I love it.”
“Liv!” Callan calls out. “Get your ass in here, woman. We’ve got a rep to protect here.”
“I’m gathering snacks,” she calls back. “Surely, you can survive without me for five minutes.”
“Hurry, Liv, or he’ll choose another third-string tight end,” Gage calls out, and while I can’t see his face, I feel the smirk radiating from him.
“Fuck off,” Callan says.
“Okay,” I say to Kristen and Maddie after Olivia gathers snacks and leaves us. “Have I got this right that these grown men are all pretending that they’re NFL GMs building fantasy teams? They’re watching this draft, scouting picks, and acting like they’ll be making million-dollar calls at some point? And each of them runs his own fantasy team? And Callan and Olivia have been co-managing theirs together for years?”
Maddie grins and nods. “Yes, to all of that, and yeah, Liv’s his co-GM. This weekend, she’s his Draft Day Ride or Die. I’m pretty sure she’s the only reason these guys ever let a woman into their war room.”