Chapter Twenty-Three
Asher
I expect awkwardness.
Maybe even regret.
Not from myself. And not from Kayden. He never regrets pleasure. But her.
Sage.
She'd just woken from a nightmare. She was vulnerable.
Fragile. And still, I touched her. Took her.
Claimed her—we did. The need had been boiling in me for days, slow and constant like a pulse under the skin.
But I held back, steady, until she gave me the green light. Until she said she wanted to forget.
And I gave her exactly that. I don't regret it. Not for a second.
It wasn't just carnal. It was transformative. Even without biting, without tasting her blood, I felt her. As if she were the first drop of spring rain after centuries of drought. The kind of life vampires dream of but can never taste. And yet, I tasted it. Still taste it.
Honey. Rose petals. Fresh earth and sunlight.
I want more.
Hell. I want all of her.
I'm the first to wake, as always. Discipline doesn't sleep in, even when tangled in desire. I slip out of bed quietly to give her space. Let her breathe.
Kayden stirs a heartbeat later, eyes opening as if sensing my movement. Always the predator, even half-asleep.
And then Sage blinks awake.
She looks radiant. Disheveled, glowing, bare in every way that matters. Like a flower just beginning to open toward morning light.
Her gaze flicks between us. I see it—the flicker of hesitation forming.
But Kayden, gods bless his reckless charm, doesn't let it settle.
"You know," he says, reaching for her hand with lazy confidence, "the morning after is always the most dangerous. That's when doubt creeps in, when you start asking yourself if it was a mistake."
He turns that crooked smirk on her, the one that's gotten him out of more trouble than it should have. "But I've got no regrets, sunshine."
It works. The tension in her shoulders melts a little. Her mouth softens.
He's quicker with feelings than I am. Faster to speak. Sometimes too fast. But right now, it's exactly what she needs.
"No regrets, Sage," I add, my voice even and certain. "Now let's go get your crystal."
She gives us a bright smile that cuts straight through my ribs. And then she stretches, stands, gloriously unashamed, and pads toward the bathroom without a word. Her tattoos curve across her body like inked stories, and I swear I feel my blood thrum with the memory of our hands on her skin.
Kayden and I both watch her go.
She knows it too. The sway of her hips, the unhurried steps. She knows exactly what she's doing.
The bathroom door clicks shut.
Kayden exhales and turns his attention to me.
"So," he says, voice low and edged with something like wonder. "We got ourselves a nymph."
I narrow my eyes. "She's not ours."
It was one night. One choice. A need met. Nothing more. At least not yet.
"She hasn't said she'll stay," I add.
His jaw tenses. I see it in his body, the flare of resistance. Kayden doesn't handle uncertainty well. He's desire and instinct—he wants to claim what he wants and be done with it.
"Kayden," I warn.
"Brother," he says, raising one brow in that familiar, baiting way. Testing me.
I don't bite. Not when we're standing in the uncertain space between what just happened and what comes next.
Because that choice and that path are hers.
Breakfast unfolds smoother than expected.
There's a rhythm between the three of us, one that feels almost practiced, like muscle memory we didn't know we shared.
It's strange. Me and Kayden, we understand each other well enough, but that understanding is usually threaded with tension.
He grates on me more often than not, playing the wayward brother to perfection. Always smirking. Always testing.
But this morning it flows.
We move around each other as if we've done it before: coffee poured—hers sipped and savored, ours more for the illusion of normalcy—pastries shared, tension dulled.
When the magic shop opens, it's anticlimactic.
The woman behind the counter—barefoot, braided hair, beads jangling with every move—is a time capsule from the 1960s.
It takes her a full ten minutes to rummage through the chaos behind the register before she emerges, triumphant, holding the celestite crystal.
It's smooth, polished, about the size of half a palm. And expensive. Not outrageously, but enough to make Sage wince the moment she sees the price tag.
I catch that flicker of discomfort, but I say nothing.
Not because it's not worth a word. It is.
I want to tell her not to worry, that this is the least of my concerns.
That I'd do far more for far less. But I know her.
She'd take it the wrong way. Hear it as pity.
