Still hers.
And the crazy thing is, I don’t want it any other way.
She leans in, dragging her tongue up the side of my throat, sucking a bruise just below my jaw before pulling back to study her handiwork.
Her fingers never stop moving.
Every so often she’ll pause, foot tapping on the mattress, or she’ll snicker under her breath at some private joke. The instability just makes her more unpredictable, more intoxicating.
“Is this what you want, Sage?” she whispers, voice gone low, dangerous. “You want a crazy bitch to ruin you forever?”
I can’t even answer.
I just nod, hips arching up in a silent plea.
She rewards me with another stroke, another roll of her hips that leaves us both gasping.
She’s driving me toward the edge again.
And I’ll let her…every single fucking time.
She hovers just above me, hips grinding against my abdomen, every inch of her a contradiction—soft curves, hard muscle, sweetness layered over razorwire. Her hands flutter along my shoulders, fingers flexing, tapping out a nervous rhythm like she’s orchestrating the world’s most dangerous symphony.
I let her think she has me.
Let her ride that high for as long as she wants.
But when she sits back—taunting, wild, so fucking beautiful I could eat her alive—I shift positions. Just a click, a pop of muscle memory, and the cuffs slide open.
I bring my hands down, slow, deliberate, relishing the way her eyes go wide.
She pouts.
A perfect imitation of anger, but the twitch at the corner of her mouth gives her away—she loves that I tricked her. Lovesthat the power was always an illusion, the game balanced on the knife-edge of mutual destruction.
“You were unlocked this whole time?” she gasps, faux-indignant.
I shrug, grinning up at her, palms open in surrender.
“Maybe. But I liked the idea of you having me. Of you in control. And honestly? If I don’t knot in you tonight, I’ll lose my fucking mind.”
She laughs.
A sound that starts as a giggle, then flips into something manic, borderline hysterical. She leans in, hair tumbling forward to shroud us both in a curtain of pink and silver and storm-memory.
“You’re insane,” she whispers, but the words are reverent, worshipful.
She wraps her arms around my neck, pressing her body to mine, her pulse fluttering everywhere I touch her—thigh, waist, nape.
“I’d ruin you, Sage,” she promises, soft, nothing but truth.
She shifts on my lap, hips rolling, slick heat teasing the head of my cock.
My knot swells under her grip, desperate, swollen, banded with nerves that feel like they might snap at any second.
“I want you to,” I say, and it’s not a plea. It’s surrender.
She shakes her head, giggling again—a hiccup, a bright burst, the sound of a chemical reaction just this side of combustion.
