by Peyton Bogue
Sage’s entire body runs hot as Rhys’s words settle over him. All of the thoughts in his brain disappear. He can’t even think about why they’re here, in this bathroom, with the way Rhys’s words wash over him until he feels them in his soul. He’s completely boneless.
“She had no right to say those things to you. Absolutely no right. God, the sound of her voice makes me want to rip her head off, Sage. The things she was saying to you. . .” Rhys trails off, shaking his head angrily. “She was looking at you like you were the only person in that room, Sage. That’s how I look at you. She touched you like it was her right, like you wanted her to. She couldn’t see how uncomfortable she was making you. She doesn’t know how to touch you the way that you like. The way that I touch you.”
His voice sounds so soothing and intimidating all at once, sporadic and wild, as if he can’t settle himself enough to choose. Sage feels like his breath is caught in his throat. He can’t help the way his body seems to preen at Rhys’s words as his heart stumbles in his chest.
Sage takes a deep breath, trying to gain control of himself, to say something, anything, but Rhys tilts his head down easily and crashes their lips together. It’s been almost a week since they’ve been intimate with each other, and the only thing Sage knows is that Rhys hasn’t touched him like this, desperate and feverish, as if he wants to crawl into Sage’s body, into his skin, for far too long.
Rhys’s mouth is insistent on his, and wave after wave of heat washes over Sage at the feel of Rhys’s lips. Rhys’s hands grip at his waist hotly, and the space between their bodies decreases with every slight pull of his fingertips.
“Her hands were all over you when you were dancing,” Rhys says roughly when he leans away to kiss down Sage’s neck.
Sage tilts his head back, panting harshly, but the only words that come to him aren’t the ones he knows he should be saying right now. “I know, Ree. I hated it. I’m sorry that you had to see it.” He pauses, biting his bottom lip. “Is that what got under your skin? That I had to dance with her or that I had to pretend to like it?”
“What got under my skin,” Rhys says, his breathing uneven as he kisses Sage’s pulse point, “was that she said she wanted to kiss you, like you were hers to kiss.”
Sage can’t stop the moan that rips itself from his throat, unable to hold back his sounds. He’s forgotten why he was holding himself back, anyway.
“I love that, too,” Rhys says, working his way back up Sage’s neck and biting Sage’s earlobe. “The sounds you make for me. Makes me so crazy, baby.”
Sage bits his bottom lip again, trying not to whimper. Why is he trying not to whimper?
“I don’t want her to ever know how to touch you like I do. I wish that she couldn’t even look at you,” Rhys whispers into his ear. “She doesn’t get to look at you like that. She doesn’t get to hear how pretty you sound. She’s not the one you want, is she, baby?”
“No,” Sage moans, panting. “I want you, Rhys.”
“I know you do, baby,” Rhys says, his voice thick. “I want you, too.”
“I was thinking about you,” Sage says breathlessly. “Just like I said I would be. I wanted you to be the one I was dancing with. I didn’t like having her hands on me. I wanted your hands on me. I’ve missed your hands. I’ve missed your body,” he says lowly. “Your touch,” he groans. Rhys kisses down Sage’s neck, and Sage bites down on his bottom lip as molten fire coils in his abdomen. “And your lips.”
“God, you’re driving me crazy, Sage,” Rhys says. “I’ve missed you, too, sweetheart.”
“Rhys,” Sage pants, his hands gripping at Rhys’s waist.
“Sage,” Rhys groans. “You smell so good.”
Sage takes a deep breath as Rhys’s left hand moves to palm over the front of his dress pants. Sage whimpers at the touch, his entire body shuddering as a wave of heat runs down his spine.
Rhys leans back after a few seconds, looking into Sage’s eyes. Sage’s breath catches in his throat at the heat in Rhys’s gaze. His sinful mouth is cherry red, parted as he pants. His cheeks are dark and flushed, and Sage feels like his legs are going to give out beneath him. Rhys is so goddamn gorgeous.
