Chapter 20 Player Two Has Entered the Game
PLAYER TWO HAS ENTERED THE GAME
LUKE
Seattle knows how to put on a show when it wants to.
Tonight, it wants to.
The Fairmont Olympic’s grand ballroom is glowing with soft golds and coppers, the chandeliers throwing diamonds across every surface, the velvet-lined tables gleaming under the weight of extravagant centerpieces and champagne flutes that cost more than some people’s rent.
Outside, the November air is crisp and clear—the kind of rare Seattle night where the stars peek out from behind the city’s usual curtain of gray.
Through the soaring windows, the skyline glitters like it’s performing for us, like it knows this night matters.
Because it does.
This is Callum and Karina’s engagement party, and Seattle’s elite have shown up in force. There are senators and startup founders, socialites and venture capitalists. Everyone pretending they’re not measuring each other’s net worth over canapés and Cristal.
And I?
I’m standing in the corner, fidgeting with my goddamn bowtie like I’m auditioning for a high school prom.
"Stop fidgeting," Daniella murmurs at my elbow, materializing as always with her ever-present tablet and perfectly arched brow. "You look fine."
"I’m not fidgeting."
"You’ve adjusted your tie seven times. I counted."
"It’s crooked."
"It’s perfect. You’re nervous."
She knows. Of course she knows. Daniella’s been managing my schedule and occasionally my sanity for three years. If I so much as blink weird, she notices.
"This is about the innkeeper," she adds, her tone as dry as the martinis passing on silver trays.
"Sage. Her name is Sage."
"And you sent her approximately eight thousand dollars in floral arrangements today. Plus a couture dress. Plus designer shoes. Plus the car service."
"That much?"
"You’re aware she’s not Julia Roberts and you’re not Richard Gere, right?"
"That reference is dated even for me."
"Classic rom-coms are timeless."
She glances at her screen, hesitating. "This is a big night for Callum."
"It is."
"And for you."
That catches me. "It is?"
"Would I be the worst assistant in the world if I ruined it?"
I frown. "Daniella… is there something you want to say?"
She hesitates. Then, slowly, she turns the tablet toward me.
"I didn’t want to bring this up tonight. But maybe you should know."
The screen fills with data—IP logs, timestamps, SecureMatch metadata. My eyes try to make sense of it, but before I can even start...
Movement.
A flash of blue silk at the ballroom entrance.
Sage.
Wearing the dress I sent.
Hair swept up. Shoes glinting under the crystal lights. The beads of the dress shimmer like starlight against her skin, every inch of her elegance wrapped in the kind of easy confidence she doesn’t even realize she radiates.
She’s breathtaking.
She’s here.
And she’s mine.
Daniella says something behind me, but it doesn’t register.
"Later," I say.
"Luke—"
"Later."
Sage spots me crossing the room, and her face transforms with a smile that makes my chest tight.
And just like that, I forget about everything else.
I cross the ballroom in ten long strides, slicing through conversations and champagne flutes, ignoring everyone and everything that isn’t her.
When I reach her, I don't say hello.
I take both her hands and pull her just close enough to breathe her in.
She smells like warm vanilla and night-blooming jasmine. Intoxicating.
"Hi," she says when I press my mouth to the back of her hand, slightly breathless. "Sorry I'm late. There was a Buttercup incident. But I'm here now and—"
"I fucked up,” I blurt out.
She blinks. “I’m sorry?”
“I fucked up. I know that now.” I stare at the back of her hands as if the apology on my tongue is written there.
I sigh. "Monday morning. The way I left.
I just..." I run a hand through my hair, probably destroying whatever style Daniella insisted on.
“That goddamned ambassador emergency. And then me…
Just leaving like that, after we'd just—"
"Luke." She touches my arm, and even that simple contact feels electric. "It's okay."
"It's not. You deserved better than me running out like I was fleeing a crime scene."
"Well, technically, there may have been some crimes committed.” She flashes a small smile, green eyes bright. "That thing you did with your tongue is probably illegal in several states."
"Sage."
"What? I'm just saying, if we're apologizing for Monday morning activities—"
"Can we—" I glance around at the very public, very full ballroom. "Can we talk somewhere private?"
"Lead the way."
I take her hand, weaving through the crowd toward the French doors that lead to the terrace.
Mac waves as we pass, and Connor raises his champagne in salute, but I don't stop.
The terrace is perfect—heat lamps creating pockets of warmth against the November chill, the city spread below us like scattered diamonds.
We're alone except for the distant party noise and the night air.
"Sage," I start, but she's already talking.
