Vote Then Read: Volume III

by Aleatha Romig

  “Your brother knocked over the camera.”

  Shocked laughter bubbled up, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. “No, he didn’t.”

  “You didn’t watch till the end?”

  “I-I—” Breathe, don’t get nervous. “I didn’t, no. I’d heard enough, honestly.”

  His face fell, lips turning down, and one hand came up to rub the back of his neck.

  Wait, did he think that—?

  Lizzie jumped to his side, her hands going to his tattooed arms. “No, no, I mean that . . . I didn’t need to hear anything more because I’d heard the most important part, when you said that you loved me.”

  “Love,” he corrected, one big hand cupping the back of her head. “I love you, Lizzie Danvers, and I’ll admit that I’ve been a first-class idiot. Fears held me back, fears that have gripped my heart like a vice for over a decade.”

  She felt the tremble in his hand, and Lizzie gave in to her need to comfort him. Wrapping one hand around his wrist, she tugged his hand over to her mouth and kissed the center of his palm.

  His dark lashes fell shut, and his Adam’s apple rode down the length of his neck. “When I met you, I held on to the fear because it was easier than admitting that every moment I spent with you, you cracked open my layers, peeling them back, refusing to let me stand in a prison of my own making. You were right—I’m a self-sabatoger.”

  Heart in her throat, Lizzie whispered, “That’s not a word.”

  “It is now,” he said. “You made it one.”

  “You’re doing really well at this kiss-and-make-up thing.”

  “We haven’t even gotten to the kissing part yet.” He smiled and Lizzie’s body positively tingled it was so warm. With a single step, he closed the distance between them, forcing her to lift her chin if she wanted to keep her eyes on his face. “You were right about a lot of things, princess, but most importantly you were right to call me out. You loved me and I threw that back in your face, as though you didn’t even know your mind. I made a decision for the both of us, fully believing that one day you’d thank me.”

  “Sorry to disappoint, but that’s just not happening.”

  Another hard swallow. “I’d like to show you something, if you’d let me.”

  Wanting to bring back the smile on his face, she teased, “Is it your genie lamp?”

  It worked.

  He threw back his head, rich laughter spilling from his firm lips. “Fuck, I love you. C’mere.” Snagging her hand in his, he brought her over to the antique sofa and patted the cushions. “Take a seat.”

  Lizzie did as he said, drawing her legs under her so she could get comfortable. “Please tell me you’re about to strip for me.”

  “This has got to be the craziest make-up session in the history of couples everywhere.”

  Her gaze locked on his fingers slipping each hole through their individual slots. Breathlessly, she murmured, “But we’re crazy.”

  “Touché, princess, touché.”

  The last button came loose, and he shrugged out of the material, letting it fall to the floor at his feet. Standing only in an old pair of basketball shorts, he was every girl’s fantasy man. Strong arms, carved abdomen, thick neck, and the sweetest vulnerability in his expression that she’d ever seen.

  “You once asked me about the names on my chest.”

  “I-I did, yes.”

  One big hand lifted to his chest, over the list—over his heart. His voice emerged as a rumble: “I joined the force in 2003, and less than a year later my parents were dead. It made me hyperaware of the effects that the stress of being a first responder could have on an officer, and these names represent each person who has lost their life since then while working for the NOPD. My father and grandfather are here”—he tapped the space just above his pec—“and I included my mom, too. I know it’s weird, I know it’s really fucking odd to see that . . .”

  Her fingers covered his, then traced the scrollwork Owen had inked into him forever. “It’s not weird,” she told him softly, “it’s your way of keeping their memories alive, Gage. There’s no shame in that.”

  He hung his head and his breath whispered against her hair. “It was also my penance. I could have been in any one of their places. When I was shot in that orphanage? I was out of the hospital less than twenty-four hours later. Twenty-four hours after that? A female cop was shot and killed at a domestic call gone wrong. The guilt of survival is something I carried with me for a long time, but I can’t do it anymore.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t make a forever with you, Lizzie, if I’m always livin’ with the burden of somebody else’s past. So I can’t do this—adding the names, choosing to live with the guilt and the sadness. I’ll pay my respects and do what good I can with CBR, but I choose to be happy, princess. I choose you.”

