On Him

Eve

We eventually cleaned up, and when I walked her to the door, she gave me a small hug. “Text me if you need anything,” she said gently before leaving.

When the door clicked shut behind her, the silence in the apartment felt heavier than usual. I dropped onto my bed, this time more drained than restless. But instead of sleeping, I lay on my back, scrolling through old messages—mine, his, and ours.

Still, I refused to message him again. He saw my last text; hence, there was nothing more to say unless he wanted to talk. With a slow, tired exhale, I plugged in my phone, switched off the lamp, and forced my eyes shut. Sunday was settled. Saturday was set. My life didn’t need to stop because someone chose to be petty.

But even with all that logic in my head, sleep only came after my body softened into exhaustion. The last thing I remember was whispering to myself, “Tomorrow will be better,” even though I wasn’t sure I believed it.

Sleep didn’t come easily, but when it finally did, it dragged me under in a slow, heavy pull. At first everything was quiet, soft, and almost peaceful. I found myself standing in a dim hallway I didn’t recognize. The air felt warm, thick, almost too close to my skin. I turned around, confused, and that was when I sensed someone behind me.

A faint breath touched the back of my neck.

I didn’t need to see him to know who it was. My entire body reacted before my mind even processed anything. That quiet, powerful presence… the familiar heat that always followed him… it could only be Sage.

“Running from me again?” his voice murmured, low and strangely calm.

I froze. “This is a dream,” I whispered, as if saying it would make him disappear.

He didn’t. Instead, he stepped closer until my back brushed his chest. His hand slid around my waist, firm but not bruising, pulling me slowly against him. His touch burned through my clothes in a way that made my breath stutter.

“You blocked me,” he said softly, but there was nothing soft in how he held me. “And you thought I wouldn’t come for you?”

Before I could answer, he turned me around, his fingers gripping my jaw with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the darkness in his eyes. His face was inches from mine. Too close. Too intimate. Too real.

“Sage…” I breathed, but it came out shakier than I meant.

He didn’t wait. His mouth descended on mine in a deep, consuming kiss that stole all sense from my body. I felt his grip tighten on my waist, pulling me closer, trapping me in heat and anger and something else I refused to name. The kiss was fierce—like he was claiming space he believed was already his. My knees weakened, my fingers curled against his chest, and the world around us seemed to melt into nothing but warmth and shadows.

I should have pushed him away. I should have said something. But all I could do was drown in the way he kissed me, in the way his breath mixed with mine, and in the way the whisper of his name trembled out of my throat like a confession.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine. His voice was a slow, dangerous promise. “Saturday, Eve. Don’t make me drag you out myself.”

My heart thudded painfully, and I opened my mouth to speak, but the hallway suddenly shattered like glass. I gasped awake, sitting upright in my bed, drenched in heat and breathless confusion.

It was just a dream… but it didn’t feel like one.

Her pulse refused to calm. Her lips tingled as if the kiss had been real. And the worst part was how her body still reacted to the memory of him, even when her mind screamed for distance. She dragged both hands down her face and groaned into the darkness.

“Great,” she whispered to herself. “Now he’s haunting my sleep.”

***

Sage’s POV

I leaned back against the headboard, the warped wood digging into my spine as the cigarette burned between my fingers. Smoke drifted up in slow, bitter ribbons, curling toward the water-stained ceiling like it was trying to escape this room before I could. The streetlamp outside painted thin orange bars across the floor and over her bare shoulders while she knelt between my knees, forced wide by the black trousers and belt still tangled around them.

She worked with the kind of practiced enthusiasm that always felt like performance. Lips slick, tongue eager, one manicured hand stroking what her mouth couldn’t reach. Every so often she glanced up through clumped lashes, searching my face for something. Maybe approval? admiration?, but I gave her nothing. I never did.

I took another slow drag and let the smoke seep out through my nose, watching it haze the air between us. My cock was hard; it would have been impossible not to be with that kind of wet heat sliding over it again and again. But the rest of me stayed cold and distant, like I was floating somewhere near the ceiling watching a stranger get sucked off in a cheap hotel room.

Her perfume was too sweet and too loud, clinging to the back of my throat. Beneath it I could still smell the stale gin on the nightstand, the faint iron of old blood in the carpet, and the city itself rotting outside the window. She made a soft, pleading sound around me, the vibration rolling up my shaft, and I shifted my hips just enough to push deeper. Not because I wanted her, only because it kept the ache at bay.

I could have tangled my fingers in that dark, expensive hair and fucked her throat until she gagged and cried pretty tears through her mascara. Some nights I would have. Tonight I just let her do the work while I counted the cracks spidering across the plaster overhead.

Ash lengthened on the end of the cigarette, trembled, and finally dropped onto my bare thigh with a faint hiss. She took the tiny flinch as encouragement and sped up, sloppy now, saliva shining on her chin and dripping onto my balls. My body tightened on cue, muscle memory more than desire, but my mind stayed blank.

Better this than pacing the room with my skin on fire, thoughts I wasn’t allowed to have clawing behind my eyes. At least this way the pressure drained out slow and mechanical, a transaction I could pay for and forget.

I shut my eyes for a second and saw a different face. It was pale, sharp, and forbidden. Fuck, now she’s on my mind while another lady fucks me with her mouth?

My hand tightened around the cigarette until the filter crumpled. When I opened them again she was staring up at me, triumphant, thinking she’d reached me.

I dropped the cigarette into the overflowing ashtray, threaded my fingers through her hair, just enough to take control, and pushed her down until her nose pressed against my stomach. Her throat spasming around me felt like someone else’s pleasure.

I held her there until her nails dug into my thighs, and then I let her up. She gasped, spit stringing from her swollen lips to the head of my cock, eyes glassy and desperate.

“Finish it,” I said, voice rough with smoke and nothing else.

She did it fast, greedily, and perfectly.

And when I came down her throat a minute later, I still felt absolutely nothing at all.