Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
Sage
That night, I have a nightmare. Mask-covered faces pull up at the gates and I let them inside. In the dream, my smile is sinister. I take their hands and walk them right up to my father in his office.
When Dad turns and sees me with them, his face registers with shock before a gaping hole opens in his chest. His hand clutches his white shirt, washing with blood, and then he's falling to the floor to die. All the while screaming at me, 'Why did you let them inside the gates, Sage?! Why?'
Believe me, Dad, I ask myself the same question every day.
I shoot upright, clutching at my own chest as if Dad's wounds mar my skin too.
I wake with wet eyes, my gasps harsh but quiet enough that no one else will hear. I re-tighten the bun in my hair and pull my legs up to my chest to wrap my arms around them. My cheek presses against my knee as I stare out the window to calm my choppy breathing.
The early morning sun is already streaming in. I sleep with the curtains open now, so that I don't have to lie in the dark. But no one would ever know when the nightmares or the emotions become too much. When I cry, I cry silently. You'll never hear me scream.
Not even when my father was dying did I scream.
Resigning myself to another reluctant early start, I get ready for the day. Showering, washing my face, and pulling on casual house wear as I tame my dark hair into a high ponytail.
The others are always up at stupid hours, so it's not a surprise that the kitchen is dirtied by the time I get down there. I take my enzyme pill and grab a coffee with some dry toast from the kitchen before heading out to the back porch to eat with the sunrise.
Freddie is already there when I take my seat at the swirling iron table overlooking the expanse of gardens at the back of the estate.
I slip into the seat beside him. Three places are set, with three mugs of coffee still steaming, but Freddie is alone. Obliviously reading his paper. As if reading a physical paper isn't the weirdest fucking thing ever. "Morning," I say.
"Ah, there she is," Freddie says, dropping his paper to greet me. "Good morning, bella."
My lips tip up and I roll my eyes as he fluffs the paper back up to read. It's far too early in the morning for his charm, anyway.
"What's the lo-down Freddie? You eating three breakfasts? Or have the other two abandoned you to their bickering again?" I spread a generous helping of butter onto the dry toast, which Freddie watches, but wisely doesn't comment on.
In fact, Freddie doesn't get to say anything. I get my answer only seconds later, without him even needing to speak a word.
"No way! You've not cooled down nearly enough to be going back there!
" I frown when I hear Uncle Anton's voice from somewhere far away.
I turn in time to catch Freddie clench his jaw.
He doesn't speak, but his Adam's apple bobs as he focuses on his paper.
I take a bite out of my flavorless toast and narrow my eyes on him.
"I've never disagreed with you before, Anton, but this. Is. Fucked!" Nicholas's voice.
I rise my brows to Freddie and while he acknowledges me this time, he just shakes his head. Wherever they are, I can't quite tell. But they've raised their voices enough that I can hear them clear as day.
It's no secret that Nic and Anton's bickering is at record level highs. But once again, whatever it's about, it's not something I get the privilege of knowing.
"Fortunately then, Nicholas, you're not the one in charge," Anton says, and I can almost picture him squaring his shoulders.
"You're pulling rank on me?"
I don't need to see it to know Anton's whole body slumps as he delivers the next line. I can hear it in his voice when he says, "Don't make me do this, Nic."
"You can't seriously be thinking this is a good idea?!"
"I don't have a choice, Nic," Anton says. "What if Dimitri-"
"Dimitri never would've wanted this!"
My father's name spoken aloud brings the dream slamming to the forefront of my mind. Blood on my hands. His? Mine? Was I bleeding that night? There is a scar on my temple that blends into my hairline. Though it's the smallest and least curious of all the disfigurements I have.
I slip up, dropping my cup onto the table with a rattle.
"Freddie-" I whisper.
"Ssh, bella signorina," he says. "They're coming back."
That, at least, invites my frown back. How does Freddie do that? I swear he can hear their footsteps. I narrow my eyes and stick out my tongue in concentration as I, too, try to hone my ears on shuffling footsteps.
Freddie chuckles as I fold my arms and slump into my chair just as Anton and Nic round the corner.
Nic's eyes widen when he sees me.
"Sage, how did you sleep?" Anton asks.