  Oh, God.

  She really wasn’t going to cry right now, was she?

  His thumb went to her cheek, catching a tear, and if she’d had any plans to apologize for being such a water pot, he didn’t let her.

  Lips came down on hers, hungry and insistent, and it was everything that Lizzie needed, now and forever. Her hands on his shoulders, her breasts against his sternum, she arched on her tiptoes and gave him everything that she had.

  Love.

  Happiness.

  Lust, too.

  They fell to the sofa in a tangle of limbs, fighting for control of who got to be on top. She hooked one leg around his, giving her best to pull him off her. He sank his hips against her, using his weight to pin her down.

  “You can’t always be in charge,” she gasped as his hands lifted her shirt and his fingers found her nipples. “Oh, okay, maybe just today then.”

  “Always,” he growled against her neck, “you like it.”

  “Sometimes.”

  He tweaked her nipple and Lizzie’s head shot back against the armrest. “Always, princess, always.”

  He was right. She did like it when he took control, just as he did right now. Pulling down her leggings to reveal a pair of granny panties, he teased, “Sexy,” and then slipped them to the side to stroke his tongue down her center.

  Oh yeah, her toes curled at the sensation.

  He was just that good. Her Gage was a giver to the very end, and today, most especially, he gave. His tongue lapped at her until her cries grew out of control, her hands fisting his hair. He didn’t stop.

  Two fingers, not one, touched her core, then drove inside.

  He laughed out right when she gasped his name.

  Did nothing more than murmur, “I won’t stop until you come on my tongue, princess,” when she begged him to switch out his fingers for something bigger.

  He left her no choice but to do exactly what he’d ordered.

  And when she complied, he gave her what she wanted. His shorts on the floor, his hard cock at her entrance, a single thrust that pushed her up against the armrest. He seemed to read exactly what she needed in this moment.

  Hard.

  Raw.

  His powerful body moved over her, ink rippling with each roll of his hips, biceps clenching when he leaned forward to shift his angle and hit her just there.

  It was all she needed before she was coming again, his name on her lips. “I love you, Gage.”

  Black eyes swooped over her body as though memorizing her shape, her voice. He thrust again and again, until his groan echoed in the studio and he spilled himself inside her with a tremor that racked his shoulders. “I love you back, princess,” he whispered, “you’ll never know how much.”

  Heart full, Lizzie grinned up at him. “I think I might have an . . .” She frowned, ears perking up at a sound outside Naked You. “Wait, back up. Do you hear clapping?”

  “Did you leave your computer on?”

  “Yes, but I don’t think that’s it.” She swatted at his chest until he scooted off her, and then glanced around his solid frame.

  “Oh no.”

  “Oh
no, what?” he echoed, following the line of her sight to the front windows . . . where multiple people stood just beyond watching. And clapping. With cameras. The damn paparazzi had arrived like something out of a nightmare. “Lizzie.”

  “I-I forgot to shut the blinds today,” she whispered, fighting the good fight but losing in the end. Her chest squeezed with laughter, and her hands flew to her mouth to stem the flow. “I always . . . oh my God . . . this is so bad.”

  Always the cop, Gage said, “What’s the best course of action?”

  “Rub your genie lamp and pray that they go away?”

  “Unfortunately, I don’t think that’s going to help the situation.”

  She dropped her gaze to his shorts on the floor, then scooted her butt over so she could grab the fabric with her toes. “We’ll go for a trade? Your shorts for my leggings over there?”

  “Done.”

  Except that he didn’t move and she didn’t hand him the shorts.

  “What are you thinking?” she whispered, doing her best to hide behind his body.

  With his ass to the windows, Gage glanced down at her. “We’re getting rid of this sofa.”

