“But you do.” I press my lips to the corner of his mouth, a slow, deliberate tease. “And so do I.”
His forehead rests against mine, breaths mingling, heat wrapping around us in the cramped darkness of the shelter. Something in him softens. Something in me opens—wide, vulnerable, wanting.
He swallows hard. “Savannah… this probably isn’t a good idea.”
A bitter-sweet truth. His voice is rough with restraint, the kind that costs him something.
“I know,” I breathe.
And I do.
I know every reason we should back away, breathe, regroup.
But knowing and wanting are two very different things.
I lean back just enough to put a sliver of space between us—just enough to reach for the hem of my shirt.
His eyes widen, gray gone molten as I peel the fabric upward, over my ribs, over my head, and drop it onto the sleeping bag. The cold brushes my bare skin; his gaze sets it instantly on fire.
His breath catches. “Savannah…”
“I almost died tonight.” My voice shakes—but not from fear. From certainty. Want. Need. “Don’t deny me this. Not when I’m right here. Not when you’re right here.”
He stares at me like I’m a cliff he wants to leap from.
Torn.
Hunger battling caution.
Then his resolve cracks.
He lifts a hand, slow as a man touching something sacred, and lets his fingertips trace the curve of my waist. Heat blooms under his touch, a low, spreading ache that pulls a quiet gasp from me. His thumb brushes the underside of my breast, barely there—but I arch into him, inviting more.
“You’re sure?” His voice is a rasp.
"Very sure." I grind against him, my knees sinking into the sleeping bag on either side of his hips. The way he inhales—sharp, stunned—sends a thrill through me.
His hands come up, gripping my hips, holding me in place as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t. The tension in him fractures, the last threads of restraint snapping. He pulls me closer until the heat of him presses exactly where I’m aching for friction.
“Oh God…” he mutters against my collarbone, mouth trailing fire over my skin. “Since you kissed me after that jump, I’ve been trying not to imagine this.”
“Stop trying.” I shudder, fingers digging into his shoulders. "Start doing."
SIX
Savannah
His mouth claims mine—slowat first, then deeper, hotter, as if every ounce of fear and grief has melted into want. His hands roam up my back, down my sides, relearning me with every pass of his palms.
My body responds instantly, hips rocking into his, breath catching, pulse pounding hard enough to drown out the storm raging outside.
He teases my lower lip with his teeth, a slow drag that sends a tremor straight down my spine. His voice is wrecked, barely holding on.
“Tell me what you want.”
“You.” My mouth skims his, breathing the word into him like a vow. “All of you. Tonight.”
He exhales hard, forehead dipping to mine, his breath shaking with restraint.