Rhys pushes Sage further against the sink, and Sage goes with him. He startles once he makes contact with the faucet, and he tries to push through the lust clouding his head once he’s reminded of his surroundings. Rhys is making it really hard for him to focus. There’s absolutely no space between their bodies now. Rhys is pressed against him tightly, like Hazel had been only moments ago, but this time, Sage wants to pull him in even closer. He wants to feel Rhys’s skin against his. He wants to feel Rhys’s hands all over him.
Something niggles in the back of his head as he runs his thumb along Rhys’s bottom lip. He can’t think of anything beyond the way Rhys is looking at him. God, that look absolutely sets Sage on fire.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Sage pleads, swallowing around his dry tongue.
“Like what?” Rhys asks, his right hand moving to the base of Sage’s throat. He runs his thumb over Sage’s pulse point, gently pushing down. Sage gasps.
“Like it’s taking everything in you to stop yourself from bending me over this sink,” Sage says, barely able to get the words out when Rhys gently squeezes the sides of his throat. Sage moans brokenly at the pressure, his arousal burning through his veins.
Rhys looks into his eyes deeply, and his eyes bleed that fluorescent red as he bites his bottom lip lasciviously, as if he’s trying to stop himself from speaking the words they both know that he desperately wants to. Sage groans lowly.
“I want it so bad,” Sage tells him, and Rhys’s breath catches in his throat. “Rhys. I want to feel you. I need you so much. It’s been so long.”
“Sage. . .” Rhys breathes out heavily, his eyes trailing over Sage’s face. Sage bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from begging. His throat feels tight, as if the pressure of suppressing his pleas is making his throat ache.
“I’m going to start begging you if you don’t stop looking at me like that,” Sage says lowly, and Rhys’s pupils dilate further. “Do you want me to beg for you? Do you want me to tell you how much I want you? I want you so bad. I need it, baby. Need you so bad,” he moans.
“You’re killing me, Sage,” Rhys groans, leaning his forehead against Sage’s. “God, I want to make you feel so good.”
Sage moans again, and Rhys presses their lips together once more.
Voices outside of the bathroom door suddenly startle them, and Sage jumps slightly, pulling himself away from Rhys’s lips, disorientated. Rhys quickly glances towards the door, staggering back haphazardly as if he’s just as shocked as Sage is. They both look at each other for a second, stunned as they pant.
They were so caught up in each other that Sage didn’t even realize where they were for a second. Rhys hadn’t even heard the voices outside. They hadn’t even locked the bathroom door. Anyone could have walked in on them. They could have been caught.
What are they even doing right now?
“Shit,” Sage says, his eyes widening as everything starts coming back to him: where they are, why they’re here, and who, exactly, could be listening. “Steele could be listening to us.”
Rhys backs away further, a flush high on his cheeks. He runs a hand through his long locks, ruffling his hair a little to get it back into how he wants it, and takes a deep breath. He tilts his head to the side, his eyes flickering to the doorway, before he looks back at Sage, shaking his head.
“He’s not listening,” he says a tad harshly even as he works to catch his breath. “You’re still good.”
Sage nods, grabbing the lapels of his suit jacket to straighten it in a weak attempt to stop himself from reaching out for Rhys. After a moment, he reaches down to readjust himself in his dress pants, inhaling deeply at the slight friction.
“I’m sorry,” Sage says after another second, feeling his face heat in embarrassment. “I forgot where we we
re for a second. I forgot. . .” he makes a motion with his hand, “everything.” Not just where they were, but why they’re here, and why Rhys has been so adamant about keeping their hands to themselves. Along with his embarrassment, Sage actually feels really guilty. Rhys isn’t in control of his shift—he’s barely been able to hold himself back lately—yet here Sage is, telling Rhys how badly he wants him, how desperate he is to feel Rhys’s hands on him, and being a temptation for Rhys when he should be trying to help Rhys figure out why he can’t control his shift. Jesus Christ, he’s so selfish.
