Page 144 of What We Become

I quirk my brow. “Explain.”

“Well, twins aren’t going to go down on me, then kiss each other over the top of me while they fill both my holes. I really get off when you and Micah do that—sharing my taste and my body at the same time.”

I don’t mean to get turned on, but the flare of memory tangles around my brainstem and sticks. Sage’s mouth open and greedy, the way she comes apart when Micah’s tongue is wrecking her while I’m knuckle-deep in her ass, stretching her before I press inside—yeah, that’s the end of any hope I had of finishing this report. My jeans get tight, fast. She sees my jaw flex, reads the shift in my eyes, and slouches farther down the couch until her foot grazes my leg, teasing.

“You thinking about it now?” she purrs.

“As if I ever stopped.”

She grins, feline, and stretches her arms above her head, running her shirt up just enough to show a flash of skin. I’m on her before I have a plan—just a surge forward, one hand sliding up under her tee, the other bracing beside her head. She laughs, delighted, and lets me crawl up her body, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of my neck.

“You’re insatiable,” she says, voice full of challenge.

“You started it,” I say, and bite at her jaw, trailing heat from her throat to her ear.

She gasps and arches beneath me. It never gets old, the way she responds to touch, always one degree hungrier than even she expects.

I’m about to take her right there, file folders be damned, when there’s a crash from the garage. The unmistakable clang of something large and iron being set down on concrete.

Sage’s head comes up like a dog that heard a treat bag.

“What is he doing in there?”

“Knox?” I say, lifting her shirt and peppering kisses along her ribs. “He’s finally brought all the stuff from his apartment. He’s expanding the home gym in the garage.”

She shoves at my shoulder. “Wait, what?”

I lift my head from her stomach and blink down at her. “What do you mean—what?”

She twists out from under me with alarming speed. One second I’m over her, hard and halfway to forgetting my own name, and the next I’m grabbing at air while she hops off the couch and heads for the hall.

“Sage.”

She looks back at me, entirely unrepentant. “I need to see.”

“I was about to fuck you.”

“I know,” she says, smiling like a menace. “And now I need to go watch Knox move large objects with his arms.”

I stare at her.

She grins wider. “You can come too.”

“Lucky me.”

She laughs and jogs down the hall barefoot, and because I love her and apparently have accepted humiliation as part of my domestic life, I get up and follow.

The door from the kitchen into the garage swings open.

Knox is shirtless, of course. Because if you are moving hundreds of pounds of steel into a garage, apparently the law requires you to do it shirtless if you’re built like the final boss in a fighting game. Sweat already sheens his chest and shoulders, catching the overhead light. One side of the garage has been cleared out entirely. Rubber mats cover the concrete. A squat rack is half assembled beside a bench, plates stacked in neat black towers against the wall. A heavy bag leans in the corner. Dumbbells run the wall in order of weight, smallest to largest, because of course they do.

Sage stands there, transfixed, her gaze locked on Knox as he hefts another massive plate onto the rack with a grunt that echoes through the space. I watch her watching him, the way her breath catches, her cheeks flushing pink, her thighs pressing together like she’s trying to hide how turned on she is—but failing miserably.

“Damn,” she murmurs, almost to herself.

Knox glances up, wiping sweat from his brow, and catches her staring. His eyes darken, and he sets the plate down with a controlled thud. He doesn’t say anything, just straightens and flexes his arms, knowing exactly what he’s doing to her.

I step closer behind her, my hand sliding around her waist, pulling her back against me. “You like watching him work, little savage?”