Mark’s eyes snapped open the second I said it.
His grip on my waist tightened, his fingers pressed into my skin like he was trying to ground himself. His gaze was locked onto mine, still a little hazy from exhaustion.
“Sage,” he rasped, his voice was rough. He was weak from the fever, but now, he was Mark—still very strong, and still overwhelming.
My stomach flipped. Heat curled low inside me. “I want you to f**k me,” I whispered, pressing hips against him.
His whole body tensed beneath me, his jaw clenched. I could feel it—the conflict going on inside him. He wanted me. Bad. But he was holding back, maybe because he wasn’t at full strength.
I didn’t care. For now
I reached up, trailing my fingers along his jaw, feeling the heat of his fever beneath his skin. His breath hitched whe
