Chapter 24
Bree
The moment his words registered-the moment I actually grasped what he was saying-I forgot
how to breathe. My lungs refused to expand, air caught tight in my throat, while the rest of me
seemed to ignite from the inside out. My entire body was filling with fire, with a kind of molten heat
I had never experienced before. It wasn’t just attraction, not the simple flutter that came when
someone cute glanced my way. No, this was deeper, rawer, like a spark had caught somewhere in
the very center of me and was spreading fast, taking over every nerve.
He didn’t want anyone else to touch me. The words kept echoing inside my head, rolling around,
gaining more weight with each repeat. Did he mean it in the most obvious sense-that no one
should hurt me, that no one was allowed to lay a hand on me in violence? That would make sense,
considering this was training, a self-defense class, and we were here to practice moves meant to
protect ourselves. But there was something else in the way he’d said it, something that lingered
just long enough to twist the meaning in my chest.
Was it because we were friends, because he felt protective? Or was it something more?
Something darker, hungrier. Did he feel it too-the warmth sparking under my skin, the obvious pull
I kept forcing down, pretending didn’t exist? Did his body betray him the way mine betrayed me,
reacting before my brain had a chance to interfere? Because God, I was trying so hard to be
logical, to steady myself, to remind myself this was nothing more than an exercise. But my body
wasn’t listening. My body just wanted him closer.
I closed my eyes, sucking in a shaky breath, reminding myself that this was just training, just a
demonstration. But his hands on my arms told another story. They lingered, too deliberate, too
careful, like he couldn’t help himself from touching me. The way his chest pressed against my
back, the way his breath came just the slightest bit unsteady, said more than words ever could. He
was just as undone as I was.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice brushing feather-light over the shell of my ear. His warm breath
tickled, teasing, and the sound alone sent a violent shiver running down my spine.
Ready? My brain fumbled, tripped, tried to catch up. Ready for what? Ready to defend myself?
Ready to spar? Or ready to completely shatter the thin line I’d been holding between friendship and
something more dangerous? The context was supposed to be clear-we were in a room full of people, mats spread out across the floor, all of them practicing. Nothing about this was supposed
to feel intimate. And yet, with him standing behind me like this, pressed so close, it felt like
anything but training.
So no, I wasn’t ready. Not even close. But my body moved on its own, nodding stiffly, betraying me all over again.
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He shifted behind me, and that subtle movement was enough to make my skin prickle. His hands
slid lower, steadying me by the waist before nudging me forward onto the mat. His palms were
wide, fingers splayed, gripping me firmly, his touch strong enough that I could feel the distinct shape of each finger pressing into my side. He guided me without effort, like he could move me anywhere he wanted, and I would go. And when his warmth finally receded, leaving me standing on my own, the ghost of his touch clung to me like a firebrand.
“Face me,” he ordered. His voice was quiet, but it wasn’t a suggestion. It was a command wrapped
in silk, testing me, tempting me. It sounded like he felt this too, like he was reading every filthy
thought running through my head.
Slowly, I turned. I forced myself to breathe evenly, to calm down, but it was useless. The moment I
faced him, the full force of him hit me like a storm. He wasn’t just Gage, my friend, the guy who
teased me during morning runs and made me laugh at dinner. He was Gage-the tall, broad,
unfairly handsome man who looked at me like I was the only person in the room. His green eyes
blazed with something I couldn’t define, something not professional at all, and the weight of it
crushed me from the inside out.
My heart hammered under his stare, hard and fast, nothing to do with the workout or nerves. It
was pure adrenaline. Pure hunger. And I hated how much I loved it.
“Go on, Bree,” he said, a taunting note laced into his voice. The faintest smirk tugged at his mouth,
curling in a way that made my stomach twist and my pulse spike. “Try to take me down.”
“You want me to throw you?” I asked, my brow lifting sharply, though my chest caved under the
pressure. My tone was meant to be sharp, mocking, but it came out breathy, too thin.
Doubt seeped in immediately. The sight of him standing there, broad shoulders squared,
confidence dripping from every line of his body-it made me feel ridiculous. Like even trying was a
joke. He was untouchable.
“Exactly,” he said. His voice dipped lower, slow and deliberate, rumbling deep in his chest. The
sound caressed over me, coiling around every nerve. “Show me what you’ve got.”
My hands curled into fists at my sides, my resolve shaky at best. I lunged anyway, trying to mimic
what he’d shown us earlier. For one wild, reckless second, I actually believed it might work. That
maybe, just maybe, I’d surprise him.
But then his hand caught my wrist, strong and unyielding, his other hand bracing my shoulder. The next moment, the world spun, blurring around me, and suddenly my back slammed against his chest again.
It happened so fast I barely had time to register it. All I knew was the cage of his arms around me, locking me in place. His strength wrapped tight, overwhelming, making me feel like I weighed nothing at all in his grip.
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Heat rushed through me, sharp and dizzying. My breath stuttered, shallow and unsteady, as his arm banded tight across my middle. He held me there, immovable, as if he owned me.
