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Sage fell asleep happier than she had ever been in her life.
30
SAGE
Sage woke to the low, contented crackle of the fire and the deep, resinous scent of pine and woodsmoke curling around her like a lover’s arms. She smiled before she even opened her eyes.
The bed was empty beside her.
She didn’t need to look to know there’d be a note waiting on the nightstand—probably something gruff and sweet that would make her heart do stupid things. Cal was out there somewhere in the fresh snow, no doubt punishing his body with some ridiculous pre-dawn training circuit, steam rising off those ridiculous shoulders like some half-dressed Greek god who’d wandered into Montana by mistake.
She considered sneaking out to watch him—tight boxers, snow up to his shins, muscles gleaming—but decided since it was Christmas morning she would take her time.
This of course led to the realization that she was, unsurprisingly, horny. Unsurprising because, thinking about Cal training always made her wet. What’s more, Sage was coming to understand that her body, long dormant due to her past, was, to put it plainly, just downright demanding.
Mmmm. This pillow smells like him.
Her hand drifted slowly and deliberately under the thick down comforter as she rubbed her smooth mound and moaned softly as she felt the evidence of her arousal.
Merry Christmas to me, was her last clean thought before they turned remarkably dirty and graphic.
Yes, daddy I’ve been really naughty and need you to spank me. Yeah…oh…fuck…
Eventually, feeling pleasantly satisfied and relaxed, Sage’s eyes opened and she found herself looking at the ceiling. For some reason this caused her to think about the first time she woke up in this bed on a similar morning in what felt like years ago.
It was the same wood-beamed ceiling. The morning light was the same pale gray-white, snow-exhausted, coming through the window in long soft bars across the quilt. Same room. Same view of the mountains going pink at the ridgeline.
Different girl in it, though.
She grinned as she stretched — full body, arms over her head, the kind of stretch that made her back crack in three places and her toes point and her whole body announce itself — and then she lay there grinning at the ceiling like an idiot for exactly thirty seconds before she sat up. The blanket fell as her bare breasts were bathed in that morning sunlight.
Okay, let’s get up.
As she got out of bed she saw his note.
“Kissing you is my favorite thing to do. I love you. PS. You still snore.”
Safe laughed remembering the first note he gave her. Then she looked around the beautiful room. And made a definitive decision.
Great room. Love it. Super nice. Very cozy.
Then she picked up her pillow, tucked it under her arm, walked down the hall in nothing but a thong, opened the door to Cal’s room, dropped the pillow on his massive custom bed, and walked back out.
There. Done. That's my bed now.
She left every door open on the way to the bathroom. Just in case he came back early. Just in case he needed something. Just in case she could tempt him to join her.
Don’t worry Cal…I’ll be gentle…ish. Maybe.
She giggled. Sage Thompson, the tough goth bitch giggled as she looked in the mirror. The mirror was the same mirror. Pine branch frame, gnarled and polished, handmade.
She stared at herself.
The girl looking back at her was — the same girl, mostly. She had the same body she'd been trying to disappear under hoodies since she was twelve. Same curves, same thickness in the thighs, same huge breasts. Same ink — the black roses climbing her forearm, the word “survive” on her inner wrist, the tiny defiant “fuckoff” behind her ear. Her hair was a disaster. Her mascara, miraculously, had survived the night at about sixty percent integrity, which she thought was rather impressive.
The old voice tried. It made its case, the way it always did — reciting the familiar catalogue, the things Rick had said, the things she'd believed for too long because he'd said them angry and loud when she'd been too small to argue.
She let it finish.
