Chapter 21

I cuddle upin front of the fire while I wait for Savage to get done showering. I’m deliciously mellow, even after running out into the rain, and my heart feels as if it’s going to beat its way right out of my chest. It’s the weirdest sensation—being warm, comfortable and relaxed but on edge.

I replay what Savage said to me, what he did to me, over and over again.

It feels as if we had sex, but he hasn’t even touched me yet. Not in the way I want. We haven’t even kissed.

Instead, he teased me relentlessly as payback for last night and this morning. And I ruined yet another pair of yoga pants.

“I’m going to ruin you.” The words I will never forget.

And the reason why I’m not wearing underwear or a bra, and I’ve opted to put on only Savage’s warm fuzzy sweater.

He thinks I’m playing with fire? Two can play at this game, and I don’t care how badly he thinks he’s going to ruin me. I want him. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my entire life.

The shower shuts off down the hall, and I hurriedly arrange the blanket over my legs so he can’t tell how naked I am.

A few minutes later, Savage enters the living room, and my mouth goes dry.

His hair is still damp from the shower. He’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt that hugs his muscles, showing off his tapered waist, the bulk of his shoulders and chest, and his strong arms. He”s wearing a different pair of sweatpants, but they leave nothing to the imagination.

“Warm?” I ask.

Savage nods. “Are you hungry?”

“Not at the moment. Why don’t you come sit down?” I pat the sofa beside me.

Savage frowns.

Ugh. How am I this cringy? “Uh, I just meant that it would be nice to sit with you after?—”

“Hannah,” he says, “if you think I’m going to fool around with you on the sofa, you’re sorely mistaken.”

I blush. “Excuse you, but you were the one who just held me by the throat and made me moan your name repeatedly.”

“That’s because I can’t touch you.”

“Are you saying you want me to touch myself?” I ask.

His jaw drops.

“And why can’t you touch me, exactly? You’ve sort of brushed over that part.”

“I told you,” Savage says, and sits down in his armchair instead of next to me. “I can’t offer you what you deserve.”

“Right. Right, your heart?”

He rests his arms on the chair, completely at ease.

“What if I don’t want your heart?” I ask, and it’s taking all of my newly-earned bravery to talk to him like this. “What if I just want you?”

“It would be wrong.”

“I get it. You want to live here, alone. And I want to leave Heatstroke. I never planned on staying here my entire life, it just kind of happened, and I don’t want that to be the case. I want to find new places and friends and new people.”

“What kind of people?” His eyes narrow.

“Jealous?”

“Don’t change the subject,” he says.

“I want to be free. I don’t know, visit the South of France.”

“Specifically the South of France?”

“Yeah,” I continue. “And I can’t do that if I stay here. So, trust me when I say that in about six weeks, after I’ve managed to get the kid’s section stocked up, and I’ve created a program that will get more children reading, I’m going to leave.”

“That’s a lot to do in a couple of weeks.”

“Now, you’re changing the subject,” I say. “Look, what I’m trying to get across to you is that I don’t expect you to fall in love with me. I want you.” And my cheeks can’t burn any hotter than they already are. “I want to know what it’s like to be with you.”

Savage is speechless.

“It seems complicated,” I say. “But it doesn’t have to be. What we do can stay here.”

“That’s not a good idea.” But his voice is strained.

“Neither is dancing in the rain.” And then I get up and let the blanket fall away from my legs.

Savage’s fingers bite into the arms of his chair. “Princess.”

“You said that you’re not going to let me play with you any more.” I walk over to him, I stand between his legs, and he tilts his head, running his hot gaze over my thighs, to the hem of his sweater brushing against them, over my stomach, breasts, my throat, until it rests on my face.

“You said you were going to ruin me.” I brace my legs on either side of his and straddle him, just like I did last night, except this time, there is nothing separating me from the front of his sweats.

“Princess.”

“So do it, Savage,” I say. “Ruin me. I want you to.” I planned on making him beg, but this is way better.

I settle down on top of him, and his hands move to my hips, over the sweater. He’s holding me there, just inches from sitting down. He lowers me slowly, inch by inch, until my pussy rests against his length, the only thing separating us is a bit of fabric.

“Fuck.” Savage’s jaw is clenched. “Fuck.”

I’m so wet, and I rock back and forth a bit, watching as he sinks a little lower to get more contact with me. His dick is huge. I felt it last night, but I underestimated just how big it was. I ride back and forth, rubbing my wetness over him, relishing the thought that it’s soaking through to make contact with his skin.

“Savage,” I whisper.

“Yeah.” His gaze is locked on my face, rather than the point of contact between us.

“You realize I’m not wearing any underwear.”

He looks down right away. He witnesses the wetness seeping through his sweatpants. And his hands instantly slip underneath the sweater and grab hold of my naked hips.

And then there’s a quiet. He holds me still for a moment, staring down at my pussy, exposed for him.

I can almost hear it. The moment his resolves snaps.

He grits his teeth, his chest rumbling with unspoken words, and finally, he meets my gaze again. “Fuck it.”