Sage smirks.
"I know you can."
He moves.
Fast.
One moment he's an arm's length away, and the next his hand is around my throat—not squeezing, not threatening, justholding—and my back is against the door I just came through.
Then he's kissing me.
Long.
Hard.
Thorough.
His mouth claims mine with a possessiveness that makes my toes curl inside my shoes. His tongue sweeps across my lower lip, demanding entry, and I give it without hesitation—opening for him, letting him in, feeling the heat of him flood through my system like wildfire.
One-two-three-four.
My fingers flex against his chest.
One-two-three-four.
But the counting is distant now—background noise to the more immediate sensation of beingwanted, beingclaimed, being kissed like I'm the only thing that matters.
When he finally pulls back, we're both breathing hard.
His hand is still around my throat.
His forehead rests against mine.
His lips brush against mine as he whispers, "I know."
My whole face is red.
I can feel it—the heat rising to my cheeks, spreading down my neck, probably visible to anyone who happens to walk by. I'm not used to this. Not used to being kissed in public, being touched with such casual possessiveness, beingclaimedin a way that feels more like worship than ownership.
"What was that for?"
The question comes out breathless.
Stupid.
His grip on my throat tightens slightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind me who's in control.
"If I have to see one more Alpha check out your ass," he says, voice low and rough, "I'm going to lose my fucking mind."
My ass.
The words register slowly, filtering through the haze of arousal and confusion.
Someone was looking at my ass.
Multiple someones, apparently.
And Sage noticed.
