Page 10 of Made for You
“That’s it,” he bit out, his thrusts turning erratic. He slammed in deep, buried himself one final time, his free hand twisting in my hair as he came.
I felt the throb of his release as he poured every last bit of himself into me, his hips twitching as his release ebbed.
He collapsed down on top of me, panting against my neck, the hand that had worked my clit so expertly cupping me, possessive even in the aftermath of our shared orgasms.
“Jesus, Siena,” he whispered. “You just about ruined me.”
I chuckled in response. I definitely knew the feeling.
CHAPTER THREE
It’d beena week since I slipped out of Siena’s house in the pre-dawn hours, my phone number scribbled on a piece of paper I’d propped up in front of the coffee pot, but she hadn’t called. One week of me obsessing about the curvy, dark-haired beauty and the best damn sex I’d ever had.
But my fixation wasn’tjustabout the sex either—though that had been good enough to fuck with my head—buteverythingelse about our night together. The way she seemed to see right through my bullshit. The look on her face every time I made her laugh, like it surprised her each and every time. And the way she touched me afterward—tender, reverent, like she couldn’t believe I was real.
So why hadn’t she called?
I was standing in front of the apples, mulling this over while debating between Granny Smith and Honeycrisp, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw her. Like a goddamned mirage.
She was on the other side of the produce section, dressed in a navy blazer and a tight pencil skirt, her hair twisted into one of those sleek updos that screamed “boardroom bitch” in the best possible way.
My pulse kicked up in anticipation as I moved toward her. But then she turned around, and my stomach dropped like a stone. This woman wasn’t Siena—not by a long shot—and if I weren’t so fucking hard up for her, I would have realized that before I went and got my hopes up.
This woman, beautiful though she was, didn’t have enough meat on her bones, and her hair was definitely lighter. In fact, nothing about her was right at all. She looked nothing like the curvy, dark-haired beauty who’d wrapped her luscious legs around me and moaned my name like a prayer.
I let out a rough breath and scrubbed my palm over the back of my neck.Jesus. I was seeing ghosts now.
Colt would have a field day if he knew I was stalking the produce aisle like a lovesick teenager.
I jammed six apples—I couldn’t even tell you what kind—into the reusable bag my brother’s girlfriend, Eden, insisted I use and spun on my heel to head toward the registers, cutting my grocery run short.
And ran straight into someone, the impact sending a jolt through me. I dropped the bag and watched in horror as apples bounced and rolled in every direction. A Granny Smith spun to a stop against a woman’s shoe.
“Shit. Sorry,” I muttered automatically, dropping down to gather up my wayward produce. Once I’d corralled them all backinto the bag, I pushed to my feet, prepared to offer up a more sincere apology, only to have my next words die on my tongue.
There was no mistaking her this time.
Tan skin, big green eyes, and a full, luscious mouth. But instead of the slicked-back ponytail she wore that night, her hair was now a wild halo of curls cascading down her back. Her scent—that same one I smelled in my dreams—reached my nose, causing all the blood in my head to rush south.
“Siena.”
She looked just as stunned as I felt, frozen mid-step with her basket dangling from one arm.
“Gage,” she said, her voice high and breathy. Her gaze dropped to my mouth, and her cheeks went a little pink. Her eyes darted away like she’d been caught thinking something she shouldn’t. Like maybe she remembered how it felt to have me between her thighs—and maybe she didn’t want to.
A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. “You okay, honey?”
She nodded, but there was a hint of hesitation in the motion.
“You sure?”
She pushed a curl behind her right ear and nodded again, this time more certain. “You didn’t bump into me that hard. It’s fine.I’mfine.”
“You, uh…” I gestured vaguely toward her outfit—jeans, trendy sneakers, and a soft, long-sleeved shirt stretched over her tits. “You look different.”
Her chin lifted an inch. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No,” I said quickly. She looked fan-fucking-tastic. “It’s just—” I rubbed the back of my neck, nerves prickling my skin. “You surprised me, is all. I thought I saw you a minute ago, but it turned out to be someone else. Then I turn around and here you actually are.”
