33. Sage
SAGE
The cab of Holden’s truck smells like him. Warm skin, soap, and the lingering scent of cedar that’s permanently worked into his clothes.
Outside, darkness stretches beyond the windshield, the headlights sweeping across the road.
Inside, anticipation hums so thick I swear I can feel it against my skin.
Holden drives with one hand tight on the wheel, the other resting low against his thigh, his fingers flexing every few minutes as if he’s trying to work off some of the tension.
For a while, we’re silent. He hasn’t turned on the radio. The only sound, apart from the rumble of the engine, is the throb of my pulse in my ears. It still hasn’t settled from the bar. Or from the way Holden looked standing in front of me, that rough edge to his voice.
The memory sends heat curling low in my belly.
Gage’s words echo in my head too: Are you defending Wild Ember, McBride, or your girl?
“You almost punched him,” I say.
Holden snorts. “Thought about it.”
Moonlight catches the hard line of his jaw for half a second before it’s shadowed again. “Does that kind of thing happen a lot?”
He glances at me, then focuses on the road again. “Nope. Our families avoid each other most of the time.”
I play with the frayed hem of my shorts. “So what happened this time?”
“He was being an asshole.”
“Hmm, that’s true.”
The corner of his mouth twitches faintly, but his grip tightens around the steering wheel again. As a charged silence settles between us, I imagine how those big hands of his will feel against my skin once we get home.
“What’s going on, Sage?” he asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
His tone is rough, though his words are careful. He’s not talking about the bar anymore. He’s talking about me, the way he did when we were dancing. As if he senses what’s been whirling around my head for the past week. Guilt washes over me, but I smile. “I’m okay.”
The way he eyes me, his brows drawn together, suggests he doesn’t entirely believe me.
Can’t blame him. I’m not sure I believe myself either.
Sitting here beside him now, with the dark road stretching ahead of us and his warmth filling the cab, the idea of Milan seems impossible. Like the shadow of a life I once dreamed of. The thought aches more than it should. As if I’ve lost another little piece of who I used to be.
Milan. Holden. New York. Wild Ember. Everything inside me is tangled up lately.
I should tell him about the residency offer. Explain why I keep getting lost trying to picture a future that’s no longer clear. Maybe ask for his advice.
But I can’t. I can’t fall back into looking to someone else for guidance. I need to figure this out myself, even if I no longer know what I want.
Holden’s knuckles are white, his jaw rigid.
And suddenly I hate this distance between us. Without thinking too hard about it, I rest my hand on his thigh. Taut muscle under rough denim.
He exhales through his nose. “Sweetheart,” he mutters, “you have to stop touching me like that.”
A small smile pulls at my mouth despite myself. “Why?”
He lets out a quiet, tortured laugh. “You know why.”
Yeah, I do. And I like it.
His muscles flex beneath my fingers, tension rippling through him. Every time he looked at me tonight, it seemed like he was dangerously close to losing control. And maybe some reckless part of me is craving that right now. A distraction from all the confusion.
I drag my nails across his thigh, and the truck swerves slightly.
Cursing, he grabs the wheel with his other hand, and his eyes flash my way. Not scolding—hungry.
Desire sizzles through me, and I ease closer, sliding my hand up to his fly. He’s hard, pressing up against my palm.
“Sage…”
I don’t answer, too caught up in knowing exactly what I want. Instead, I work at his belt buckle, then pop the button on his jeans.
“What are you doing?” he rasps.
“You know what I’m doing.”
I ease his zipper down, then hook my fingers in the waistband of his boxer briefs and drag it down to release his impressive length.
He takes his foot off the accelerator, the truck slowing, and grasps my ponytail, wrapping my hair around his fist.
“You want this?”
Nodding, I lick my lips. “I want it.”
His cock jerks, and with that hand in my hair, he guides me down until my mouth hovers just over him. I let the heat of my breath wash over his crown, and he hisses between his teeth.
“No teasing, sweetheart.”
