37. Sage
SAGE
What’s truly unfair is this .
This decadent French toast. With cinnamon swirls, strawberries, raspberries.
And whipped cream. The kind a chef from Paris makes. Not the kind from a can.
Plus, coffee so rich it could have its own casino.
I roll my eyes in pleasure as I take a forkful of breakfast the next morning, grumbling that his room service is this delicious.
But there’s not much to grumble about as I drink in the morning after. Well, I grumble a little over the soreness. Sitting isn’t the easiest it’s ever been, but I can handle it, especially with this view.
All of Vegas unfurls before us, the soft glow of dawn painting the city as it wakes up, stretches its arms, and gets ready for another day of sin and glory.
I savor the sight across the table from me too, here on the balcony on the forty-fifth floor of the hotel. The man who belongs to me. My rival. My lover. My partner.
His dark hair is a sleep-rumpled mess. Stubble covers his jaw, and his dark eyes glint with obvious satisfaction as he takes a bite of the dessert-like breakfast, and watches me enjoying mine.
After he chews, he says, “Go ahead. Say it.”
I growl.
Laughing, he sets down his fork, leans across the table, and dusts a kiss to my lips.
“Fine,” I admit. “The room service is good here too.”
An eyebrow lifts. “Good? Just good?”
“It’s very good.”
Another laugh comes my way as he picks up his cup, takes a long drink, and puts it down. “The best, you mean?”
I shoot daggers at him as I take another bite. And, embarrassingly, I moan around the food.
Cole cracks up. “Like I’ve said, you’re the most orgasmic woman I know.”
“And you love that about me,” I say, raising my chin.
He reaches for my hand, threading his fingers through mine. “I love everything about you. Because I love you.”
I sigh, soft and gentle, as warmth blooms in my chest. “I love you, Cole Donovan.”
He’s quiet for a few seconds, his fingertips tracing lines across my palm. Then his eyes twinkle with mischief as he says, “And my room service? You love my room service, don’t you?”
I narrow my eyes and toss my napkin at him. He catches it easily with his free hand. Then he beckons me to him. “Come here.”
“On your lap?”
“Yes. You’re done with the food orgasm, aren’t you? You cleaned your plate,” he says, his eyes drifting down to my empty dish.
“Like I said, it was good.”
“It was the best. As Oscar Wilde said, ‘I have the simplest tastes. I am always satisfied with the best.’” I roll my eyes as he wraps his strong arms around me, then kisses my neck, my ear, my cheek. “So, what will it be for you next, Sage?”
“Well, lunch comes after breakfast. But don’t forget we have an Oscar Wilde book club, you and me. We can discuss this quote: ‘Everything in the world is about sex except sex. Sex is about power.’”
He hums, like he’s considering that thought. “And do you believe that?”
“I do believe sex is about power.”
“And is that what you want it to be about?”
That’s an excellent question, but the answer is easy.
Now that I’ve explored it. Now that I’ve moved in it, through it, under it.
Now that I know . “I think it’s about power, but for both of us.
It’s a good kind of power when it’s used and exercised in the right way.
When we pursue what we want in bed, that’s powerful.
When we ask for our desires, that’s a wonderful sort of power. ”
I flash back to Eliza’s wise words from the other day, and I share them with Cole. “Desire is desire. Love is love. Sex is sex. People like it different ways.”
“They do,” he says, like he’s musing on that notion.
“And when we know what we like and can ask for it, that’s powerful,” I say, playing with his hair as I talk, as I sort through these ideas that once felt tangled, possibly shameful. Now they’re nothing of the sort. They’re simply . . . me .
They’re who I am.
True and honest and without shame.
He drags a finger down my arm. “You are powerful. I love that about you. I admire that about you.”
“And knowing yourself, knowing your wants—that’s powerful in all the best ways.”
He sighs deeply, then nods. “So, I ask again, what’s next?”
Nerves flutter through me. I know what he’s asking. But I think I know the answer too. “Are you asking if I want more threesomes?”
And my equally direct man answers back with a “Yes, that’s what I’m asking.”
I shrug, but then shake my head. “I don’t think so.
I won’t close the door, but I think opening the door was all I needed.
Once you and Daniel introduced me to double the pleasure, I knew I had to kick the door open and go all the way in.
Taste it, feel it, be it. And I loved every second of last night, and our other nights together.
But I don’t know that I need to live in that opium den. ”
He laughs as he touches me. “‘Opium den’ is a good way to put it.”
“What about you though? Do you want it again? Need it again?”
He nuzzles my neck, kisses my earlobe, then pulls back to meet my eyes.
“Pleasure is my goal. Pleasing you is my passion. That’s what I want to do, and I am cocky enough to know I can do it on my own.
And humble enough to say we can do it however you want.
With toys. Or with words. Or with whatever new kinks we discover together.
” He takes a moment to look into my eyes.
“All I ask is that you discover them with me.”
His voice is so vulnerable, his tone so giving that it makes me want to give him everything—all of my heart, all of my body, all of my love.
I run my fingers across his jaw, loving the feel of him. “You can have that. You can absolutely have that with me. Because that’s what I want too.”
He hauls me closer, kissing me deeply, passionately as the sun rises higher over our city.
When the kiss breaks, something still nags at me. “What about Daniel?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t mean is he heartbroken over me. I know that was never the case with him. But something happened to him. Maybe a long time ago? He flits through life, happy, carefree. Except it’s a mask. His heart is clearly hurting, and it’s also as cold as ice at the same time.”
Cole sighs, running his fingers through my hair. “That’s a fair assessment.”
“Why?”
He’s quiet again. “That’s not my story to tell. All I can say is he knows hell. And someday I hope he’ll know what it’s like to feel this ,” he says, then whispers a kiss onto my lips. “What we have, my gorgeous, brilliant rival.”
I laugh lightly, sweeping away thoughts of any other man as I savor the power and grace of this newfound love.
Later that day, I meet Eliza for wine.
She’s tapping her fingers on the bar, as if she’s waiting for me to tell her everything.
But the look in her eyes says she has something to share too.
And I’m ready to listen. As I join her at Speakeasy in The Extravagant, I order drinks, then say, “And now it’s time for you to tell me what you’ve been up to.”
Her grin is naughty. “Where do I even begin?”
“How about at the beginning? And then finish up with what you were doing last night at the party with that guy who you finally confessed is Xavier’s best friend.”
And so she does.
Because it turns out the guy she was meeting at the other parties is indeed helping her with a project. The Xavier one. And she’s got her hopes set on seeing Xavier at a masquerade in a few weeks.
“Anything can happen at a masquerade,” I say.
Don’t I ever know that…