The weight of those words wrecked her.
Chase had been waiting for her.
And she wasn’t going to wasteanother second.
A slow, shuddering breath escaped Savannah’s lips before she lunged forward, crashing into him, her hands fisting his tank top, tearing him into her mouth.
Hard. Desperate. Raw.
Chase growled, low and guttural, the sound vibrating through her like an electric current. His hands found her, possessive and rough, gripping her like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to the last fragile thread of his control.
His fingers slid into her damp hair, yanking just enough to send a wicked, delicious thrill cascading down her spine, a silent command that told her exactly who was in charge.
And God, she loved it.
He kissed her like a man on the edge of fucking insanity—like he’d been starving for her, like he had every intention of devouring her whole.
And fuck, she wanted to be consumed.
Savannah moaned, the sound swallowed by the heat of his mouth, her fingers clawing at his shirt before she yanked it over his head, baring all of him.
Hard muscle. Taut skin. Ink stretched over every ridge and curve.
Her nails scraped down his chest, and Chase hissed, his head tipping back for a split second before he claimed her again, lips rough, punishing, insatiable.
His tongue teased at the seam of her lips, and she opened for him, moaning into his mouth when he took what he wanted, deepening the kiss until she felt lightheaded, dizzy with the taste of him.
Savannah straddled his lap without thinking, her bare thighs sliding over his, her knees pressing into the couch cushions on either side of his hips, her body molding to his in the most sinful way possible.
And then she moved.
Slow. Deliberate. Dangerous.
A deep, ragged curse ripped from his lips as she rolled her hips, a slow, torturous grind that had her seeing stars before he even touched her the way she needed him to.
Jesus.
He was so damn hard, and his gray athletic shorts left nothing to the imagination—every thick, rigid inch of him pressed up against the heat between her thighs, making her gasp.
Chase gripped her waist—hard, his fingers digging in, bruising, claiming, his control fucking unraveling—
"Fuck, Savannah—" His voice was wrecked, hoarse, pure sin and fire.His hands dragged up her back, slow and deliberate, teasing, taunting, promising. “You have no idea what you're doing to me.”
Her head fell back, her breath stuttering as his mouth ravaged her throat, his stubble scraping, marking, branding.
His teeth grazed her pulse point, sharp enough to leave a mark, and she fucking whimpered—actually whimpered—as heat pooled low, white-hot, unbearable.
A needy little moan slipped from her lips as she rocked against him again, a silent, desperate plea for more.
And fuck, she felt him.
Every. Fucking. Inch.
Thick, heavy, so fucking hard it was almost criminal—pressing firmly against her petals, against the place she wanted him most.
Her head spun. Her body burned. And God, she needed more.
"I think I have a pretty good idea," she gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against her skin.
