Chapter 25
Overtime
Sage
The air between us feels like it’s humming. Electric. Unforgiving.
Leo’s still standing too close, his jaw tight, his eyes dark with something I can’t name. My name is still on his lips—or maybe it’s my breath on his—because neither of us moves, not really. We just tilt, like gravity’s decided for us.
“Leo,” I whisper, but it comes out too soft to mean stop.
He moves first. Slow, deliberate, like he’s daring me to flinch. His hand finds my waist, firm and sure, and it feels like the world narrows to that single point of contact. My heart stutters once, then kicks into overdrive.
“Tell me to stop,” he says, voice low enough that it’s barely a sound.
I don’t. I can’t.
The distance between us disappears. His mouth finds mine—rough, desperate, and too honest to be safe. The kiss is fire and apology all at once, anger turned inside out. I taste everything we’ve been choking on for days: frustration, fear, want.
My fingers fist in his shirt. His other hand slides to the back of my neck, thumb tracing the edge of my jaw like he’s memorizing something he’s already forgotten once. Every inhale feels like lightning.
This isn’t gentle. It’s defiance. It’s two people trying to rewrite the story they’ve been trapped in. He kisses me like he’s drowning, and I kiss him back like I’ve decided to go under with him.
Somewhere in the haze, we hit the counter. A glass tips, shatters, but neither of us stops. The noise just folds into the moment—another piece of the chaos we’ve been pretending we could control.
“Leo,” I manage, when the need for air wins. My voice shakes. “This isn’t—”
He cuts me off with another kiss, softer this time, but it still burns. “It is,” he murmurs against my mouth. “It always is.”
And maybe that’s the problem. Or maybe it’s the truth.
My back meets the wall. His hand finds mine, threading our fingers together, pinning it above my head. Every touch feels like a question we don’t have the answer to. My pulse hammers against his skin. The air smells like sweat, heat, and something sharp—like metal or adrenaline.
For once, I stop thinking. I let myself fall.
His name breaks from me like a secret, caught between breath and want.
And just like that, every reason to hold back burns away.
The world blurs into motion—fast, feverish, unstoppable. We stumble down the hall, hands everywhere, pulling, clutching, trying to erase the last few days with touch alone.
Leo’s mouth traces my neck, my shoulder, the curve of my collarbone, each kiss rougher than the last. My fingers dig into his back, desperate for something solid to hold onto. Every heartbeat feels louder than the next.
“Tell me if this is too much,” he whispers against my skin.
“It already is,” I breathe. “But don’t stop.”
He exhales something that sounds like relief and hunger all at once. The space between us disappears completely. We move like we’ve been here before, like muscle memory and emotion have fused into something neither of us can control.
The hallway light flickers, shadows spilling over us. Somewhere, the city hums outside—horns, wind, the faint vibration of life carrying on—but in here, everything is heat and noise and the frantic rhythm of two people trying to outrun the world.
He presses me against the wall again, forehead resting against mine, both of us breathing hard. “You sure?” he asks, even though his voice already knows the answer.
I nod once, and that’s all it takes.
The rest unravels slowly, inevitably. He murmurs my name once, twice, like it’s a promise he’s afraid to break.
Leo’s hands were everywhere, his touch branding me as he pressed me harder against the wall. His mouth devoured mine, his tongue demanding and fierce, tasting like desperation and need.
I moaned into his kiss, my fingers tangling in his dark blonde hair, pulling him closer as if I could fuse us together. His muscular body pinned me, his heat searing through my skin, and I arched into him, my breasts crushing against his chest.
“Fuck, Sage,” he growls against my lips, his breath hot and ragged.
“You feel so good.” His hands slid down my waist, gripping my ass, lifting me until I was flush against him.
I can feel his throbbing cock, hard and insistent, pressing into my core.
I start to grind against him, aching for him.
“I need you,” I pant, my voice raw and needy.
He doesn’t respond with words. Instead, he hoists me up, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me down the hall, our clothes falling in a trail behind us. The bedroom door slams shut, and he drops me onto the bed, his eyes dark and hungry, his blue gaze devouring me.
I am half-naked, my shirt gone, my bra barely holding on, and he is just as undone, his shirt discarded, his jeans unbuttoned, his cock straining against the fabric.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he rasps, kneeling on the bed between my legs. His mouth trail down my neck, his teeth grazing my skin, sending shivers down my spine.
I arch my back, my hands gripping the sheets as he kisses his way down, his tongue tracing the curve of my breasts, teasing my nipples through the lace. I whimper, my hips bucking up, begging for more.
“Leo, please,” I beg, my voice thick with need. He smirks, his fingers hooking into my panties, tearing them off with a swift motion. I gasp, my legs falling open, exposing my wet, throbbing pussy to his gaze.
He groans, his thumb brushing my clit, his fingers dipping into my slick heat, teasing me, torturing me. “You’re so fucking wet for me,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl.
“Fuck me, Leo,” I demand, my hands pulling at his jeans, desperate to free his cock.
He complies, his pants and boxers hitting the floor, his thick, hard length springing free.
My mouth waters, and I reach for him, stroking him slowly, feeling his muscles tense under my touch.
“Now,” I command, my voice sharp with urgency.
He doesn’t hesitate. He positions himself at my entrance, his eyes locked on mine, and thrust deep, filling me completely. I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders, my body tightening around him.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, his forehead resting against mine, his breath ghosting over my lips.
