Noah pushed himself up from the mattress, his back giving a low creak as he moved. A moan slipped from his mouth before he could stop it—the sound of a body that had spent too long in one position and was now protesting the change. He stretched, arms reaching above his head, spine popping in a satisfying sequence.
Across the room, Sage was already pulling on her clothes, moving with the unhurried efficiency of someone who'd accepted that modesty was a luxury they'd abandoned somewhere around the third round. He watched her step into her underwear, the fabric sliding up over freckled thighs, then reach for the shirt she'd discarded the night before.
His own shirt was where he'd left it—draped over the chair by the window. The sweats he'd kept on. Noah crossed the room and picked up the shirt, but not before his hand drifted to his back. His fingers traced the skin between his shoulder blades, searching for the scratches that had stung under the hot water just hours ago.
