Heat rushed through my body, the nerves in my nipples lighting up like they’d been set on fire. I dropped the clips and braced myself against the edge of the washing machine as it started to shake and rattle its way through the spin cycle. The basin of the machine was warm from the water, hot against the tight skin of my erection, which was smashed between my stomach and the white metal. The shaking vibrations of the machine went straight to my balls and I clenched my jaw together, grunting and squirming.
“No?”
Sage pulled out and gave me a rough shove, throwing me onto the floor of my laundry room in what felt like an easy motion, but left him clearly grimacing in pain. He tore the condom off and flicked it at me. The sticky and used latex landed on my chest with a cold, wet plop. He straddled me, one foot near each hip, and glared down at me as he jerked himself to his orgasm.
Cum shot out of his dick, splattering against my chest and chin. I reached for myself, but Sage kicked my hand out of the way, the side of his foot connecting with my erection. I winced and squeezed my eyes closed. He collapsed, his knees landing on either side of me. He fell forward, planting his hands beside my ears, studying my face with that cool and focused, chocolate brown stare of his.
“Why you?” he whispered, chest heaving as he breathed. He closed his eyes, every line on his face crying out like he was in agony. His voice barely wavered, though, as he asked again, “Why you?”
I swallowed and shook my head, letting out a long breath.
I didn’t have an answer for him, but the question was one I’d asked myself repeatedly over the past few days.
My job had always come easily to me. There were few people or things I cared about, and none of it romantically inclined. I was detached enough that I could separate myself from my life, go do my job, and come back like I’d never left. Like I hadn’t just killed someone.
There was no reason the contract on my dining room table should have been any different. I’d spent weeks cursing Sage’s name after our weekend at the cabin. Someone offering me money to end his life should have come as a welcome reward for the mental gymnastics I’d endured to try and forget how good it felt when he hurt me.
I hadn’t been successful, clearly.
And Sage was in my house, very much alive. Every breath that puffed against my cheek a reminder that maybe I wasn’t as good at my job as I thought I was. That I wasn’t as removed as I needed to be.
“Golden,” my name scratched against his throat as he spoke, but I ignored him. Instead I closed my eyes, unable to allow myself to look at him, to acknowledge his desire and his want and his pleasure.
“Golden…Fost…” This time softer. “I don’t feel…”
I opened my eyes in time to see Sage’s roll back into his head. His arms gave out and he landed on top of me with a thud.
“Sage.” I scooted out from underneath him and he crumpled on the floor, a cold sweat dotting at his temples. He rolled onto his back, arm flopping out to the side. He was limp, completely passed out, and blood oozed into the gauze bandage on his side.
“Fucking idiot,” I muttered, slapping his cheek with my hand until he roused.
He mumbled something, eyelids straining but not opening.
I picked the used condom off my chest—fucking asshole—tossing it into the garbage next to the dryer. Slipping my arm behind his back, I hauled all of Sage’s body weight against my side and up. He was a heavy fucker, so broad and muscular. It took work to get him down the hallway and back into the bedroom. Unceremoniously, I dropped him onto the bed, grabbing his legs and arranging him so his head was on the pillows, and pulled the blankets up to his waist.
Sage muttered something under his breath and tried to roll onto his side, but he stopped and whimpered, then straightened out.
I bent over him and prodded at the edge of the bandage with my fingers. It wasn’t gushing blood, but he was definitely bleeding. I didn’t know if he’d torn his stitches or just worked himself a little harder than he should have. There was pleasure to be had in knowing that in trying to make me cry, he’d fucked himself unconscious. I didn’t need to worry about hiding the way my mouth curled into a proud smirk, because he wouldn’t see it.
With a sigh, I shifted my weight and stared down at my feet, planted on the rug. Sage’s words echoed around my head. His confession, if I could call it that. Had he really spent the past month thinking about me? Fantasizing about me? Wanting me? I know I’d thought about him, but I didn’t want to admit how much.
I couldn’t admit how much.
I forced myself off the bed and out of the room, closing the door behind me. After a quick detour to the dining room to get my guns and the file on Sage, I headed to my bedroom. I dressed in a pair of black joggers and collapsed onto my bed, pulling the phone off the charger with a sigh.
Me: You available?
I set my phone on my thigh and absentmindedly flicked the safety on my Ruger on and off while I waited for a reply.
Ronan: Quick
Me: Sage’s stitches are bleeding. Just a bit. he passed out.
Ronan: Is he breathing?
Me: Yeah
Ronan: He’s fine. Rest.