"Good bu-" They hardly wait for an answer before settling back into their places at the table. Glares are exchanged, glasses are clinked about, and cutlery clangs as they engage in their epic stare down, smiling warmly at me each time one of them meets my eye.
I bite again into the toast, the crunch a violent sound that cuts into the tension.
"So," I lick my lips, "what was all that about?"
Anton's careful smile slips, but he doesn't look at Nicholas, who may as well be boring a drill into the side of my uncle's head with his stare.
"Nothing to worry about." Anton's smile is tight as she shoots another look at Nicholas.
It becomes painfully obvious.
They're hiding something from me.
Probably not something I don't need to know, wouldn't understand, shouldn't know. No... now it seems like something I should know. And they're hiding it from me.
I doubt anyone can see my skin heat, but it does. So much that it burns.
When Freddie thinks they're not looking, he quirks a challenging brow at me. Almost like he knows what I'm thinking and is goading me into doing something about it.
This, I can't have.
"Somebody spill," I demand.
"There's nothing to spill," Anton says. The fact that he doesn't even pretend to be shocked is a dead giveaway. He also can't look at me as he says it and that's the other big, fat red flag that pegs him as a liar.
Without saying another word, I shoot upright, my chair scraping as I stride through the door and towards the front of the house. Classic Sage DeMarco tantrum signs. Easily recognizable. I do it a lot. It's really the best way to get anything done.
"Oh, hell no!" Then there's the distinct sound of another chair being kicked away and big boots pounding in pursuit of me.
I'm halfway up the hall, arms swinging wildly as I power walk to the front door when Nic catches up to me, slamming his hand across me and into the wall to cage me in.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?"
"Out," I deadpan, giving him a challenging stare.
"Great," Nic deadpans right back, gritting his teeth. "Where we going?"
I push his hands off the wall and glare daggers at him, advancing on him so he has to take steps back from me as I point my finger at him. "You're not coming! I'm. Going. Alone."
He doesn't even miss a step on the checkered tiles as he backs away from my attack, avoiding the hall tables and sculptures without looking. Nic smiles a cruel smile. "Like hell."
I clench my fists. "You can't stop me."
I charge towards the front door, determined and not looking back. But he's there again and my body is pulled backward when he grabs my wrist and tugs me until I slam wide-eyed into his chest.
The contact presses me right up against his strong, muscled stomach. He holds me like a captive, watching my breath hitch when the electricity of him sends a shock straight down between my thighs.
I'm losing control. I have to put my game face back on quickly.
"Actually I can," Nic says. "It was your father's rule and now it's your uncle's. No going anywhere. Without. A. Guard."
"Fuck," I say, struggling to free my wrist from where he adjusts his grip to hold me. "How paranoid are you? We're not that important. And we're not on the verge of a mafia war either."
He narrows his eyes at me.
"Unless there's something you're not telling me?" I say, raising my brows in challenge.
He looks like he could kill me with that stare.
But I stare right back. He takes one step toward me, then two.
I'm not so much walking backward as I am pushed by the titan grip he has on my wrist. He doesn't stop until he's got me backed against the wall.
His hands ball into fists and press softly, but with so much violence, into the wall beside my head.
I realize he's about to defile me against this crisp white wall with its gold trimmings.
Fuck yes.
He leans down to look me in the eye. "You go, I go."
I purse my lips, ready to refute. "There are plenty of ways to get past you."
He laughs a cruel laugh. "You may have gotten us once or twice, but I'll give you one last warning to fucking quit it-"
"Or. What?"
My reply stuns him. I can see it in the tiny crease that forms between his eyes. It smooths out as he leans further into my face, looking into my eyes with murder.
"Or...." I let the word draw out on the wind as I push forward until my lips meet his ear. "You'll sneak into my bed again?" I run my hand up his chest, feeling the muscles tense and flex underneath my hold like they're not sure whether to fight me or melt for me. "Or is the threat that you won't?"
I feel his growl in my ear before he grabs my hip and presses me fully back against the wall. This time with his hard body pressing into every inch of mine. He huffs and shakes his head. "You just can't help but bait me, can you?"
"Well, your bait is pressing into my leg."
Instead of pulling away, he rolls his hips forward, pressing his erection harder against my thigh.
I do my best to keep my hard eyes trained on him, but they shutter as he rolls his hips again.
