Chapter Seventeen
The impact hit harder than it should have.
Not force—Sage wasn’t like that—but with intent.
Law’s back hit the wall.
Sage didn’t slow.
Bright afternoon light cut through the hallway windows, sharp and unforgiving. No shadows to hide in. Nothing softened. It laid everything out—Sage close, breath already uneven, hand fisted in Law’s shirt like he’d decided something and wasn’t backing off it.
Law didn’t move him.
Didn’t slow it down.
His hand came up instead—steady, automatic—finding the back of Sage’s neck again to keep him from slipping out of reach.
And then Sage’s mouth was on his—
harder this time.
No hesitation left in it.
Law felt the shift immediately—the difference between testing and taking—and let it happen for a second before answering it. He turned his head just enough to catch the angle, deepen it, take the impact and give it back.
Sage made a low sound against his mouth—barely there, more breath than voice—and it hit deep.
Law’s grip tightened.
Not rough.
But it damned sure was claiming.
He drew Sage closer with it, closing what little space remained, until there was nothing between them but heat and movement and the drag of breath that matched.
Sage’s hands moved—faster now, impatient, like he couldn’t hold still—fingers catching at his shirt, pulling, sliding, and then pushing past it.
The kiss came again.
Hot.
Lips touching.
Breaking apart, reformed, deepening again—Sage pushing in like stopping wasn’t an option.
Law widened his stance—met him and held it there.
Law kept the pace even.
The wall at his back was cool.
Everything else wasn’t.
His fingers caressed the back of Sage’s neck, holding him as the kiss deepened again, less impact now and more pull, more intent behind it, like Sage wasn’t testing anything anymore, just taking what he’d already decided was his.
Law’s grip tightened—subtle, possessive—just enough to answer.
Fabric shifted between them, already half out of the way. Sage’s hands moved fast, impatient, dragging Law’s shirt loose and off his shoulder like it was the only thing left in the way.
Law didn’t stop that either.
Didn’t slow him down.
His other hand slid along Sage’s side, finding skin this time instead of fabric.
Sage leaned into it immediately.
No hesitation.
No pullback.
Just closer.
And Law let it hold exactly like that—no shift, no retreat—just a quiet, settled awareness threading through everything else as the moment continued to build without breaking:
he wasn’t stepping out of this.
The hallway was too tight.
Law adjusted without breaking contact, turning them both toward the doors at the end of the hall.
Sage followed immediately.
No hesitation.
Like distance wasn’t something he was willing to allow back in.
The hallway opened up, bright and exposed. Law moved with him, keeping them from catching on anything.
Fabric gave way between them.
His shirt was already loose, half off. Sage finished the job, hands fast and sure, and Law dragged the fabric free where it caught, letting it drop somewhere behind them without looking.
Not important.
Nothing outside of this was.
Sage pulled his shirt up and off. It caught for a second, then cleared, and his skin was there under Law’s hands—warm, nothing in the way now.
Law’s hand slid back to him automatically, finding the curve of his hip, steady pressure mapping Sage, the way he moved closer under contact instead of pulling away.
Still choosing this.
Still in it.
They crossed into the bedroom.
Law took a step back, then another, pulling Sage with him.
Sage slowed just enough to catch his eye.
Green eyes locked on him.
Law held it.
“No regrets,” Sage murmured.
“None whatsoever.”
The corner of Sage’s mouth lifted, quick and sharp, and Law felt something low and quiet move through his chest. He released a breath that edged into a low chuckle, already shifting as he dropped back onto the edge of the bed and reached for him—
only for Sage to move first.
He came up in one smooth motion, climbing him without breaking contact, hands bracing, weight settling in as his thighs locked around Law’s hips, close and deliberate in a way that left no question about intent.
His breath caught as Sage settled over him, not taking anything yet, just pressing in—heat. His hands came up, steadying him.
Sage stayed right there, close enough that there wasn’t any space left. The contact held, didn’t rush, and Law felt it settle into something deeper, still in Sage’s hands.
Law stood.
Not abrupt.
Not enough to break the contact.
Just a steady shift of weight as he rose, hands finding Sage’s rounded ass automatically, anchoring him as Sage stayed locked around him without hesitation, legs tightening in instinct.
Law stood with him like that, taking the weight without strain, adjusting once to keep it balanced and close as he turned them toward the bathroom.
He only broke stride long enough to reach for his bag on the chair, fingers finding what he needed without looking before moving again.
Sage didn’t question it.
Didn’t loosen his hold—arms and legs locked around him, tight and deliberate.
The tile hit cooler underfoot as they crossed the threshold, light sharper here, reflecting instead of absorbing, and Law stepped into it without slowing, one hand sliding along Sage’s back to steady him as he reached in with the other and turned the water on.
It came on fast—sharp at first, then evening out into steady heat—and Law didn’t step away from it, didn’t break contact to adjust anything beyond what was necessary, just shifted them both forward into the spray as it warmed.
Water slid across his shoulders, then down between them, changing the feel of everything—slicker, hotter, less resistance and more glide—and Law felt the difference immediately in the way Sage’s grip adjusted, the way his body moved against his instead of catching.
He held him there through it, both hands cupping Sage’s ass, keeping him steady.
And Sage stayed right there with him.