"So good," I manage, pushing back against him to take him deeper.
We move together like this for what feels like hours but must only be minutes. The position allows his hands to wander, learning what makes me gasp or shiver, while his lips explore the sensitive skin of my neck and shoulders.
Gradually, his thrusts become more purposeful again, his breathing more ragged against my ear. I feel a second orgasm building, slower but deeper. When it finally breaks over me, it's less intense but longer-lasting, a rolling wave that leaves me trembling in his arms.
Logan groans as my body pulses around him, his arm tightening across my chest. "Savannah," he breathes, "I'm close."
He withdraws again, turning me onto my back, and I immediately miss the fullness of him inside me. But then he's above me again, guiding himself back in with a smooth thrust that makes us both moan. This time his control is slipping, his movements becoming less coordinated, more instinctive.
I wrap my legs around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, urging him deeper. His face is beautiful in its focus—eyes half-closed, jaw tight, a flush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck. Sweat glistens on his forehead and chest, making his skin slide more easily against mine.
"Savannah," he warns, voice tight. "I'm going to—"
His hips stutter, losing rhythm as he pushes deep one final time. I feel the pulse of his release inside me, the slight twitch of him as he empties himself. His weight drops onto me fully, chest heaving against mine as he struggles to catch his breath.
Eventually, he shifts to the side, sliding out of me with a small grimace. The narrow bunk forces us to remain close, my back to the wall, his body curled protectively around mine. One of his legs drapes over both of mine, his arm wrapped around my waist, keeping me anchored against him.
Neither of us speaks. Words seem unnecessary, or perhaps impossible. Instead, he presses a kiss to my shoulder, my neck, the corner of my jaw. I turn my head to meet his lips, the kiss languid and unhurried now, all the urgency spent.
Sleep begins to pull at me, the combination of physical exertion and emotional intensity catching up all at once. Logan seems to feel it too, his movements becoming slower, heavier. He pulls the thin blanket over us, tucking it around my shoulders before settling back against me, his chest to my back, arm secure around my waist.
Chapter 5 – Logan
The first thing I register is cold, unexpected emptiness where warmth should be. My hand reaches across rumpled sheets, finding nothing but cooling fabric and the faint impression of a body no longer there. I open my eyes to morning light filtering through the station's small window, illuminating a room that feels suddenly, inexplicably hollow.
Savannah is gone.
My stomach drops, a physical sensation like missing a step on a staircase. I sit up too quickly, scanning the small space as if she might be hiding in a corner. Her clothes are gone. No note. Nothing to indicate she was ever here except the lingering scent of vanilla on my pillow.
"Shit," I mutter, running a hand through my hair.
The clock reads 7 AM. Early, but not unreasonably so. She has a coffee shop to run. Of course she needed to leave.
I dress quickly, pulling on yesterday's clothes with clumsy fingers, half-expecting the door will open and she'll walk back in. But the silence stretches, broken only by the distant sounds of the station waking up: water running through pipes, a locker clanging shut, someone's radio playing softly down the hall.
This shouldn't hit so hard. We've known each other properly for all of a day. But as I pull on my boots, I can't shake the hollow feeling expanding behind my ribs. Last night felt like... something real. Something that mattered. The way she looked at me, touched me, held me—none of it felt like an act or a passing impulse.
But maybe for her, it was.
By the time I make it to the station kitchen, I've constructed an entire narrative in my head: Savannah regrets everything. She realized in the harsh light of morning that I'm not what she wants. She slipped away to avoid the awkward morning-after conversation. She's already figuring out how to let me down gently the next time we inevitably run into each other in this too-small town.
"Well, look who's finally joining the land of the living," Austin calls from the table, mouth full of what looks like one of Savannah's blueberry muffins. "Rough night, Lieutenant?"
The kitchen smells like burned coffee and cinnamon, warm and familiar in a way that would usually be comforting. Paul stands at the counter reviewing paperwork, Bradley tinkers with the coffee maker, and Nathan sits beside Austin with a newspaper spread open before him. Normal morning routine, except everything feels slightly off-kilter.
"Something like that," I mutter, heading straight for the coffee.
"You look like you got hit by a truck," Bradley observes mildly. "Everything okay?"
I pour coffee into a chipped department mug, buying time before answering. "Fine. Just tired."
Austin grins, oblivious to my mood. "Tired from what exactly? Because Mr. Eddie at the hardware store said he saw you and Savannah looking pretty cozy last night before the call. And now you're showing up late, wearing yesterday's clothes, looking like—"
"Drop it, Austin," Nathan interrupts quietly, not looking up from his newspaper.
Something in Nathan's tone silences Austin immediately. Paul glances between us, frowning slightly, but returns to his paperwork without comment.
I take my coffee to the far end of the table, suddenly unable to handle the team's usual morning banter. The coffee tastes bitter, over-extracted as always when Nathan makes it, but I drink it anyway, letting the heat burn down my throat.