He still looks like murder when his fingers begin inching up my thigh, teasing the skin and pulling my loose lounge shorts up as he goes.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it? My hands on you again? "
"Yes," I breathe with an embarrassing air. God dammit, this is what always happens. Every time Nic gets his hands on me. Every time we get a little taste. Every time we turn rivalry into fucking.
I'll feel shameful about my needy wantonness later.
"If I put my hand on your little cunt right now, will you be wet for me?"
My voice is weak as I press my head back into the wall. "Try it and see."
His hand moves torturously slowly up my thigh until he finds the spot where my cotton underwear begins. His index finger slips up the edge and skirts back and forth.
"Look at me, Sage," he says. "If this is what you want, look at me."
I look right at him. His dark brown eyes have grown black and hungry. Every time we're together like this, I see this same change in him. When the mask slips off his face. The strong, stoic, protector face falls away and all that's left is an animal uncaged.
This part, I love.
His index and middle fingers turn into my panties, and he rubs the back of them against me. I know when he feels it. I can feel how easily his fingers slide back and forth across me. I can hear the wet trudge as he spreads me.
"Fuck," he breathes out, dropping his head to my shoulder.
He always stops looking at me at this point too.
In the foreplay, before he touches me, it's all 'eyes on me', 'look at me when I touch you'. But as soon as we get too close, as soon as he actually does touch me, he closes his eyes.
This part, I hate.
His fingers brush my clit, and I let out a soft sigh.
He presses his mouth to my neck and begins nibbling on the skin there, sending me into overdrive.
As his fingers move back and forth through my folds, brushing against my clit, his hips press harder into me.
Giving me an impressive preview. If I look down, I can see him soaking his own pants with pre-cum.
The sight of perfectly controlled Nicholas Prince becoming unhinged is what always does it for me. "Oh shit, Nic," I pant. The visual alone could take me.
Nic caging me against the wall. One hand high above, steadying himself. The other deep in my panties rubbing back and forth. His hips pressing into me in his dress pants. The sight of his veined wrist as it pulses with every movement against my pussy.
Especially that corded tendon when it flexes as he pauses to slip a finger inside me.
I open my mouth to cry out, only to find his mouth there too, taking me in a brutal kiss that's meant to silence me.
I kiss back for as long as I can. I'm not sure whether I'm trying to climb the wall or climb him, but my legs are floundering and I'm grabbing onto any object that will hold me upright.
My leg ends up hitched up around his thigh, my fingers grabbing at his ass through his dress pants.
"That's it, just like that," he whispers, and I let out little moans directly into his ear.
He pauses only a moment to add a second finger that slips inside easily, his thumb coming to press against my clit while his hips roll into me. Like the action is involuntary as he grinds himself on me.
I know he can feel it, how I tighten around him when I'm about to come, because his other hand flies from the wall and closes over my mouth just as I scream and convulse in pleasure.
I whimper against his hand as I calm down, his fingers continuing to draw gentle circles over me. He doesn't stop, even as I stop convulsing around him. He just keeps stroking, lightly curling his fingers inside me.
When I come down from my high, I'm left slumping against the wall.
Nic doesn't open his eyes. Even as his fingers come out of my pussy, leaving behind a sticky trail on my thighs like my dripping cunt wants to hang onto him as much as my heart does.
Still burying his face in my neck, he lifts his fingers to my mouth. "Suck."
He doesn't wait for me to reply, just slips them inside my mouth for me to gulp away my arousal. I kiss him clean, licking away the evidence of what he's done to me for him.
He rights my clothes for me. When he does open his eyes, he looks torn and conflicted. As usual, he takes an immediate step back.
This part, I hate too.
He runs a hand over his jaw but pulls it away like it stings. His nostrils flare and I know it's because he can smell me on him. It seems unspoken that I'm not going anywhere now. He's bested me with an orgasm.
Fuck, I'm pathetic.
He turns and starts walking away. Like every other time, though, I know he won't be able to resist sneaking a look back at me. He stops walking and cranes his head, looking over his shoulder and taking one last sweep of me from head to toe, where I'm sated and panting against the wall.
When he does this, he looks lustful and full of shame. Shame because he knows even though it's wrong, he's going to do it again anyway.
That part, I fucking love.