Page 93 of Sage Haven
“And believe me, wildflower—” I murmured, letting the word bloom with mock affection, the way one might cradle something delicate right before plucking its petals.
“—that day will come sooner than you think.”
My knuckles drifted down, slow and deliberate, until they met the hollow of her throat. Her pulse leapt beneath my touch, wild and fast. A war drum behind fragile bone.
She exhaled, shaky and slow, and I smiled—not out of cruelty, but certainty.
The kind of certainty born from knowing what things inevitably bend when the right hands apply pressure.
Her thighs pressed together, subtle but unmistakable. A flicker of tension passed over her features — barely a wince, more like a breath she forgot to hide.
I noticed.
And I couldn’t help myself.
“For someone who doesn’t want to be my pet—” I said, voice low and curling around the words like smoke around a flame, “—you sure don’t mind when I call you agood girl.”
Her eyes narrowed. A twitch of defiance danced behind the softness of her mouth. “Just because my body reacts to you,” she said, quiet but sharp enough to cut, “doesn’t mean anything.”
I laughed. It came out dark, bitter — like the first drag of a cigarette lit in the ruins of something once holy.
“No?” I stepped closer, slowly but deliberate. Watching how her breath caught in the silence between us. “Then why do you look at me like this is the only thing keeping that spark of yours burning?”
She didn’t speak at first. Her jaw tightened. The kind of silence that meant she had too many things to say and none she was ready to admit. Her gaze dropped — not in submission, but in something closer to self-preservation. As if she were afraid of what might come out if she looked at me too long.
“Because you won’t stop,” she finally whispered, voice brittle with the effort it took to sound unaffected. “And I’m tired of pretending it doesn’t get to me.”
I moved in closer, letting the tension coil between us like a storm held back by sheer will.
“That’s not weakness,” I murmured, eyes locked on hers. “That’s honesty.”
She exhaled — part scoff, part surrender. And in that breath, I saw it: the part of her that hated needing me… and the part that needed me anyway.
She dragged in a breath, “You told me not to take things that aren’t mine,” she whispered. “Yet here you are.”
I leaned closer, fingers weaving lazily through her hair. “And whose are you, wildflower?” I murmured. “A former lover, perhaps? Is that why you came to Providence?”
There it was.
A flicker of fear behind her eyes.
I had found the crack in her wall.
I smiled slowly.
“Remarkable,” I murmured, letting my hand drift over her thigh, fingers splayed in warning.
She stiffened, but she didn’t pull away.
“Why are you doing this, Reich?” Her voice was quieter now.
Resigned. Raw.
I should’ve ignored it.
But hearing my name from her lips was too fucking addictive.
I stepped back and straightened.
