Chapter 29
Body Check
Sage
The apartment feels charged, the air thick with leftover tension from Grayson’s broadcast, thrumming with the leftover noise from Grayson’s broadcast. I can still hear his voice — that smug, practiced tone — echoing in my head.
My name rolling off his tongue like a punchline.
Like I’m just a scandal, not a chef who worked her ass off to get here.
I pace the kitchen, barefoot on cold tile, my heartbeat thrumming louder than the hum of the fridge.
Every headline feels like a slap. Sage Winslow: The Coach’s Distraction.
The PR Problem. The Kitchen Flame-Out. It doesn’t matter what I cook or create — somehow, it always circles back to him.
Or us. Or whatever story people want to tell.
Leo’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching me like he’s waiting for the storm to break. “Sage,” he says carefully, that quiet steadiness that used to calm me. “You should ignore it. It’ll blow over.”
“Blow over?” I whirl on him, heat rushing to my cheeks. “Do you think this is weather, Leo? Do you think I can just wait for the forecast to change?”
He exhales, raking a hand through his hair. “I’m saying it’s noise. They’ll move on when something shinier shows up.”
“Right.” I let out a sharp laugh, one that sounds more like a crack. “Until the next time someone decides I’m an easy headline. The girl who can’t keep her job or her mouth shut. The one who got too close to the team.”
He flinches, and I know I’ve hit somewhere soft. But I’m too far gone to stop. “You don’t get it,” I spit out. “You can skate through this, shrug it off. I’m the punchline, Leo. I’m the one who gets burned.”
Something flickers in his eyes — frustration, hurt, maybe both. “You think I don’t get burned?” His voice rises, rough. “You think it’s easy watching them tear you apart and knowing I can’t fix it without making it worse?”
The words hang there between us, hot and jagged. The air feels too thick to breathe. I can see the muscle in his jaw working, like he’s holding back a hundred things he wants to say but shouldn’t.
And I’m shaking — not from fear, but from fury, exhaustion, and this ache that’s been simmering under my ribs since the first time the media twisted my name into something ugly. “I just wanted to do my job,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. “That’s all I ever wanted.”
Leo’s silence answers me louder than words could. The tension hums between us, as sharp and close as the space we’re both trying not to cross.
The silence between us stretches until it feels unbearable. The hum of the fridge, the city outside, even my own heartbeat—all of it fades under the weight of everything we’ve both just said. Then Leo finally moves, pushing off the counter like he’s bracing himself for a hit.
“I’m not saying it’s fair,” he says, voice low but tight. “It’s garbage, what they’re doing to you. But if you let them drag you under, they win.”
“Don’t you dare turn this into a pep talk,” I snap, folding my arms across my chest. “You don’t know what it’s like to wake up and see your face plastered next to a headline calling you a liability.”
His brows knit, eyes darkening. “You think I haven’t been called worse? I’ve been the villain, the washed-up captain, the curse. You think it doesn’t eat at me when they spin my name like a joke?”
My throat tightens. “It’s not the same. You get to fight back on the ice. I get to sit in my kitchen and watch them dismantle everything I’ve built.”
He shakes his head, stepping closer, frustration written in every tense line of his body. “You think I’m not fighting for you every damn day? I’ve been shutting down questions, shielding you from press, making sure—”
“I don’t need your protection, Leo!” The words rip out of me before I can stop them. “I need my career back. My reputation. My control.”
That does it. His jaw sets hard. “And what about mine?” he throws back. “You think this doesn’t touch me? That every time your name comes up, it doesn’t make me want to throw a punch? We’re in the same mess, Sage. Different headlines, same damn story.”
The truth in his voice slices through my anger, sharp and stinging. We’re both bleeding from the same wound, just refusing to admit it.
For a second, neither of us breathes. His chest rises and falls, mine mirrors it. My pulse is still hammering, but something inside me softens, like the first moment after a storm when the air turns still and heavy.
I stare at him — really stare — at the frustration written across his face, the exhaustion behind his eyes, the hurt he tries so hard to hide. I open my mouth, but no words come.
The quiet that follows feels electric. I can hear every breath, every shift of air between us. My pulse drums in my ears, and I realize I’m still clutching the edge of the counter like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.
Leo drags a hand over his face, voice rough when he finally speaks. “I shouldn’t have yelled.”
That cracks something in me. The apology—simple, unpolished—hits harder than all the shouting. “You didn’t,” I say softly, though we both know he did. I take a shaky breath. “You just… said what I couldn’t.”
His eyes lift to mine, and for the first time tonight, I see something raw there. Not anger. Not defense. Just the truth. “You didn’t break me, Sage,” he says, his tone gravelly, honest. “You make me fight harder.”
My heart stutters. Those words land somewhere deep, deeper than pride, deeper than all the noise outside. Because no one’s ever said something like that to me—not without expecting something in return.
I swallow hard, my throat dry. The space between us feels alive now, the anger transforming into something heavier, hotter. “Leo…” I whisper, his name half a warning, half a plea.
He steps closer, slow but sure, until there’s only a breath of air between us. I can feel the heat radiating off his skin, see the pulse in his neck. “Tell me to stop,” he murmurs.
But I don’t. I can’t.
Instead, I move first.
The kiss hits like impact—fierce, unsteady, a collision of everything we’ve been holding back.
His hands find my waist, and I’m already curling my fingers into his shirt, pulling him closer, needing to taste the apology, the ache, the want.
It’s not soft; it’s desperate. A fight we both refuse to lose.