“Too slow,” he murmured. His lips were so close to my ear, his voice so intimate, that the words
didn’t just send a shiver-they cracked something wide open inside me.
“Or maybe you’re just too cocky,” I snapped, wriggling uselessly in his hold.
My body betrayed me, every inch of me secretly wanting to stay wrapped up in him, clinging to the strength of his arms like it was where I belonged. My uterus, the traitor, was practically cheering from the sidelines, tossing confetti and painting vivid, sinful pictures in my head-images of us
pressed this close but stripped bare, nothing between us but heat. I had to grit my teeth, forcing
those thoughts away before they consumed me completely. Thank God my brain was as stubborn
as I was, swooping in to wrestle those fantasies out of my head, reminding me that this wasn’t the
time, wasn’t the place. I was supposed to be fighting, not melting.
“Try again,” he encouraged.
And then, just like that, he released me. But not before his hand dragged down the length of my arm, deliberate and slow, every second stretched out to make sure I felt it. Goosebumps exploded
across my skin in his wake, tiny sparks chasing one another along my nerves. He was using my
own body against me-weaponizing the way it reacted to him, the way every part of me lit up when
he touched me. He knew what he was doing. He had to. No one touched like that by accident.
I turned to face him, chest heaving, breath refusing to even out. I could feel every nerve, every vein,
every frantic beat of my heart pulsing with need, like my body was screaming at me to make a
choice. I was infuriated-burning hot with anger at him for betraying me, for breaking my trust. But
tangled up in that fury was something worse, something I couldn’t escape. I was so turned on I could barely stand upright. My whole body trembled with it, making me feel like I couldn’t breathe through the pressure building inside me. I had never-never-felt anything like this before.
His eyes locked on mine, sharp and green, molten with intensity. He didn’t look away. Not once.
Not even when the silence stretched, when it became too much, when I knew it should have
broken. It was like he pinned me there with his gaze, holding me captive without even moving.
Those eyes dragged over me, reading me, mapping every shift in my expression. They took in the
redness blooming across my cheeks, a cocktail of heat, humiliation, and raw, unshakable desire. They saw everything I didn’t want to admit.
Then his gaze dropped, and the air between us thickened. His eyes locked on my lips-on how they were parted, on the way the breath hissed and escaped angrily between them. And just when I thought I couldn’t possibly want him more, his tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip in one swift motion. The sight gutted me, left me trembling. He looked like he was getting ready to devour me.
My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I swore he had to hear it.
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I moved, desperate to shake off the moment, but every attempt ended the same. Each time I lunged, shoved, or twisted to get the upper hand, he countered with ease. Like it was nothing. He flipped me, spun me, pinned me into the mat with a strength that stole the fight right out of me. And every time, his hands branded me in a new place. My wrist, my hip, the outside of my thigh- never crossing the line, never indecent. But enough. Enough to set my skin ablaze, enough to make my brain scream too close, too dangerous, while the rest of me wanted nothing but more.
“You’ve got to commit, Bree,” he said, his voice dropping lower, rougher. Distractingly gravelly. His
face hovered just inches above mine as he braced me against the mat. His weight was close
enough to feel but not pressing down, a cage of strength around me. His breath mingled with
mine, warm and sweet, tasting faintly of toothpaste and something candy-like, addictive. “If you
hesitate, your opponent wins.”
I swallowed, my throat tight, staring up into those impossibly green eyes. And all I could think-
through the thundering of my pulse, through the ache ripping through me-was how badly I wanted
to taste him. Would he be as sweet as his breath promised? Would his mouth be soft and careful,
content to savor, or would he consume me whole? Would I be able to kiss him and walk away, or
would he take me down harder than any opponent ever could, making me fall until there was no
way back up?
It was wrong. God, it was so wrong. I shouldn’t want this. Not here. Not now. Not when fury still
burned inside me, not when I should’ve been focused on hating him for breaking my trust. I
should’ve been mad enough to light him on fire, not aching for him to pin me tighter. I should’ve
been gearing up to commit murder, not imagining what it would feel like to give Gabriella and her
little minions a show they’d never forget.
Maybe he felt it too. Maybe Gage was stuck in the same internal war, because his gaze flickered to
my lips again. Lingering. Hunger darkened his expression, sharp and dangerous, but only for a
heartbeat. Then it was gone, erased as quickly as it came, replaced by tight restraint. He pushed
himself off me, standing tall, forcing distance between us. My body screamed at the loss, aching
with the emptiness of where he had been.
But I saw it. I saw the torture in his eyes. He was hurting. Just like me. He wanted to close that
space, to stay close, to reconcile what we had broken between us. And no matter how much my
brain wanted to convince me otherwise, my heart whispered what it already knew-Gage would
never intentionally hurt me.
“Again,” he said, his voice gruff, strained, as if the words cost him everything.
And standing there, breathless and raw, I wasn’t sure either of us was talking about self-defense
anymore.
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