Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
Sage shifts, easing off my lap to give me space.
"Do I need to shoot you?" she asks.
When I look up, she's standing over me. Gun pointed downward, stance ready. Calm, but prepared.
"Not today," I murmur. "Are you all right?"
She touches her neck, examining the wound. "Yeah. It'll heal fast. It's not much." She tilts her head. "You?"
I scan myself internally. "A lot. All at once. Smells are… louder. And there's a sort of disorientation, like I'm adjusting to a different gravity."
She nods toward the kitchen. "Come on. Let's test it."
I return the gun to the safe and follow her.
Even before I step inside, the air feels different. The lingering scent of coffee grounds, the faint sweetness of ripe fruit—these were facts before. Now they're experiences.
Sage rifles through the cabinets and fridge, collecting an eclectic mix: dark chocolate, peanut butter, fresh blueberries, a bit of fudge. She places them on the counter like offerings to some strange new god.
"It should taste different now," she says, smiling. "I don't know how fast it kicks in."
"Let's find out."
I peel open the chocolate first. The scent alone stops me. Sharp, rich, and sweet. Like the memory of something I didn't know I'd forgotten.
I take a bite and groan. The layers. The depth. The bitter and sweet. The way it melts into the edges of my tongue.
Sage's eyes light up. She claps her hands, delighted. "It's working!"
"Oh, it's working," I say, voice lower now.
I scoop a bit of peanut butter onto another piece and try it together. It's obscene how good it is. I move down the line—berries, fudge. Each thing more vibrant, more real.
As I eat, I murmur, "I thought I remembered what things tasted like. That I'd retained the essence, even after centuries. I was wrong."
She watches me quietly, a softness in her gaze I haven't seen before.
"Or maybe," I add, "your essence makes everything taste better."
I don't say the word blood. Because what I just tasted—what she chose to give me—wasn't a substance. It was a miracle.
"What's next?" she asks, eyes sparkling.
She's enjoying this almost as much as I am. Maybe more.
"Everything," I answer.
We tear through the kitchen like unsupervised teenagers: cereal, yogurt, marshmallows I didn't even know we had, sour candies, honey, the remnants of a caramel sauce from someone's birthday last fall.
Each taste is another shock of sensation, another rediscovery of something I thought I lost forever.
Eventually, I pause. Lean against the sink. Breathe through the sensory overload. Then pour myself a glass of water and down it to reset. I'm surprised again—even Maine well water has a bit of flavor.
"Are you sure you don't want anything else?" Sage calls from behind me, her voice teasing. She's leaning on the counter, ankles crossed, arms relaxed, glowing in that effortless way that only she can.
I set the glass down and turn to her.
My gaze sweeps over her, slow and deliberate.
"There is one more thing I'd like to taste," I say.
She raises an eyebrow, then she smirks, catching on. "Really?" she murmurs, voice dipping lower.
"Really," I echo.
In a single step, I close the space between us and gently lift her onto the counter. Her breath hitches, but she doesn't stop me. Instead, her hands find my shoulders, anchoring herself as she shifts, hips lifting to help me ease her tights down and off.
The moment she's bare, I still.
Because fuck.
The scent of her hits me like an ambush—lush, feminine, tempting. My throat tightens. Hunger, yes, but not the mindless kind. This is different.
I part her thighs with slow hands, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin there as I look up at her. Her pulse flutters visibly in her neck. Her lips part on a breath she forgets to take.
"You're beautiful," I murmur. "And I want to devour you."
She exhales sharply, and nods, a small gesture full of trust.
I drop to my knees. She sits perched above me like a wild goddess someone left on my kitchen counter, and I'm the lucky one who gets to worship her.
I lean in to press slow, deliberate kisses to the inside of her thighs. Then I taste her.
My tongue moves over her with aching care. No rush, just focus, pressure, and precision. I let her feel every movement. Let myself feel her. The way she trembles. The way her hands curl in my hair. The way she gasps my name like it's something sacred.
There's no hunger greater than this. No discipline sweeter than surrendering to her. And no reward like the sounds of Sage falling apart beneath my mouth.
She tastes like heat and sweetness, like something primal and impossible to describe. Every stroke of my tongue draws a new sound from her—soft gasps, choked moans, that stuttered breath when I find the spot that makes her thighs tighten around my shoulders.
I'm not rushing. I want her undone slowly.
I slide one hand up her inner thigh, slow and steady, fingers tracing the sensitive skin that leads to her core. She jolts slightly at the contact, breath catching. Then she relaxes into it, head tipping back, one hand gripping the edge of the counter, the other still tangled in my hair.