“No, Sage, you don’t have anything to be sorry for. I really do miss you, too. This past week has been awful. I shouldn’t have. . .done a lot of things,” Rhys says, running his hand through his hair again. “I’m sorry,” he continues. “I didn’t mean to say all of that stuff.” Sage tenses and inhales sharply, wincing, and Rhys immediately backtracks, shaking his hard harshly. “No, shit,” he mutters under his breath. “I mean, I did mean to say all of that, just not here. I wasn’t prepared for what seeing you and Hazel together would do to me. I shouldn’t have jumped you like that. I meant every word, though, Sage. I just. . .would have liked to have told you all of that in private, and maybe without feeling like I wanted to rip out Hazel's throat. But don’t worry about Steele hearing us. We’re too far away for an inexperienced werewolf like him to hear us, so we’re safe.”
“Oh,” Sage breathes out, his cheeks darkening. “Okay,” he says. They’re both quiet for a moment, before he continues, “You know you’re all I think about, too, right? I’m sorry you had to hear all of that. God, Rhys—I just. . .I want you so bad. Constantly. I can’t think about anything else when you’re around me. I want to make you happy, too. I want so many things with you. I—”
“I know,” Rhys quickly assures him, moving forward to gently kiss Sage’s forehead. “I’m sorry that I got jealous. It was. . .” Rhys pauses, searching for the words, “hard for me to control myself when I heard what she was saying to you.”
“I thought you were mad,” Sage says, chuckling half-heartedly.
“I was, I think,” Rhys replies. “When she started talking about you like that, like how I see you, I kind of saw red. The only thing that stopped me from charging over to the both of you was when you looked at me.” He smiles somewhat timidly. “You looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.”
“You are,” Sage says, leaning back to sweep his eyes over Rhys’s suit. “You’re so beautiful. Look at you,” he gapes, swallowing audibly at the sight of Rhys’s long and muscular legs in his dark red dress pants. “You’re absolutely stunning, Rhys. I mean, your legs. . .”
Rhys smiles bashfully, his cheeks darkening in embarassment from the attention. “I’m glad you like my suit, baby,” he says softly.
Sage shakes his head, dragging his eyes away from Rhys’s suit to look into Rhys's eyes. He smiles, leaning in and giving him a gentle kiss.
“Are you ready for this?” he asks, all traces of his humor gone as he takes a deep breath.
Rhys’s smile falls, and his stoic expression takes over his face once more. He sighs, then gives a reluctant nod.
“Can you hear alright over the music?”
Rhys nods again. “Yeah. I’m not even sure if Steele knows that I’m here. He didn’t even look over at me when I got here. He might be too new to be able to sense other werewolves.”
“So, you don’t think he knows who you are?”
“He either can’t smell me—which is probably true because I don’t think he’s been a werewolf for long—or he’s doing a damn good job at controlling his senses enough not to react to an Alpha werewolf in his presence, which I think is highly unlikely,” Rhys replies. “It takes years to master the ability to hide your own scent, or even hide bodily reactions. His heart should have sped up when he’d sensed me near, and it didn’t. Reacting like that is basically a sign of submission towards Alpha werewolves. A werewolf that’s not an Alpha is kind of programmed to show submission as a sign of respect almost involuntarily until they learn to control that response. I don’t think he knows that there’s an Alpha here.”
“Okay. That’s good. That’s even better than we’d hoped, right?” Sage asks, giving Rhys a soothing smile.
Rhys just nods solemnly. “When you get him alone, though, he might be able to hear me over the music because he won’t be right in the middle of it anymore,” he says, and Sage nods in understanding. “So, be careful. If you don’t feel safe enough to be alone with him, just keep him close to the crowd. I’ll be able to hear you regardless.”
Sage turns around and grabs his mask, moving to tie it back around his head. He can’t wait until this night is over. He’s not even been at the masquerade for an hour, but he’s already tired of wearing the flimsy plastic.
