“Do you want the couch or the bed?” she asked, turning away to consider the room. “You,” he whispered. “What?” Sage’s head spun around, eyes wide. “You,” he repeated, stalking toward her slowly, giving her every chance to back away, even as his hand buried itself in her damp locks, tugging her head back as she gasped. “Me?” she asked, the vulnerability in the question cracking what was left of his reserve, his conscience. “You,” he said one last time before he crushed his lips to hers.
