“How do you want me?” His fingers tighten on my hips—testing, hovering on the edge of control. “Hard? Soft? Slow? Tell me.”
I lift my hips just enough for him to feel how badly I want this, want him.
“Hard.” The word slips out on a shiver. “As hard as you can.”
His breath stutters—one heartbeat of disbelief, then hunger surging up to swallow it whole.
“You sure?” His voice drops, darker, rougher. “Because I won’t hold back.”
“Please don’t.” I guide his mouth back to mine, my voice threading into his lips. “I want to forget everything except what you’re doing to me. Take me there. Take control.”
He groans—deep, primal—hands locking around my hips like he finally has permission to do what he’s been fighting since the moment we met.
And then he moves?—
And I feel the shift in him.
The surrender to the part of himself he’s been trying not to unleash.
His chest rises sharply, and he flips us in one smooth motion, laying me back on the sleeping bag, his body covering mine, heat and muscle and restraint stretched thin. His forehead drops to mine, breath trembling.
I pull him down into another kiss—and this time, neither of us holds back.
His hands are everywhere—rough, sure, mapping my skin like territory he's staking a claim on.
Our kiss turns feral, tongues tangling, teeth nipping as I taste the salt of his sweat and the desperation he's been burying for days.
He breaks away just long enough to yank his shirt over his head, the fabric whispering against his skin before it's discarded in the corner of the shelter. Scars crisscross his chest and abdomen, pale lines against tanned muscle, and I trace one with my fingertips, feeling him shudder under my touch.
"Fuck, Savannah," he growls, voice low and gravelly, eyes dark with something primal. "You have no idea what you're unleashing."
"Show me."
His mouth descends again, hot and demanding, trailing down my jaw, my neck, to the swell of my breast. He captures a nipple between his lips, sucking hard enough to make me arch off the sleeping bag with a gasp that borders on a moan. His tongue flicks, teases, then he bites—just a graze of teeth that sends liquid heat pooling between my thighs.
I writhe beneath him, my hands clawing at his back, nails digging in as if to anchor myself to this moment.
But he's not done stripping away the barriers. One hand slides down my side, fingers hooking into the waistband of my pants. He doesn't ask—doesn't need to.
With a swift, possessive tug, he peels them down my legs, taking my underwear with them in one rough motion. The cool air hits my exposed skin, but his gaze devours me, making me feel feverish, wanted, owned. I kick the clothes aside, bared completely now, vulnerable and aching under his weight.
Sawyer pauses, hovering over me, his broad frame caging me in the best way. His eyes rake over my body—slow, deliberate—like he's memorizing every curve, every freckle.
"Look at you," he murmurs, voice thick with hunger. "All mine. Spread those legs for me, baby. Let me see how wet you are for me."
The command in his tone sends a thrill straight to my core. I obey, parting my thighs, and his breath hitches as he takes in the slick evidence of my need. He doesn't waste time—his fingers trace the inside of my thigh, inching higher until he cups me fully, thumb circling my clit with just enough pressure to make stars burst behind my eyelids.
I buck against his hand, a whimper escaping me, but he pins my hip down with his other arm, holding me steady.
"Not yet," he says, his mouth curving into a wicked smile against my skin as he kisses a path down my stomach. "I'm gonna make you beg for it first. Gonna taste every fucking inch of you until you're shaking."
His head dips lower, and then his mouth is on me—hot, insistent, his tongue delving deep and lapping at my folds like a man starved. I cry out, fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer as he works me over with filthy perfection.
He sucks on my clit, grazes it with his teeth, then thrusts two fingers inside me, curling them just right to hit that spot that makes my vision blur. The shelter fills with the wet sounds of his mouth, my ragged breaths, the storm outside fading to nothing.
"Sawyer—please—" It's half plea, half prayer, my body coiling tighter with every stroke.
He lifts his head just enough to meet my eyes, lips glistening. "Please what? Say it. Tell me you want my cock buried inside you, claiming this pretty little pussy."