“I need to tell you something later,” Rhys says, his brooding expression tense. He grabs his own mask out of the pocket he must have stuck it in, moving to situate it over his eyes.
“Okay,” Sage says slowly, raising an eyebrow in question. When Rhys doesn’t react or elaborate, he frowns. “Something bad?”
Rhys just continues to tie his mask. “I don’t know. I’ll tell you later. It’s not something to worry about right now, though.”
“Okay,” Sage repeats, but then can’t help asking, “but what do you mean that you don’t know if it’s bad or not?”
Rhys glances at him quickly, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean that what I need to tell you is bad. Just that I don’t really know how you’re going to react to it. Please don’t worry about that right now, baby. I promise nothing is wrong and everything is okay. I just. . .really need to tell you, but I can wait. I don’t want to distract you right now.”
Rhys looks extremely tense and nervous. His brooding frown curls sharply at his mouth, and his stoic eyes look almost black in the dim lighting of the bathroom. Behind his carefully constructed hardened expression, Sage can see that Rhys looks incredibly worried.
Sage nods at him, still frowning, but watches as Rhys adjusts his mask. “I’ve got this, Rhys,” he says quietly, crossing his arms and looking into Rhys’s eyes with determination.
“I know you do,” Rhys says quickly, reaching out and palming the back of Sage’s neck softly. He gives Sage a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You’ll understand later when I tell you what I need to tell you. It’ll explain why I’m acting this way.”
“Okay,” Sage says cautiously, furrowing his eyebrows.
Rhys pulls Sage close into his chest, and Sage wraps his arms around Rhys’s neck. He inhales deeply, steadying himself. He needs to focus.
“If you need me at all—”
“I know, Ree,” Sage says gently.
“Please be safe,” Rhys says into his ear, and Sage smiles against Rhys’s jaw.
“I always am, Ree,” he replies.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Sage says quietly and leans away to give him a kiss on the forehead. “Let’s go get this omega out of your territory.”
Rhys nods timidly, his lips pulled down in a frown. He blows out a puff of air, his face darkening as his brooding scowl tightens, and Sage grabs his hand quickly, leading him back towards the bathroom door.
TWELVE
As Sage and Rhys exit the bathroom, Sage’s eyes immediately find Steele at the bar across the gallery. He hasn’t moved at all as he holds his beer and watches the crowd with an almost sultry look. If Sage didn’t know that he was an incredibly dangerous werewolf, he might think that Steele looked like just another guest trying to blend in with the partygoers around him as he holds his bottle close to his chest, easily overlooked and unseen even though his presence is the loudest in the room. Sage holds back a scoff at the thought.
He finds Kai looking at them after a moment. Kai is standing next to Mikalina and Hazel at one of the small standing tables on the opposite side of the Roman exhibit. Mikalina is pressed close to Kai’s side as sh
e chats animatedly with Hazel, who looks more enthusiastic and like herself instead of the belittled girl Sage had spoken to only a short while ago.
Behind his mask, Kai gives him a questioning look, but Sage just tilts his head towards Steele’s place at the bar, and Kai nods once, then turns back to engage the two women at the table in conversation.
He’s the distraction for when Sage is talking to Steele, so Sage figures now is the time to make his way over to the bar. He looks over at Rhys quickly, who clenches his jaw and darts his serious eyes sharply to the other werewolf but gives a stiff nod and turns around to disappear into the crowd. Sage glances across the gallery at Aleksander Kharkovy, who also hasn’t moved from where he’s talking to the woman in the navy mask, before he walks steadily towards the bar.
“A whiskey, neat, please,” Sage says to the bartender as he leans against the counter next to Steele. The bartender nods, turning around quickly and grabbing a glass. Sage risks a glance over to Steele when the bartender moves to grab a bottle of whiskey. Steele’s smirking face greets him.
“Captain Sage Kaelan,” he acknowledges, his teasing tone laced with artifice. He looks like the cat that caught the canary. “I was wondering if I’d see you tonight.”