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The heat winds tighter, and tighter, and my hands find the back of his head holding on.

"Gage. I'm..."

“Gage! I’m coming! Ahhhh!”

Something low and animal rolls out of his chest and straight through me, and I come apart with both hands buried in his hair and his name coming out of me like a prayer.

I come so hard that my whole body seizes up, and my pussy clamps and spasms around his fingers. He keeps his mouth on me through it all, while my hips are bucking, working me through every wave and he goes deeper and doesn't let up.

He drags it out, works me through the aftershocks with his tongue. Then the second climax takes me out of nowhere and I beg him for it out loud, while grinding and spasming into his mouth, in a voice I don't even recognize.

“Please! Gage! Fuck!”

He finally pulls back slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and he looks up at me. My hair is a mess, my cheeks are flushed, and I feel pretty damn sated for the moment.

"You're staring," I say, voice still unsteady.

"I earned it." He stands up between my legs, his hands resting on my thighs. The scar through his eyebrow makes him look a little more feral than usual but I didn’t care.

I reach up and trace the scar across his shoulder, without hesitation or tension. Just touch.

"For the record," I say, pulling him down toward me, "We broke a jar of pickles."

"I'll buy new pickles."

"You'll need to buy a whole new kitchen if you keep doing that."

Surprisingly, we both laugh and he pulls me into a kiss. I can taste myself on him. And then the candles flare again. Somewhere in the front room glass rattles in a frame and every flame in the house stands straight up and burns white.

Then it’s quiet. He rests his forehead against mine and I feel him shaking.

I reach for his belt.

His hand closes over mine.

"No."

The cold goes over me fast and breaks the spell. I pull my hand back and start looking for my sweater, and I keep my face very pleasant.

"Right. Sure."

"Maren."

"It's fine. I'm a big girl, you don't have to..."

"Look at me."

I don't want to. But, I do.

He's looking at me softly. Gage Corbett, six and a half feet of him, is in his own kitchen, and there's nothing on his face he's hiding.

"That wasn't a ‘no’ to you," he says. "There's nothing about you I'd say ‘no’ to. Stopping is the hardest thing I've done all year, and I've had a fucking hard year."

"Then why?"

"Because there are still things you don't know." He moves back. Slowly, like it hurts. "And when you decide to be with me, I want you to have all the information. Not most of it. Not just the parts I picked out for you."

"Then give me the rest."