  “That’s what you’re thinking?”

  But he was on a roll, grumbling and one hand covering his hard-on, his inked body fully on display for anyone who cared to look. “First Carli Simpson’s nipples and now this? The sofa is gone, princess, first thing in the morning.”

  Lizzie giggled at his aggrieved expression. “You can’t stop thinking about Mrs. Simpson’s nipples now, can you?”

  His lids slid shut. “No and it’s awful.”

  She slipped her foot alongside his calf. “I know what could make you feel better.”

  Eyes popping open with interest, he adjusted his hand over his cock. “Yeah?”

  “Shut the blinds against the Peeping Toms out there and I’ll tell you.”

  “I’d like a hint, Miz Danvers.”

  “It starts with doggy and ends with style.”

  His shorts were up his legs in a heartbeat, leggings tossed in her direction, and his feet pounding against the floor as he shot over to where she kept the remotes for the blinds. And as the blinds came down, blocking anyone outside from seeing their indoor activities, Lizzie couldn’t help but marvel at her life.

  It was good.

  No, it was everything she’d ever dreamed.

  “We’re doing it on the sofa,” Gage announced on his return.

  “But I thought you wanted to get rid of it?”

  His mouth curled in a sexy smirk as he dropped his shorts to the floor. “Mission has changed. I plan to make love to you so many times on this thing, that I’ll never think of anything else again but you.”

  Lizzie smiled. “That just might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “I love you, princess.”

  She tipped her head up to receive his kiss. “I love you, too, Gage. Always.”

  “Forever.”

  Yes, forever.

  Epilogue

  8 months later…

  “Princess, I swear to God, if you don’t stop teasing me with that, there’s going to be some major damage. Namely, you ridin’ me until tomorrow.”

  Gage stared at his wife, then looked at the donut she held in her hand. The last donut from the box.

  Lizzie took a dramatic bite and then let out an equally dramatic moan of approval, tossing her head back against the couch cushion in abandon. “Oh my God, Gage! This is just delicious. Orgasmic. Amazing. G-Gage, I think I’m going to . . .” Another theatrical moan. “I think I just came.”

  “You’re cruel,” he teased, lifting a hand to her chin and leaning in for a kiss. She tasted like powder and chocolate and a healthy dose of spitfire and sass.

  She sighed under his mouth. Then, “You should have offered better terms. What did you think I was going to do when you threatened me with a good old time in bed? Give you the donut? Absolutely not.”

  Gage drew her legs over his lap in preparation for TV night. It was his only day off this week. Between S.O.D., CBR, and managing Inked for Owen, he was exhausted.

  But happy—happier than he’d ever been. He and Lizzie had eloped a few months back, although perhaps “eloped” wasn’t the best word. Their trip to Mayberry House Plantation hadn’t started with the intention of marriage, but one thing led to another . . . and there they were, giggling like teenagers in front of a justice of the peace in the middle of nowhere, west Louisiana, exchanging their vows.

  When they’d returned to New Orleans, none of their friends had been surprised.

  Danvers had rolled his eyes and muttered, “Figured y’all wouldn’t want to plan a wedding.”

  Owen had clapped Gage on the back and then bussed a kiss over Lizzie’s cheek. “Welcome to the family, Liz,” was all he’d said, but with Owen, that was enough.

  “You sure you don’t mind coming in tomorrow?” Gage asked, twining his fingers through his wife’s newly accented caramel hair. “I can recruit Jordan, if need be, for extra hours.”

  Lizzie kissed his palm. “Don’t even worry about it. You know how much I love to be behind the needle.”

  Gage had taken her on as an apprentice after Owen had announced he was going on a tattoo-artist retreat or whatever it was. Turns out, Lizzie had a knack for the art of tattooing. She’d been relegated their “butterfly-tattoo” girl, since she was still in the early stages of learning, but he’d never seen someone more excited to butterfly it up than his wife.

  The customers loved her.

  Owen loved her for stepping in while he was away.

