Chapter 28
Chapter 28
Bree
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The cold night air hit me straight in the face, sharp and bracing, slicing through the leftover
adrenaline buzzing in my veins. It helped me breathe easier, helped me slow the frantic pounding
of my heart, even as my chest still felt too tight, like I’d just run miles without stopping. It was
overwhelming, almost suffocating inside that hut-with all those eyes, all that noise-but out here
it felt…liberating. Like I could finally exhale. Like I could actually bare myself to the world without
crumbling under the weight of it.
I had never sung in front of anyone before-not really. Sure, there were the casual moments with
my mom: belting along to the radio when it was just us in the car, or humming some melody under
my breath while dancing around the kitchen, making a grilled cheese. But never like that. Never on
an actual stage. And definitely never while the most handsome man alive stood there, watching
me like I’d just hung the moon and dragged it down to his feet.
For every single line I sang, for every shaky word, I could feel Gage’s eyes on me. They burned, they seared, like they couldn’t pull away even if someone dragged him by the collar. That stare did something to me-lit up every nerve ending in my body like sparks on dry wood. It made me tingle in ways I had no business feeling, not right now, not with him. But it also…gave me strength. A strange, unexpected confidence that had been buried under all the hurt and caution I’d been
carrying.
“Pull yourself together,” I whispered to myself, hugging my arms close as I darted across the clearing, moving as fast as I could toward Rachel’s and my cabin. I just needed to get away. I needed to breathe before I did something unspeakably stupid.
Something like climbing Gage Simmons like a tree. Something like grabbing him by that stupid white T-shirt and crashing my lips against his until I couldn’t taste air anymore. Something reckless, wild, dangerous-something I wasn’t supposed to want after everything that had already cracked inside me. But logic didn’t mean much when my heart felt like it was beating out of rhythm just looking at him.
Before I could even clear the hut, it all blurred. A hand snagged my arm in a firm grip, and then the world tilted. A startled squeal ripped from me as my back met rough wood paneling, my breath
stuttering. The night air felt hotter all of a sudden.
And then I looked up.
Those impeccably green eyes pinned me in place, burning brighter than the moonlight spilling across us. They looked different out here-darker, sharper, almost dangerous. More promise than mischief. More sin than sunshine. His blond hair had fallen loose over his forehead, unruly, almost wild, as he leaned down. His white T-shirt stretched tight over his chest, hinting at everything I’d
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tried so hard not to think about.
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Everything about him screamed predator. It was a side of him I’d never seen before. Gage was the guy always smiling, always cracking jokes, always making everyone else feel comfortable. He was light and warmth personified. But right now? The look in his eyes didn’t scream teasing or goofing
around.
It screamed hunger. Possession.
It should have scared me. Maybe a normal person would’ve been terrified, being cornered in the dark with someone looking at them like that. But fear never came. Instead, my pulse pounded even harder, echoing in my ears. My lips parted on a shaky exhale, my lungs desperate. Heat coiled low in my belly, sharp and shocking. My thighs pressed together on instinct, my palms going clammy
where they rested against the wood at my back.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his voice low, rough, gravel dragged across velvet. It sounded private, like it was meant for me alone, like he was trying to shield whatever this was from
the rest of the world.
I swallowed hard, my tongue darting out to wet my lips before I could stop myself. That was a mistake. His eyes followed the motion, laser-focused, and his grin deepened, sharp and wicked,
like a lion spotting prey.
I was trapped. Completely. His arm was braced above my head, caging me in, while his other hand hovered near my waist, close enough that I could feel his heat, his strength, without a single point of contact. He wasn’t even touching me-yet somehow it felt like he was everywhere. Every place his gaze landed burned like a brand.
“I-I’m…” The words caught, stuttered, completely useless. My brain scrambled for something clever, something cutting, anything. But all I could think about was how close he was, how much I wanted to close the tiny, torturous gap between us.
“I’m done playing games, Bree,” he murmured, leaning closer, ducking his head until his breath ghosted over my lips. My knees nearly gave out.
“Games?” The squeak that left me was humiliatingly high-pitched, but he didn’t flinch.
“I know what I want,” he continued like I hadn’t said a thing. His voice went even lower, every word deliberate. “And, f**k, I want it so damn badly.”
My heart stuttered. How was he so calm? How could he say things like that so easily, like they didn’t cost him every shred of control? Didn’t this wreck him, too? Didn’t he feel the same storm I
did?
“And now,” he whispered, his gaze dropping to my lips, his own parting slightly, “I think I know what
you want, too.”
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I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t do anything but drown in the way he was looking at me
like I was the only thing in the universe.
“I’ll give you anything, Bree,” he said, each syllable slow, a vow. “Any-f*****g-thing. And if you wanna go to heaven”-my breath caught violently, my whole body locking up-“I’ll tear the damn gates down myself to get you there.”
And with that, the world shifted on its axis.
One second there was no contact, nothing but heat and words. The next, there was only him. His body pressed flush against mine, solid and unyielding. His hands were suddenly on me, one sliding up to cup my jaw, long fingers tangling in my hair, while the other gripped my waist like he was anchoring himself. His mouth crashed against mine with a force that stole every last coherent
thought.
There was no careful testing, no hesitation-just hunger. Raw, reckless hunger. A low, guttural sound rumbled from his chest, vibrating into my skin, as his lips moved against mine.
Every rational thought I’d ever had flew straight out the window, scattered like leaves in a storm, leaving my brain deliciously empty. And somehow, that made everything I felt even sharper, even
more overwhelming-in the best possible way.
My hands moved on instinct, sliding up to his sides, fisting the fabric of his T-shirt like it was the only thing tethering me to the ground. The cotton stretched under my grip as I clung, pulling him closer, moving with him, trying to match the urgency he poured into me. My neck arched further, my head tilting back as I offered him more access, more of me, because right now I wanted him to
have everything.