As proof that she's indebted, that I'm some benefactor offering charity after what happened last night.
And what happened last night was not a transaction.
So I simply pay. She doesn't argue, thanks me under her breath, and takes the little box with the crystal and chain inside that will help to fashion it into a necklace, then follows us out.
Back near Kayden's car, I maneuver things with subtlety. Open the door to the backseat, gesture for her to slide in first. She does, without question. I follow.
That part of me—the one trained to suppress emotion, to follow protocol—registers the irrationality of this pull toward her. The quiet obsession of wanting her close, always. It's not logical. Not safe. I shouldn't be making decisions from this place.
But for once, I don't care.
We hit the highway. Easy cruising now. The sun cuts across the windshield in long, golden slants. I catch Kayden watching us through the rearview mirror. Suspicion in his eyes. Curiosity. Maybe a little irritation.
He thinks I'm up to something. And he's right.
Sage has been quiet since we left the shop. Head turned to the window, lost in thought, fingers tracing the box on her lap like it holds the next step of her life. Which, in a way, it does.
I reach for her hand, let my fingers wrap around hers.
"Come to me, Sage," I murmur.
She turns, meets my gaze. Then nods, and climbs over the seat, into my lap, graceful and sure, like it's the most natural thing in the world.
Kayden frowns in the mirror. His jaw tightens.
I smirk.
Your car. My moment.
He gets the message.
Sage shifts against me, her back to my chest. My hands slide over her, deliberately slow, reading every nuance of her body as if it's a language. She shudders and leans into me. Her scent curls around us, a smell of spring: earthy, wild, and alive.
She's not resisting. She's wanting.
So am I.
She's wearing a knee-length skirt today, paired with thick leggings suited for the early spring chill. But a skirt still means access.
As I guide her gently, bunching up the skirt, she lets me. Her lips parted, breath soft, body already responding in subtle ways that drive me wild.
My cock is pressing painfully against the zipper just from the weight of her on me.
I begin to slowly peel her leggings down along with her panties, whispering low in her ear, "I picked up something in the shop. Something that might… enhance the ride. But only if you want to try it. Here. Now."
I retrieve the small bottle of lubricant from my jacket pocket and let her see it. Clear intent. Her choice.
Sage's eyes widen, pupils dilating as the realization settles. A flush blooms down her neck. "You want our first time like that to be here?" she murmurs, voice a whisper of disbelief. "In the backseat. While your brother is driving."
She glances at the rearview mirror.
Kayden meets her gaze with a look he tries to play off—shoulders loose, mouth cocked in that lazy smirk. "Hey, your call, sunshine. Backseat, backdoor, all part of the tour."
But his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel tells a different story. It's difficult for him.
I don't care.
Sage turns back to me. Her green eyes smolder, and when she bites her lip, soft and deliberate, it nearly undoes me. I tighten my grip on her hips in response, and she whimpers, the sound vibrating straight through my spine.
Then she exhales. "All right. Let's try. I want to."
I breathe once, deep and steady, keeping control. "I'll go slow. Gentle. You can stop me anytime. What's your safe word?"
"Marigold," she whispers.
"Good girl."
That earns a low, aching moan from her throat.
I shift, lowering my pants just enough. No more barriers. Just skin, heat, and trust.
I ease her back, guiding her to lean into me, her thighs spread over mine, body open and yielding. One hand steadies her hip, the other drifts lower, fingers gliding over her slick warmth.
First, her center—slow, deliberate circles over her clit, featherlight at first. Her breath hitches. Then I press just a little harder, drawing a soft, desperate sound from her lips as her head tips back against my shoulder.
"There you go," I murmur, my voice close to her ear. "Let yourself feel everything."
I coat the fingers of my other hand with lube, warming it in my palm. Then I reach back, easing between the cleft of her ass, pressing gently. She tenses for a breath, and I wait, brushing kisses along her neck, still stroking her clit in careful rhythm. Her hips shift, subtle but telling.
That's permission.
I slide one lubed finger inside her slowly, carefully, listening to every breath. She gasps, but not from pain, just the stretch, the newness. I stay still for a heartbeat, letting her body adjust, my other hand never breaking its rhythm over her swollen center.