The counter digs into my hips, but I don’t care. His breath mingles with mine, rough and uneven, as the world outside blurs into nothing. All the noise, all the headlines, all the things we can’t fix—gone.
For a moment, there’s only this. Only us.
Leo’s hands grip my waist, grounding me in the chaos. His touch is rough with need but threads through with something tender, desperate to hold on without words. His muscular body presses into mine, his blue eyes dark and unreadable, but his need is written all over him.
I can feel his cock, hard and insistent, throbbing against my thigh, and it was like a match to kindling.
My fingers tangle in his dark blonde hair, tugging hard as I kiss him back with equal ferocity, our lips moving in sync as if we were trying to devour each other whole.
The taste of him—frustration, desire, and something raw—fills my mouth, and I can’t get enough.
His hands slide up my body, tracing the curves I knew he loved. His palms cup my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples, already tight and aching for his touch. I moan into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his lips as he bit down gently, his tongue demanding entry.
Our tongues tangle in a dance that mirror the chaos of our earlier fight. His hand slips down, past the curve of my hip, and under the waistband of my pants.
I gasp as his fingers found my pussy, already wet and throbbing with need. He circles my clit slowly, deliberately, like he was savoring the moment, and I can’t help but grind against his touch, desperate for more.
He smirk against my lips, his grip tightening on my ass as he lifts me onto the counter. My legs wrap around his waist, my skirt bunched up around my thighs, my panties long forgotten on the floor.
His cock presses against my entrance, and I rock against him, craving the friction, the connection. “Not yet,” he growls, his voice low and dirty, sending shivers down my spine. “I’m gonna make you beg first.”
His mouth trails down my neck, his lips sucking and biting, leaving marks that would remind me of this later. I arch my back, my breasts heaving as he took a nipple into his mouth, tugging hard enough to make me whimper.
His hand slid between us again, two fingers slipping into my wet heat, pumping in and out with a rhythm that has me gasping for breath. The counter dug into my back, but I barely noticed. All I could feel was Leo—his touch, his mouth, his presence overwhelming me.
“Leo, please,” I beg, my voice shaking with need. “I need you. Now.”
He chuckles, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through me. “Impatient, aren’t we?” he teases, pulling his fingers out and licking them clean. I watch, mesmerized, my pussy clenching at the sight.
Without warning, he pushes inside me, his thick cock filling me completely, stretching me in a way that makes me cry out. My nails dig into his shoulders as he began to move, slow and deliberate, his hips snapping forward with each thrust.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groan, his forehead pressing against mine. “So fucking perfect.”
I meet his rhythm, my hips rolling to match his, my walls gripping him like a vice. The counter is unforgiving, but I don’t care. All I care about was this moment—Leo’s cock pounding into me, his breath hot against my skin, the world outside ceasing to exist.
My orgasm builds, a coil tightening in my stomach, and I can feel him swelling inside me, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate.
“Cum with me, Sage,” he demands, his voice raw and pleading. “Let me feel you fall apart around my dick.”
His words were my undoing. My body convulses, my pussy clenching around him as I scream his name, my orgasm tearing through me like a storm.
Leo follows, his cock pulsing deep inside me, his growl of release vibrating against my skin.
We stay like that, trembling, his weight presses me into the counter.
As he pulls out, I slide off, my legs shaky, my body still buzzing with aftershocks. Leo’s eyes meet mine, raw and unguarded, and for a moment, the world feels uncertain again. The tension, the unresolved feelings—they all linger in the air between us.
But then he smirks, that cocky half-grin that is so distinctly him, and pulls me into another kiss. This one is softer, slower, but no less hungry. His lips move down my jawline, trailing kisses along my neck, his hands gently smoothing my hair.
When the air finally stills, I stay pressed against him, chest rising and falling, both of us catching our breath like we’ve just come off the ice. My lips are swollen, my hands still tangled in his shirt. The silence feels different now — not sharp, not dangerous. Just quiet. Real.
Leo’s forehead rests against mine, his breath warm when he finally speaks. “That’s not how we fix it,” he murmurs. His voice is rough, but there’s a small, broken edge of a laugh underneath it.
I manage a faint smile, though my pulse still hasn’t slowed. “You sure about that?”
He huffs out a low sound that might almost be a laugh. “I’m sure.” His thumb grazes my bottom lip, slow, thoughtful. “We can’t keep surviving by falling apart every time someone comes for us.”
I close my eyes, his words sinking in. They’re true. The more we break, the harder it gets to put ourselves back together. “Then what?” I whisper. “Because I don’t know how to do this anymore.”
He leans back just enough to look at me — really look. His gaze is steady, unguarded. “Then we start winning together.”
The phrase lands heavy between us, solid and certain. It’s not a promise wrapped in pretty words; it’s a vow carved from everything we’ve already lost.
I breathe him in — the faint scent of soap and adrenaline, the steadiness of his heartbeat under my palm. And for the first time tonight, I feel something close to hope. Fragile, maybe, but real.
I nod, just once. “Okay.”
His hand slides to the back of my neck, gentle now, grounding. “Okay,” he echoes. For a long moment, we just stand there in the soft glow of the kitchen, the city whispering faintly outside, the noise of the world waiting on the other side of the door.
Then my phone buzzes on the counter.
The sound slices through the stillness, sharp and cold. I pull away, frowning as I reach for it. The screen lights up, the words so bold I almost can’t process them at first.
Puck Whisperer Exclusive: The Chef Speaks — Inside Source Reveals Sage Winslow’s Side of the Story.
My stomach drops. “I didn’t talk to anyone,” I whisper.
Leo’s expression hardens, his jaw tightening. “Then someone did.”