He begins to move, slow and deliberate at first, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through me. I meet his rhythm, my hips rising to greet him, my walls clenching around his cock. “Harder,” I demand, my voice a desperate plea.
He obliges, his pace quickening, his thrusts becoming brutal, primal. The bed creaks, the headboard slamming against the wall as he pounds into me, his name a mantra on my lips.
“Leo, fuck, I’m close,” I gasp, my body coiling tight, my orgasm building like a storm. He smirks, his hand reaching between us, his fingers finding my clit, rubbing it in time with his thrusts. “Cum for me, Sage,” he commands, his voice rough and dominant.
I shatter. My orgasm explodes, my body convulsing, my walls milking his cock as I scream his name. He follows, his thrusts stuttering, his cock pulsing deep inside me as he roars, his release hot and intense.
For a moment, we are suspended in time, our breaths ragged, our hearts pounding in unison. His weight rests on me, his sweat mingling with mine, and I feel his lips press softly against my shoulder, a tender contrast to the ferocity of moments before.
“Sage,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin.
I turn my head, our eyes meeting, and in that gaze, I see everything—the anger, the need, the fear, and the fragile hope that we might find our way back to each other. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken words and unresolved futures.
His hand lingers on my hip, his touch questioning, as if asking if I was ready to face what lay beyond this moment.
But I can’t answer. Not yet. The weight of our past and the uncertainty of our future presses down on me, and I feel torn between the safety of silence and the risk of vulnerability.
Instead, I reach up, my fingers brushing his cheek, my touch gentle, uncertain.
He closes his eyes, leaning into my hand, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist.
The air in the room is thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the sheets tangle around us, and the faint sound of our labored breathing fills the silence.
I can feel his body relax against mine, his muscles softening, his grip loosening, and I wonder if this was all we could ever be—two people finding solace in each other’s arms, afraid to ask for more.
“Leo,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
He opens his eyes, his gaze searching mine, and I see the same question in his eyes that I felt in my heart.
Could we do this? Could we face the mess we’d made and try to piece it back together?
Or would this moment, like so many others, fade into the background of our lives?
He doesn’t speak. Instead, he kisses me—softly, tenderly, as if trying to convey everything he couldn’t put into words.
His lips moves against mine, his breath warm, his touch careful, and I feel the walls around my heart begin to crack.
I kiss him back, pouring all my confusion, my fear, and my hope into that single gesture.
He nods, understanding passing between us, and we settle back into the bed, our bodies entwined, our breaths syncing.
The world outside hums on, oblivious to the storm within, and here, in the aftermath, we linger.
The future remains uncertain, the present still burning, but for now, we hold on—to each other, to the moment, to the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, we could find our way back.
His hand traces slow circles down my spine. The touch is softer now, grounding. His voice comes out low, almost guilty. “I’m sorry.”
I close my eyes. “For what?”
“For all of it.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “For making this harder than it had to be.”
I want to tell him he didn’t. That we both did. But my throat closes up around the words. So I just nod, my fingers curling against his side, refusing to let go.
For a fleeting second, I let myself believe that maybe this—this moment—is enough to drown out the noise. But it never is.
The room is quiet now, except for the steady sound of our breathing.
I’m still curled against him, the sheet tangled around my legs, my body heavy and warm.
His hand is resting on my hip, thumb moving in lazy circles, but his mind’s somewhere else.
I can feel it in the way his chest rises—tight, uneven.
“What’s going to happen tomorrow?” I ask softly.
He exhales through his nose, the sound half a sigh. “Claire’s filing a report. The league wants to talk to me.”
My stomach tightens. “Talk to you or investigate you?”
His silence answers for him.
I push up on my elbow to look at him. His expression is unreadable—somewhere between anger and exhaustion. “Leo…”
“I’ll handle it,” he says, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “It’s my mess to clean up.”
“You mean ours.”
He turns his head then, eyes finding mine. “You shouldn’t have to pay for my temper. Or his lies.”
“I’m already paying for them,” I whisper. “We both are.”
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The air between us feels fragile again, stretched thin by everything that’s still unsaid. Then he reaches for me, brushing his thumb down my arm. “I’ll make it right. I promise.”
Promises. They sound so easy in the dark.
I nod, though my chest feels tight. “You don’t have to protect me, Leo.”
He gives a small, humorless smile. “Yeah, I do.”
Before I can respond, a sharp knock cuts through the stillness. We both freeze. He grabs the sheet, sitting up, eyes narrowing toward the door.
Another knock. Louder this time.
He stands, pulling on his sweats, crossing the room in a few long strides. The sound of paper sliding under the door follows a moment later.
He bends to pick it up. His jaw clenches.
“Leo?” I ask, already knowing the answer’s bad.
He turns, holding a thick envelope stamped with the Surge logo. His voice is low when he reads it aloud.
“League Conduct Review. Attendance confirmed.”
The words land like a punch.
I pull the sheet tighter around myself, the air suddenly colder. “What does that mean?”
He doesn’t look at me when he says it. “It means they’re coming for me.”
The paper trembles slightly in his hand, and I realize it’s not fear—it’s fury. Quiet, contained, lethal.
My throat goes dry. “Grayson won’t stop, will he?”
Leo finally meets my gaze. His eyes are fire and ice all at once. “No. Not until he takes us both down.”