Temporary

God, that view.

He had a perfect ass.

Gage turned to find me staring. “Like what you see?”

“Hell yes.” The words fell from my mouth like raindrops during a summer storm. I blushed. “I mean, yeah…my eyeballs aren’t burning or anything.”

He laughed as he climbed into the bed “Get over here.”

I loved the way his tone slid over my senses like warm chocolate drizzled over cold ice cream. I wasn’t the kind of girl who “melted” except that’s exactly how I felt around Gage.

I eagerly stripped and climbed into the bed beside him as if I’d done this a million times and it was completely natural.

But it wasn’t natural, a voice whispered at me. This wasn’t me. I didn’t let people in so easily and for good reason.

The alarm bells clanged a little more loudly, enough for me to stiffen slightly when Gage curled his arms around me, drawing me tightly to him.

Was I a human teddy bear? My brows pulled with confusion. He’d already told me this was temporary, that when he was finished with whatever was happening between us, he’d cut me loose.

I shifted away from his grasp, saying, “I’m not much of a snuggler,” and was relieved when he didn’t insist. Instead, he pulled away, rolled on his opposite side and fell asleep within minutes, completely content.

But I wasn’t content.

Gage had completely tipped me upside down within a short 12-hour window.

Even as Gage had “saved” me, he’d also ruined me.

Was I supposed to walk away from this experience with a chuckle and a wave, tucking away the memories in wistful silence because I certainly couldn’t talk about it to anyone without revealing my own personal embarrassment at being so pathetic that I would accept a deal like his?

My body would forever remember his touch, how easily he’d made me cum so hard it hurt.

Sex wasn’t supposed to consume someone.

But Gage was munching on my soul, one orgasm at a time.

Dramatic, much?

I sighed, staring up at the ceiling, listening to Gage’s soft, easy breathing.

Yeah, but I hated mysteries and that’s all Gage was.

Where’d he come from? Why me? Why did he seem familiar?

The worst part was I knew he wouldn’t answer any of my questions so the mystery would remain, haunting me until I died.

I thought he was older than me, maybe by five years, but I didn’t know for sure.

Sometimes the look in his eyes seemed so much older.

An old soul, as my mom would say.

My body ached from being fucked so many times in a short time period but it was a delicious sort of ache, one that created heat with the memory.

There was something intoxicating about the insatiable expression in Gage’s face when he looked at me. I’d never known true hunger until I saw it in Gage.

Landon had never looked at me like that.

No one had.

It took my breath away and made my heart beat faster.

To know that Gage wanted me and only me…I couldn’t explain how it affected me without blushing like an idiot because a modern woman like me…we aren’t supposed to feel like that, right?

The way he commanded my pleasure, denying me the privilege of cumming until he granted me permission…God, why did that turn me on so deeply?

But on the flip side, knowing I could reduce him to a moaning wall of flesh when he was deep inside me, the power flipped and I was the one in control.

Sex with Landon had been, in comparison, dull.

Vanilla — but not even the good kind like artisan vanilla bean — but rather, gas station vanilla ice cream that only tasted good when you were drunk and desperate for something sweet.

In fact, I don’t remember cumming once with Landon in the two years we’d been together.

Our sex life had been all about Landon.

A wry giggle popped from my mouth when I thought of how devastated I’d been to find out Landon had cheated on me (and had been cheating since the moment we started dating). Now, I just felt kinda sorry for any of the women who thought they were getting something special when hooking up with that douchewad.

Maybe Gage could give lessons.

As if sensing I was thinking of him, Gage turned on his back, still sleeping, his arm thrown over his head, his mouth open slightly.

Stop being so adorable, I wanted to tell him. Why did guys always look so cute when they were sleeping whereas women looked like they were drugged and then dragged behind a bus?

I smiled to myself. Universal truth.

A sigh escaped when I realized I was nowhere near sleep when I should be because I was exhausted.

I thought of Miss Switch back at my apartment, glad I fed her before I left for work.

Was Gage a dog or cat person? I guess it didn’t matter.

I frowned and slowly rose from the bed, careful not to wake Gage.

Padding quietly to the window, I climbed onto the window seat and pulled my knees to my chest as I stared up at the stars.

What small town had shaped Gage? And why had he left? Was that the connection between us? We were both from small towns?

Seemed kind of flimsy.

Maybe the reason wasn’t complicated — he simply liked what he saw and went after it.

Except the it was me.

How many other women had he “purchased” for his pleasure? And why did the thought arouse a pinch of jealousy? Jesus, that was unhealthy.

I’d never been anyone’s object of desire, I should be highly flattered instead of picking at the threads of his reasoning, right?

But, like I said, I wasn’t the kind of person to just let things go. I probably would’ve made a great reporter, that is, if there were still jobs for journalists out there.

Gage made a small noise in his sleep but I could tell he was lost deep in his dreams.

It was wrong but at this point, did judgment really have a place?

Nothing about this situation was appropriate.

I slid from the window seat and went to the dresser where I saw Gage throw his wallet and phone.

As expected, his phone was locked and I wasn’t even going to try and figure out the code but his wallet was pretty vulnerable to snooping.

(I said, don’t judge me, okay?)

I flipped open the billfold and did some general snooping. Credit cards, some cash, a few fancy business cards.

On a whim, I plucked his driver’s license.

I guess I wanted to see if his picture was as unflattering as most people’s.

I wasn’t expecting what I found.

11

David Gage Donnelly.

Gage’s picture stared back at me — and no, it wasn’t the least bit horrid, damn him — but that wasn’t the name he’d given me.

He hadn’t wanted to give me his real name, which made perfect sense if he were truly planning to ditch me as soon as the novelty wore off.

What a dick.

Why did that bug me so bad?

It was better this way, I tried to tell myself. No entanglements, he’d said. With a fake name, I wouldn’t have been able to find him on social media, not because he wasn’t a fan like he’d claimed but because Gage Rochester doesn’t fucking exist.

And who picks a name like that? Pretentious as fuck, if you ask me.