A shudder ripples down my spine. I grip him firmly and lap at the little slit at his tip, humming as I taste the bead of wetness there.
A stuttered groan is his only response.
Heat floods through me. Shifting to give myself a better angle, I let saliva pool in my mouth, then dribble a little onto his smooth, swollen head.
He curses, then yanks the wheel and swerves onto a narrow dirt road, sending gravel spitting beneath the tires.
I pull away, my breath catching. “Holden—”
“I’m done holding back. With you. With all of this.”
My heart skips, then hammers against my ribs. The truck rattles violently over uneven ground for a moment, and then, beneath a cluster of trees, Holden throws it into park.
The engine idles loudly in the darkness until he cuts it. For a moment, all I can hear is the whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of blood rushing through my veins.
I unbuckle my seat belt and twist, kneeling on the seat, bracing my hand on his thigh. Then, angling over the center console, I take him into my mouth, sliding down until he nudges the back of my throat.
“Fuck,” he hisses as I swirl my tongue around him, then take him even deeper than before.
When I pull off him, I find him watching me, mouth slightly parted, eyes hungry. I rub my lips over his satin-smooth tip, then glide back down.
A low rumble works its way out of his chest, the sound sending a shiver through me. His shaft pulses against my tongue, so I pick up my pace, drawing him deeper, then pulling all the way off so I can stroke him from root to tip while I lap at the sensitive slit and the pre-cum beading there.
“Open,” he demands, his voice a rough growl.
I do as he says, need burning low in my belly.
With one hand, he feeds his thick crown back between my lips, and when I swallow around him, his hips jerk and his hold on my hair tightens.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he pants.
As I take him to the back of my throat again, he drags his fingers up the back of my thigh, sliding them under the hem of my shorts and teasing the edge of my panties. When he dips just the tip of one into me, I can’t help but rock back, eager for more.
“Your sweet little cunt is dripping down my hand,” he grinds out.
Taut, desperate tension builds inside me as he twists his finger, gliding it in and out, then skimming it over my clit. But he’s teasing me, only using enough pressure to keep me on edge, never enough to push me over.
I want more. I need more. But I’m desperate to finish what I started, to taste him as he lets go. Eyes closed, I suck lightly on his head, making sure to capture every last drop of pre-cum. Then I trace my tongue along the vein running down the underside of his dick.
With a fractured growl, he drags his hand out of my shorts and grips the back of my thigh, the finger that was inside me damp where it presses against my skin. His other hand twists my hair tighter, urging me on. I relax my jaw and take him as far down as I can.
“You’re perfect, Sage,” he says through gritted teeth. “So damn perfect with your ass in the air and your mouth full of my cock.”
I moan around the thick length of him, and his body coils tight.
“Fuck, I’m coming,” he rasps. “Show me how much you can swallow, sweetheart.”
I have just enough time to raise my eyes and focus on his face, on his hooded gaze and clenched jaw, before he lets out a long, guttural groan. The muscles of his thigh jump under my hand as he throbs against my tongue, each hot burst hitting the back of my throat and filling my mouth.
I swallow, then swallow again, though some still leaks out. By the time he’s done, we’re both breathing heavily.
With a hand at his base, I lick along his shaft, cleaning up the drops that escaped.
His cock twitches against my palm, and he curses under his breath. “You’re killing me.”
With his hand under my chin, he guides me up and kisses me hard enough to steal the breath from my lungs.
A whimper escapes me. As if I’ve been waiting for his lips on mine the whole night. And maybe I have. Fingers tangled in his shirt, I climb into his lap, the steering wheel pressing against my ass.
Holden groans quietly against my mouth, sending heat spiraling through me instantly.
His kiss deepens, even as it slows. Thorough and devastating and familiar enough now that my body softens into him automatically.
He slips a hand beneath the hem of my top, rough fingertips finding bare skin, and I shiver almost violently.
Everything except this, except him, feels impossibly far away. No residency. No future demanding answers from me. Just Holden’s hands on my skin and the dangerous, terrifying feeling of free-falling.
