Daddies Taste Better

: I Rose Onto My Toes…

Embarrassment surged up inside me so badly it almost made me nauseous. Being laughed at by Noah and his friends had hurt… cut me open in all the ways humiliation knows how to, but somehow this was worse.

Way fucking worse than it should have been.

When Mr. Gage’s eyes landed on me, their usual calm narrowed slightly, just enough to show surprise… then confusion that made me want to disappear.

“Mr. Gage,” I breathed out, voice barely audible, shaky, more fragile than I wanted it to be.

Why did he have to see me like this?

The fuck!

He didn’t reply to me and stepped forward, his shoes clicking softly on the tile as he entered the hall.

When he was close enough he let out a controlled sigh and tilt of his head. “You’re dripping water on my floors, Thea.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

Simple. Blunt. CRUEL.

But laced with the very thing I feared most: inconvenience.

I blinked slowly, staring up at him, numb for a moment because my emotions were fighting for space.

Then his remark finally clicked in my mind, cutting through the fog.

“Oh…” I swallowed, scrambling mentally. “I’m so sorry.”

I pushed myself up, legs wobbling, almost slipping again as the wet tile shifted under my foot. I caught myself just in time, but not gracefully—more like a newborn deer trying its hardest not to collapse again.

“I…I’ll clean it up,” I rushed out, desperate to restore even a shred of dignity. To fix it. To not be a burden atleast. “I’m really sorry, I’ll take care of it right now—”

I turned, already trying to hurry away, mind spinning with panic, but before I could take a full step, his hand shot out and wrapped firmly around my wrist.

I froze, breath catching in my throat as I looked back at him.

“Don’t,” he said quietly.

My brows knitted. “I… don’t understand—”

“Just call the housekeeper,” he replied, voice low but steady. “You’ll hurt yourself if you try to clean in that condition.”

That condition.

I followed his gaze as it flicked downward, at my soaked shirt clinging to my body, the tremor in my hands, the redness around my eyes, the way my breath was uneven, chest still rising and falling too quickly.

I must have looked more wrecked than I realized.

And the realization made my eyes burn again.

“I’m really sorry,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I…I didn’t mean to make a mess. I didn’t mean to…”

“To what?” he asked quietly.

My lips parted, but no sound came out. I didn’t know how to answer.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze still fixed on me.

“You’re shaking,” he said, and there was no judgment in his tone this time. Only something that sounded dangerously close to concern.

I shook my head quickly, trying to step back, but he didn’t let go of my wrist, as if he was keeping me from slipping again.

“I’m fine,” I lied.

“You’re not.”

The finality in his voice made my throat tighten. My tears stung again, threatening to spill over.

“I’ll… I’ll just go to my room,” I murmured, pulling gently against his hold.

His hand didn’t leave my wrist.

If anything, his grip tightened like he wasn’t willing to let me walk away just yet. His suitcase slipped from his other hand and hit the floor with a soft, heavy thud. The sound echoed faintly through the hall.

Before I could process what was happening, that now-free hand lifted… and gently tilted my chin up.

“What has my stupid son done this time?” he asked, voice low with just the slightest undercurrent of frustration.

The warmth from his hand spread down my neck in a way I didn’t expect. Maybe it was because I was drenched and cold… or maybe it was the way he said My Stupid Son like he was already piecing things together without needing me to confirm it.

“N–Nothing,” I finally stammered. “It’s… really nothing.”

His brow lifted slightly.

I wanted to say something but I wasn’t in a position to complain, so I simply just shook my head.

“So you’re telling me,” he let out slowly, “that nothing happened… yet you’re soaked, shaking, and hiding in the hallway instead of being outside with the others?” He paused, letting the silence stretch before adding. “Instead of being with my son.”

I swallowed hard.

“I just… needed a break from the sun.”

“The sun.” His voice held a hint of dry amusement. “You don’t have to cover for him.”

My breath hitched.

Then he added, almost offhandedly, “That boy’s been cycling through girls since he was sixteen. This isn’t the first time one of them has ended up crying in my house.”

My face fell before I could stop it, and my free hand curled into a fist at my side.

“I see,” I murmured.

His hand under my chin tilted ever so slightly, enough to force my gaze up toward him.

“Does mentioning my son’s past upset you?”

“Upset me?” I let out a short scoff before I could stop myself. “No. Not at all. I just… I know everyone has a past. Noah is no different.”

His eyes narrowed just a fraction, as if he could hear the lie twisting through my tone.

I tried to recover, adding quickly, “Even you, Mr. Gage.”

But as soon as the words left my mouth, mortification flooded me.

“I— Wait. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

For a heartbeat he went still, thumb frozen against my bottom lip.

Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth curved.

His hand left my chin, sliding away only to shove deep into the pocket of his slacks, the motion pulling the fabric tight across his hips. But he still didn’t release my wrist. His grip tightened, thumb pressing over the frantic beat of my pulse.

“That’s true,” he murmured. “I’ve had my share.”

I lifted my gaze to meet his… but instantly regretted it—or maybe not regretted exactly if I were being honest, but I felt the hit of something sharp and hot in my stomach.

His gaze wasn’t on my face anymore.

It went lower.

Tracing the soaked cloth clinging to my chest, the way it had gone nearly transparent, outlining every curve and shiver. My nipples tightened traitorously under the weight of his stare, and there was no hiding it—not when my cloth were plastered to me like that.

“Mr. Gage?” I called, my cheeks burning so hard it felt like the heat might steam off me.

When his eyes flicked back to mine, the hunger in them was blatant that it stole whatever was left of my common sense.

I took a step forward.

One single step, closing the space until the damp fabric of my shirt brushed the crisp front of his. Until I could smell his cologne. Until I could feel the heat coming off him like a furnace against my chilled body.

His pupils swallowed the gray, his breath ghosting over my lips as he stared at me with a gaze no father should ever have while looking at his son’s girlfriend.

Another inch and we’d be kissing.

Another inch and I’d know exactly how that stubble would feel scraping my throat, my breasts, the inside of my thighs.

Another inch and there would be no pretending this was anything innocent.

I rose onto my toes…