"I know I've been weird this week," she says in a rush. "Distant and evasive and probably giving you mixed signals, but it's not because of Monday morning. Well, not exactly. It's just that everything felt so perfect and then you had to leave and I started overthinking—"
"Sage."
"—and I know we said it was just business but then it really wasn't just business and I didn't know how to process that—"
"Sage."
"—and then you sent all those flowers and the dress and I wanted to tell you—"
I kiss her.
It's the only way I can think of to stop the word avalanche, and the moment our lips meet, everything else fades.
She makes a small sound of surprise before pulling me close, her hands coming up to frame my face.
"I'm sorry," I murmur against her mouth. “That morning... I should’ve handled it better. I should’ve stayed. Or at the very least, told you why I had to go. But all I did was make you feel disposable. And you’re not. You’re the farthest thing from it."
Her eyes shine, lips parting slightly.
"You sent an army of flowers," she whispers.
"Because I missed you. Because I kept thinking about you that first night, shower-soaked, in polka dot pajamas. And that smirk. And the way you looked asleep in my arms. And how, even now, I can barely breathe just seeing you across a room."
Her breath catches.
“Sage,” I begin again, tugging her even closer.
But she’s already unraveling.
“I know I’ve been weird this week,” she blurts. “Distant and overthinking and probably a little insane, but it’s not because of what happened, not really. I just—everything felt too perfect and I panicked and—”
“You’re gonna ruin me,” I murmur, voice low and dark as I cage her in with my body. “You know that?”
“Luke—”
I back her against the stone wall with a quiet thud, my body caging hers. “You talk too much when you’re nervous.”
She freezes.
“I love it,” I add roughly. “But tonight, I want you speechless.”
Then I kiss her a second time.
Deep. Consuming.
All tongue and possession.
She gasps against me, lips parting, and I take full advantage. My tongue slides against hers, slow and greedy, and I feel her melt like warm wax.
When I break away, I stay close enough to taste her breath. “You wore that dress to kill me, didn’t you?”
“I wore it because you sent it,” she says softly. “I wanted to look good for you.”
I chuckle darkly. “You don’t look good, Sage. You look like a fucking fantasy. And now I need to ruin it.”
She gasps again, but this one’s sharper.
Hotter.
Her pupils blow wide and her fingers clutch my lapels like they need something to hold onto.
I drag my mouth down her neck, inhaling her like oxygen. “You wore this dress knowing I’d want to rip it off you.”
“Yes,” she whispers.
“And you didn’t wear anything underneath, did you?”
Her silence is confirmation.
“Jesus Christ.” I pull back enough to see her face. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to keep my hands off you in that ballroom?”
“Maybe a little.”
I growl and spin her to face the wall, hands flattening hers against the cold stone.
“Keep those there. Don’t move.”
She nods shakily.
I hike up her dress, baring her to the cool night air.
The sight of her—bent forward, legs trembling, thighs already wet for me—nearly undoes me.
“You’re dripping,” I murmur, running two fingers along her folds. “So fucking ready. For me.”
“Yes,” she breathes. “Please.”
I drop to my knees.
“Luke—oh my God—”
“I said don’t move.” My voice is rougher now. “I’m going to take my time with you. Lick this pretty pussy until you scream my name.”
“Someone might—”
“I don’t care.”
I bury my face between her thighs, tasting her slowly.
Reverently.
Like she’s my last meal and I plan to savor every bite.
She tries to stay quiet, but when I suck her clit between my lips, she gasps so loud I grin against her.
I tap her ass lightly with my palm, and she yelps.
“Yes, pretty girl. I want to hear you,” I growl. “I want everyone in that building to know what I do to you.”
“Luke—fuck—oh fuck—”
I grip her thighs, dragging her closer to my face, my tongue dipping between her folds, dragging up to her clit and back again.
Then harder.
Sucking. Licking.
Fucking her with my mouth like it’s a promise.
Her hips start to shake, her moans turning frantic.
“I can feel it,” I mutter, voice muffled against her. “You’re close, aren’t you? You gonna come on my tongue like a good girl?”
She shatters, biting down on her fist, legs going boneless.
I rise fast, one hand braced on her lower back as I undo my belt with the other.
“You think we’re done?” I rasp. “No, baby. That was the appetizer.”
She turns her head to look at me, eyes wide and wrecked. “Please.”
“You want it rough?” I lean in, nipping her shoulder. “Or slow?”
She moans. “You. I want you.”
I shove her dress up higher over her hips, then slide in with one deep, hard thrust. She chokes on a breath, gasping my name.
“Jesus, you feel like heaven and sin wrapped together.”
I move slowly, deliberately, every thrust measured and deep.