“You’ve had your fun.” He pulls back, his eyes narrowing, his slow smile wolfish. “Now it’s my turn.”
Guiding me by the hips, he shifts me back to the passenger seat. Then he tugs his briefs up and zips his jeans, leaving his button and belt undone. He climbs out of the truck and stalks around the hood to my side, yanking my door open. “Come here.”
I slide toward him, only to have him hook his arms around my hips and lift me out.
“What are you doing?” I ask, wrapping my legs around him.
With a grunt, he turns and carries me to the back of the truck. He presses a button on the tailgate, lowering it, then sets me on top, the cool metal against my skin making me gasp.
Breathing heavily, he tugs off my boots and drops them to the ground. Then he flattens his hands on either side of my hips, bracing himself. “Take off your shorts and spread your legs.”
My lips part, and I blink at him for a second.
He raises a brow, waiting.
With suddenly clumsy fingers, I fumble with the button on my denim shorts, then shimmy out of them.
When they’ve been discarded, he taps my knee. “Spread ‘em, sweetheart.”
Swallowing, I plant my bare feet on the edge of the tailgate and open my legs. He skims his hands down the insides of my thighs to my panties. When he rubs his thumb across them, the damp fabric clings to my pussy.
“You’re soaked through, beautiful. Just the way I like.”
He rolls his thumb over my clit, and I gasp as a bolt of electricity arcs through me. “Don’t stop,” I breathe, lifting my hips into his touch.
His eyes flash, and he keeps going until I’m shuddering, then pushes the wet material to one side and traces my entrance. My breathing turns choppy, and just as I’m ready to beg for more, he slips one finger inside me.
I moan, stars dancing in my vision, and he grunts his approval, though he slides back out, leaving me empty and aching.
Without rushing, he inches my panties down my legs, then, once they’re off, tucks them into the pocket of his jeans. Even as I tremble, desperate for more, there’s no urgency in his movements.
“You’re shaking,” he says.
I let my head fall back. “You’re torturing me.”
His chuckle is low and dark. “You’ve been torturing me since I met you. Now lie back and let me look at you.”
My breathing turns shallow as I lie back and slowly let my legs fall open.
“Wider.”
I spread them farther, the air cool against my overheated core.
He circles my opening, then skims upward to my clit and back down again.
I squirm.
“There you go,” he murmurs.
He blows over my pussy, and I clench at the unexpected sensation. The way he groans in response has me spiraling with need. How can I already be so close to coming when he’s barely even touched me?
I look down the length of my body at him, loving the strain in his expression. He’s not as in control as he’d have me believe.
His breath washes hot over me an instant before he sucks my clit into his mouth and flicks his tongue over it. I gasp, my back arching, and he keeps going, licking his way down until he can thrust his tongue inside me and fuck me with it.
I cry out.
With his hands on my inner thighs, he holds me open for him as he turns his attention back to my clit, swirling his tongue over it.
All of my thoughts vanish, and I grab his hair, holding him against me while he licks and sucks and kisses. The moment his fingers join his mouth, sparks consume my body. He pumps one into me, then two, while pressing his thumb against my ass.
With his other hand, he finds the tie that laces the front of my shirt. Without slowing what he’s doing to me, he tugs at it, pulling it loose, then slides his hand inside and beneath my bra.
My nipples are already tight and achy, but when he pinches one and rolls it between his fingers, it’s an overdose of stimulation.
He builds me up until I’m on the edge, and when he sucks hard on my clit, then flicks it with his tongue, the orgasm hits me so hard, I almost jackknife upright.
Pleasure rips through me, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps sucking and licking, intensifying the sensation, driving me higher.
I cry out again, louder this time, my voice echoing into the night as I clench around his fingers.
Only when I’m shaking and gasping for breath does he slow his pace, bringing me down from my high.
When my vision and my mind clear, I find his gaze fixed on me, his eyes glittering in the moonlight. And if I thought claiming one orgasm from me was going to be enough for him, the expression on his face tells me I’m very, very wrong.