Page 119 of Sage Haven

And that knowledge gave me courage I didn’t know I had.

I let my voice drop into something low, something I hoped sounded braver than I felt, “What do you need, Reich?”

He flinched like I’d caught him off guard.

“What are you doing, Sage?” His voice was a quiet threat, but it was ragged. Frayed at the edges like he was barely keeping himself together.

I pressed a hand to his chest, slow and deliberate, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath my palm. It steadied me. Anchored me. And somehow, it also undid me.

I dragged my fingers up. Over his throat. Along the sharp edge of his jaw. My skin buzzed with the heat of him, but I held his gaze the whole time. Testing him. Daring him.

“Just asking a question,” I murmured.

My fingertips brushed his mouth.

His breath hitched, lips parting just slightly. His control—flawless, untouchable Reich—fractured for a heartbeat. And it made something viciously triumphant swell inside me.

“That’s not how this works,” he muttered, trying to stay composed, raising a single brow like he was still in charge of this game he insisted on.

But I wasn’t playing by his rules anymore.

I took his hand in mine, brought it to my lips, and without breaking eye contact, I slipped two of his fingers into my mouth. Sucking gently and tasting his skin before releasing him.

His pupils blew wide.

And just as the warmth started to seep into his gaze, his other hand snapped out, gripping my wrist hard enough to make me gasp. His fingers tightened slowly, sending a sharp warning through my bones. I should’ve pulled away. But I didn’t.

Instead, a quiet moan escaped me.

Deliberately, almost lazily, Reich parted his lips and took my finger into his mouth. His tongue swept over it, hot, rough and sinfully slow.

And then—God, help me—he closed his eyes and moaned, low and dark.

When he pulled back, cool air rushed over my damp skin, and a shiver tore through me, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

I froze, feeling breathless as I spoke his name, “Reich…”

He clenched his jaw, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” I swallowed.

His voice was rough, ragged. “Don’t make me need you.”

And I felt it then. All of it. The war tearing through him. The way he was fighting himself, clawing back control he didn’t have anymore. The storm he was keeping contained on my behalf.

But I didn’t want him to contain it any longer.

So, I tangled my fingers in his shirt and tugged him toward me. Just enough.

His body pressed into mine, his hardness searing through the thin barrier of his clothes. He caught my hips in his hands, and suddenly I was pinned between him and the wall, his breath hot on my mouth as his lips hovered just over mine.

Waiting.

I felt his pulse pounding in the tips of his fingers as they tangled in my hair, holding me still. His lips brushed mine when he spoke, so soft it was almost gentle.

“I need to taste you.”

His confession slipped out like a wound breaking open—bare, unfiltered.