"You're doing so well," I murmur. "Still okay?"
She nods, tight and urgent. "Yes. More."
Gods, this woman.
I slide a second finger in, slow and patient. Her muscles flutter around me, and I feel her pulse through every inch of her. The lube makes it smooth, but the tightness… it's exquisite. I ease the stretch gradually, curling just slightly, feeling the catch of her breath again.
Behind the wheel, Kayden growls low. I know he's listening. Watching.
Good.
I shift again and slick myself, coating my length with the same slow precision I use for everything else. Her body's ready—my fingers have prepared her well—but I don't rush it. I press my cock against the tight ring of muscle, guiding her hips, holding her steady.
She gasps again, sharper this time. I kiss her shoulder, murmur low, "Breathe for me."
She does.
And I begin to slide in.
Every inch a claim. Every inch earned. Her body resists at first, tight as a vice, but she opens for me—eager, trembling, breath catching on every exhale as I slowly fill her.
Her hands grip the door and the headrest. Kayden lets out another sharp sound from the front, like he's the one being tortured.
"You're making my brother insane," I whisper into her hair. "And you haven't said a word."
She moans in response, half a sob, half a plea, and I feel her fully sink onto me, her body accepting all of me, tight, burning and perfect.
I stay still for a beat, letting her adjust, my fingers returning to her clit. Gentle strokes. Just enough to send her spiraling again.
"Tell me if I need to stop," I murmur. "But if not... I'll continue."
And gods, I want her to tell me to go on. Because I'm not sure how long I'll last if she keeps clenching around me like this.
"It's… it's a lot. Burning and stretching," she whispers. "But don't… don't stop."
I stay buried deep inside her, unmoving, letting her feel the stretch and fullness.
My fingers, though, they never stop. They draw tight, purposeful circles over her clit, slow at first, then quicker, more insistent.
I know the rhythm she responds to. I've already mapped the landscape of her body last night, and now I play it with discipline.
Sage trembles in my lap, breath coming faster. Her thighs twitch. Her hands grip tighter on the car door and headrest. Every muscle in her body winds taut, caught in that fragile space between restraint and surrender.
"That's it," I murmur, my mouth brushing her temple. "Let it happen. Let me feel you come undone."
She lets out a small, choked sound—half-gasp, half-moan—and then it hits. Her orgasm crashes through her in a long, exquisite shudder. She arches, her body clenching around me with pulse after pulse, tight enough to make my vision blur.
The sound she makes, that damned sound, is all breath and rawness, pleasure blooming from something deeper.
From the front, Kayden groans. Then the car veers slightly to the right.
"What the hell," I mutter, tightening my grip on Sage's waist to steady her as she pants through the aftershocks.
Kayden's knuckles are white on the steering wheel. He growls, "We're detouring. If I keep driving with that soundtrack in the back, I'll explode. Literally and figuratively."
He pulls off the road, gravel crunching under the tires, and rolls into a desolate parking lot beside a stretch of untamed woods. No one in sight. Just trees, wind, and us.
The engine dies. Silence stretches.
Still buried inside her, I lean forward and murmur into Sage's ear, "You all right?"
She exhales, breathless but smiling. "More than all right."
I slowly ease out of her, careful, deliberate, and even that has its own kind of power.
She gasps softly, the movements as intense as entry, her body still quivering in the aftermath.
I slide her leggings back up, smoothing them down, though every part of me wants to rip them off again in the next five seconds.
She turns in my lap, her face flushed, eyes sparkling with mischief. Then she climbs off, opens the door, and steps out barefoot onto the pine-laced ground.
With a wicked little smile, she tosses a glance over her shoulder. "You can have me…" She pauses, winks, "…but only if you catch me."
And then she bolts into the forest. A blur of long legs, swirling skirt, and laughter.
Kayden's door flies open before mine. "Oh, hell no," he says, already moving.
I smirk, pulse still pounding from the way her body fit mine. "She has no idea what she just started."
But I do. And I'm going after her.
We're going after her.