A soft, needy whimper escaped before I could stop it, muffled against his mouth, when his tongue teased along my lips. The featherlight swipe sent heat coursing through me. I opened for him, tentative at first, and then our tongues met, tangling, learning. The sound he made in response-a low, guttural groan-rattled right down my spine. He tasted like soda and sin, like something I’d never let myself want but suddenly couldn’t get enough of.
His hands shifted too, sliding deeper into my hair. His long fingers curled and fisted it the same way I clung to his shirt, but there was no pain. Not even close. He held me firmly, but with a gentleness that made my head spin. The contrast was dizzying-his mouth, all hunger and heat, while his hands cradled me like I might break. It stole whatever scraps of control I thought I had
left.
A moan slipped out of me, unbidden, as I arched against him, my back bowing, craving more contact, more pressure, more of him. He answered with a hum that vibrated against my lips, pressing himself even closer until there wasn’t a single inch between us. The warmth radiating from him was almost unbearable; he felt like a furnace, and I never wanted to step out of the fire.
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And then-I felt it.
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My eyes flew open mid-kiss, widening as shock flared white-hot through me. This wasn’t biology. This wasn’t the absentminded, half-awake kind of reaction I’d been warned about in awkward high school s*x ed classes. This was want. Pure and undeniable. This was him wanting me.
He tore his mouth from mine, just barely, just enough to let me breathe. His forehead rested
against mine, our noses brushing as his chest heaved. I gulped air like I’d been drowning. His hands didn’t let me go. They slid from my hair, down the line of my neck in a featherlight graze that made goosebumps break out across my skin, then over my arms to rest on my sides. His palms
were so broad, so warm, somehow both soft and firm at once, and every inch of contact felt like a
claim.
S
“This goddamn dress, Bree,” he breathed, voice ragged. His eyes followed his hands as they traced down my torso, like he couldn’t decide where to look first. “I’ve never been so confused by a piece
of fabric before.”
A startled laugh broke out of me, bubbling up past my lips before I could swallow it down. It sounded wild, breathless, like I’d already forgotten how to form words properly. His gaze snapped
back up to mine immediately, and then that grin-wide, boyish, devastating-spread across his mouth like sunlight breaking through a storm.
“How can a dress confuse you?” I asked, my voice unsteady, my hands still curled tight in his shirt.
If I let go, I felt like I might just slide down the wall and melt into a puddle at his feet.
“Because you look so f*****g stunning in it,” he said, low and reverent, the kind of tone that felt too
intimate for the open air. His hands slid lower, shaping the curve of my hips through the fabric like
he was trying to memorize every inch. “I never want you to take it off,” he confessed with a rough groan, “but, f**k, I want you to take it off.”
The words hit like a spark to dry tinder, and for a second, my whole body burned with want. But just as quickly, something else rose-sharp, cold. Doubt. Fear. All the insecurities I’d shoved into the darkest corners of myself came flooding back, crashing over me in a wave I didn’t know how to
fight.
I couldn’t do this. Not again. I couldn’t hand my heart over to another gorgeous boy who could
shatter me with one careless move.
“Gage-” My voice cracked on his name.
“No.” The single word was immediate, firm, like he’d been waiting for me to speak just so he could stop me. His eyes locked with mine, green burning into me with something that looked a lot like desperation. “Don’t say anything. Don’t stop this.” His voice dropped to a whisper, raw and
pleading. “Just… let me have a little more.”
Before I could argue, before I could even think of what I’d been about to say, he leaned down and
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kissed me again.
But this time-oh, this time it was different.
It wasn’t rushed or frantic, wasn’t fueled by the same wildfire urgency as before. It wasn’t like he was drowning and I was the air he needed. This kiss was slow, deliberate, languid in a way that stole my breath in an entirely new way. He was savoring me. Taking his time like each brush of his lips was a memory he wanted to etch into stone.
It felt like he was trying to kiss away every insecurity, every ugly thought I’d ever had about myself. Like he wanted me to see me the way he saw me-precious, adored, worth holding carefully.
My body softened against his, melting into the new rhythm. My fists loosened, my hands uncurling from his T-shirt so I could finally feel him properly. My palms slid up over the planes of his chest,
over hard muscle and warmth, until my fingers found his hair. When I threaded them through, he
groaned into my mouth, the sound almost making me shiver.
His hand traveled too, slow and steady. From my hip, up the dip of my spine, over my back until it
rested just above the swell of my ass. He didn’t rush, didn’t grope or grab or fumble like Oliver
always had. He didn’t treat me like a body to be conquered, like I was something to take. He just held me closer, like even this-just kissing, just touching-was enough.
And maybe that’s why it undid me even more. Because it was enough. Because I wanted more.
Because I wanted his hands everywhere, wanted him to touch and explore and make me feel
things I’d buried for too long.
My arms tightened around his neck, my lips moving against his with a new kind of hunger, like I
could crawl into him if I tried hard enough.
And then a sound shattered the moment.
Giggling. Sharp and close.
I broke away first, startled, my lips tingling, my breath ragged. My head whipped toward the noise,
and my stomach dropped.
Gabriella. Standing there with her phone aimed squarely at us, smirk plastered across her face.
“I wouldn’t touch her either,” she giggled, sing-song, before spinning on her heel and sauntering off, fingers already flying across her screen.
“I’ll f*****g kill her,” Gage rumbled, his entire body straightening like a bow pulled taut, his voice all steel and promise. I loosened my arms from around his neck, suddenly cold without him.
And then the thought crept in, uninvited, unwanted, but impossible to ignore.
Why didn’t he touch me?
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