With my tongue focused on her clit, I press a finger inside her, just the tip, teasing the sensitive rim of the nerves at her entrance. She gasps aloud, raw and involuntary, and I feel her clench.
"Fuck, Asher…"
Her voice cracks, and it hits me like a pulse of heat. I slide in deeper, curling slightly, tongue still working her with a focused rhythm. I match the motion with my finger, then add another, stroking her just right, building her toward that edge with relentless precision.
She's shaking now, hips twitching forward, trying to meet me, chase it, ride it, but I keep control of the pace. Make her feel every moment of it.
"You're close," I murmur against her, voice roughened with restraint. "Let me take you there."
And then I do.
A slight shift of pressure. A deeper stroke. My mouth sealing over her again just as her body arches with a cry that echoes off the walls. She breaks apart with my name on her lips, her body trembling under my hands, around my fingers.
I hold her through it, staying there, grounded in her pleasure, letting her ride the wave until she slumps back against the cabinets, breathless, flushed, and utterly wrecked.
As I rise, I press a kiss to her inner thigh, her hipbone, then the corner of her mouth.
She looks dazed, sated, still panting. "You… you really don't do anything halfway, do you?"
I smile, slow and quiet. "Not with you."
She looks at me, eyes hooded, a faint smirk playing at her mouth. "Then, Colonel," she murmurs, fingertips sliding down my chest, "you should also do something about this."
Her hand finds me hard and straining against the fabric of my pants. The moment she touches me, I hiss through my teeth. My hand shoots out to brace against the counter beside her hip, eyes shutting for a breath I can't fully take.
"Sage…"
I'm holding by a thread.
She rubs over the ridge of me again. "You have permission to wreck me… sir," she whispers.
That does it.
I reach for her, one arm wrapping behind her lower back, the other hooking behind her knee as I pull her closer to the edge of the counter. Her legs fall open for me like a bloom, still slick, shivering from what just happened.
I kiss her. Deep, anchoring, claiming.
With her thighs bracketing me, I unbuckle my belt, watching her face as I free myself from my pants. Her eyes dip down. The way she bites her lip when she sees me makes something inside me snap taut. But I don't rush.
I line myself up, dragging the head of my cock through her folds once—enough to make her jolt, to tease both of us. She's wet, warm, and open. It would be so easy to give in. But I keep my control.
"I'm not going to fuck you fast," I murmur, voice rough. "I want you to feel every inch."
She nods, breath shaky. "Please."
And I press in. Slowly. Controlled.
I watch her fall apart inch by inch as I fill her. Her hands grip my arms, nails digging into muscle, her mouth parting with a soft sound that lands somewhere between a moan and a whimper.
"You feel so…" she gasps. "Fuck…"
"I know."
I still when I'm fully seated inside her, both of us breathing heavy. Her walls flutter around me like she's already close again. I brace my hands on the counter, framing her in place, and start to move.
Each thrust is deliberate and deep.
She wraps her legs around me tighter, and I lean in, pressing kisses along her jaw, her throat, her collarbone. Her hands trail over my back, anchoring herself as I keep going—controlled, relentless, perfectly measured to keep her climbing.
Her moans rise in pitch, hips rocking into mine.
"Asher—"
"I've got you," I murmur into her skin.
She tenses. Eyes flutter shut. Her whole body tightens around me as another orgasmic wave takes her, louder this time, less restrained.
That's when I let go.
I thrust harder, chasing the edge that's been waiting since I tasted her essence. It crashes into me fast, violent in its intensity, and I bury my face in her neck as I come, spilling into her with a low, guttural groan.
We stay like that for a long moment—bodies locked, breath ragged. Eventually, I pull back just enough to look at her. She's flushed and glowing. Her fingers stroke my cheek like she can't quite believe I'm real.
I rest my forehead against hers.
"I've fought wars with less effort than it takes to hold back around you," I murmur.
She smiles, eyes soft. "Then don't hold back next time," she says.
I know I won't.
I exhale slowly, letting the last remnants of tension bleed out with my breath. Then I reach for my pants, pulling them back on, buckling my belt. My gaze drifts to the window.
Under the moonlight, the garden glows, new blossoms pushing up through the soil.
I smile. "Those are beautiful."
Sage follows my gaze. When she sees them, she chuckles softly. "Seems like nature liked what you did."
I turn to her and brush a slow kiss over her lips. "As long as you liked it, I'm good." Then, quieter, more serious, "You were injured tonight. And here we are… you should get some sleep. I have a large bed, if you'd like—"
She presses a finger gently to my lips. "I accept your invitation."
I gather her into my arms and carry her to my room, the warmth of her body folded against mine.