  And Gage—well, he pretty much just worshipped the ground she walked on.

  They settled in, her feet over his lap, his arm around her shoulder. “What show are we watching again?”

  She patted his leg, a total you are such a guy love-tap. “Put a Ring on It.”

  Gage grimaced. “Sounds girly as shit.”

  “We can watch your crime shows later,” she said, edging closer to him, “but I’ve been waiting weeks to watch this. It’s all anyone is talking about lately. The Bachelorette meets The Travel Channel meets real-time air. There’s no going back and editing anything, from what I’ve heard. What you see is what you get.”

  “It sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.”

  “Exactly,” she said brightly, and Gage couldn’t stop himself from laughing. His wife had spent way too many years in the spotlight, and even though she was more focused on creating makeup now instead of showing it off, she couldn’t extinguish the fact that she lived for social media of any kind.

  “Plus,” she added, trailing a finger up his thigh, “we know the girl who’s being featured for the debut season.”

  “We do?”

  Lizzie glanced up at him. “Savannah Rose.”

  Shit, did Owen know? Gage swallowed and distracted himself by rubbing his hand over Lizzie’s shoulder. Owen kept his life so on the down low that it was difficult to know what the hell was going on with him most days. He hadn’t mentioned her once in months, but Gage wasn’t an idiot.

  Up until maybe two months ago, Owen and Savannah often left EOCC meetings together.

  Never hand in hand, but always within minutes of each other.

  “Do you know why she went on the show?” he asked, watching as Lizzie fast-forwarded through the opening credits.

  “We talked about it a few times.” Lizzie shrugged, then hit PLAY on the remote. “Her mom actually submitted an application for her online, so she didn’t even know anything until the producers were knocking on her door. I think . . . I think it’s part expectation—her family is so old N’Orleans and she’s inching toward mid-thirties. No one meets their qualifications, and I’m sure they view this show as the ultimate debutante season or whatever.”

  “Ah.”

  “Yeah. I also, I don’t know . . . I feel like she’s running from something here. She hasn’t said that, but you know what I mean.”

/>   He did, and he had a sneaking suspicion about who she was running from.

  Dammit, but he needed a donut. Lizzie had gotten him hooked on them, and she was lucky he loved to work out so much. First the cheese, then the donuts. Give them another year and he’d be taking coffee from an IV.

  They watched as Savannah came onto the screen, dark-haired and olive-skinned. Gage didn’t know her that well, not like Lizzie did, but he understood that her family had been prominent in the city for centuries now. High French-Creole society type of thing with a family mansion in the French Quarter and another one over on Esplanade Ridge.

  No wonder she’d felt pressured to go on the show.

  One by one, the men filed out of a limo, all dressed in suits.

  Gage and Lizzie teased each other about which one they’d want to take home. Lizzie voted for the Greek dude who looked like John Stamos. Gage threw his hat into the ring for a former NFL Quarterback.

  “I liked his stats when he played for the Broncos,” he muttered when Lizzie openly laughed at him.

  “You’re totally appreciating his butt in those dress slacks of his.”

  “What can I say? It’s full.”

  Lizzie caught onto the joke and grabbed his shirt, pulling him down for a kiss. God, he loved her. Sometimes he wondered what might have happened if he hadn’t gone in to work at Inked that day.

  Maybe they would have met at some other time, but it wouldn’t have been the same.

  They’d earned their happiness every step of the way.

  He parted her lips with his tongue, seeking entry, loving her with everything that he was.

  “Gage,” she moaned, and his name . . . Hell, hearing his name on her lips never got old.

  He rearranged her legs over his thighs, angling her hips just so, so that she could feel how hard he was for her behind the fabric of his sweats. Her hands went to his arms, using his weight so that she could straddle him, press down against his cock and make him groan.

  “Fuck yeah, princess,” he growled, nipping her bottom lip, “grind on me just like—”

  Her head whipped around, and then she was tugging on his shirt frantically. “Gage. Oh my God, oh my God.”