Page 41 of Red My Lips

Gage: It’s a key.

I can just picture the smirk on his face while he’s looking at the phone right now.

Me: I’m not blind, I can see that. A key to what?

Gage: My house.

Me: And why is it on my keyring?

Gage: Because I put it there.

Frustration and irritation have my grip tightening on my phone, and it dings again.

Gage: You’re so hot when you’re angry.

I don’t bother to look around. I know he has eyes on me—whether it’s in person or through the cameras.

Me: I’m going to kill you. Slowly and painfully.

Gage: I love it when you’re mean to me.

Me: Why do I have a key to your house?

Gage: Because it’s so much harder to fuck you through a locked door.

Another text comes through.

Gage: I’m so hard right now just thinking about you using that key.

Me: You’re delusional if you think I’m going to use it.

Gage: You will. And I’ll be there to reward you when you do.

The last text that comes through is an address, and one-click shows me a townhouse in downtown Chicago. His house.

Desire burns through me as I close my locker and walk out of the dressing room. He’s not in his office, but I find him sitting at one of the tables just off the empty dance floor on the main floor. The look Gage gives me when I walk up says he was expecting me.

“You need to stop messing with me and my stuff,” I say, crossing my arms under my chest and cocking my hip. He smiles and runs his tongue along the bottom of his top teeth as his eyes travel over me.

“Yeah, not gonna happen.”

Rolling my eyes to the ceiling like I’m praying for strength, I huff out a deep breath dramatically and look around at the empty club. “You’re just sitting here in the silence alone?”

“I just finished meeting with the DJ for next month’s event. And now you’re here. Come have a seat,” Gage instructs, gesturing to his lap. I roll my eyes and place my hands on my hips.

“I already told you, the chairs around here aren’t built for bigger bodies.”

“Look again, little devil.” His words take me by surprise. “There’s not a single chair in my club that can’t handle all of you. Not anymore.”

“You’re lying,” I say, even as I look at the chair to see that he’s not. What used to be flimsy ‘chic’ chairs that were clearly chosen for aesthetic purposes have been replaced by elegant metal chairs that look as functional as they are pleasing to the eye. They actually look sturdy as hell.

“Call my bluff,” he goads with a smirk, knowing that I can’t. “I’m not having anything in my club, or anywhere else, that isn’t designed for you, Jill. You’re gonna have to think of another excuse if you want to avoid me, and I don’t plan on making it easy for you. Now come here.”

He reaches to snag my hand and starts to reel me in, and I let him. His eyes gazing into mine show the passion and desire that his nonchalant expression doesn’t. Once I reach him, I lift one leg over his, then the other, my arms wrapping around his neck until I’m straddling his lap. I lean in close to press my chest against his, our lips just centimeters apart. His hands plant firmly on my ass, pressing me even closer.

“Happy?” I breathe. His eyes roam my features like he’s already memorized them, and he’s simply refreshing his memory. The look on his face answers my question before he does.

“Very.”

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