"We can fix that." I move to the sound system, scrolling through the playlist on my phone until I find what I'm looking for. The opening guitar riff of "Slow Hands" by Niall Horan fills the room, and I see Savannah's expression soften with recognition.
"You still have our playlist," she says as if she’s surprised that I hadn’t cut out any memory of us. I’d done her so badly. Made her feel as if the time we spent together meant nothing to us.
"I never deleted it." I return to her, close enough to see the way the music makes her body unconsciously sway. "I used to listen to it and remember what it felt like to hold you."
She steps into my arms like no time has passed at all, her soft curves fitting against my harder planes with the same perfect alignment I remember. One hand rests on my shoulder while the other settles in my palm, and I can feel the slight tremor in her fingers that tells me she's as affected by this as I am.
We start slow, just swaying together as the contemporary beat wraps around us. Savannah's vanilla bourbon scent grows richer, warmer, mixing with my own cedar and rain until the combination is intoxicating.
I can feel every soft curve pressed against me - the fullness of her breasts, the gentle swell of her hips, the way her body moves with fluid grace that makes my blood heat.
"This feels..." she starts, then trails off as I guide her into a simple two-step.
"Right." She looks up at me, and the vulnerability in her expression makes my chest tight. "I forgot how perfectly we fit together."
"I never forgot." The admission slips out before I can stop it, raw and honest. "I've compared every woman I've dated to you. None of them ever measured up."
Her voice is breathless, and she's moving closer, close enough that I can feel her breath against my neck when she speaks. "I know it's not fair. I know we can't just pick up where we left off like nothing happened."
I dip her low, supporting her weight easily, marveling at how perfectly she trusts me to hold her. When I pull her back up, she's flushed and slightly breathless.
The song transitions to something slower, more sensual, and our movements adjust accordingly. She's pressed fully againstme now, and I can feel every soft curve, every place where we connect sending electricity through my nervous system.
Her hand slides up my chest to cup the back of my neck, fingers playing with the hair there in a way that sends shivers down my spine.
"Logan," she says softly, looking up at me with an expression that makes my breath catch.
"Yeah?"
"I don't care if they walk in."
The words hit me like lightning. "Savannah..."
"I don't care if Griff or Xavier come downstairs and see us like this." Her voice is breathless but determined. "I don't care if they want to join us. This is my choice. My decision."
The power in her voice, the way she's taking control of this moment, sends heat straight through my bloodstream.
"You're in charge," I tell her, my voice rough with need. "Whatever you want, however you want it."
Instead of answering with words, she rises up on her toes and kisses me.
It's soft and tentative at first, just a brush of lips that could be explained away as friendly affection. But then she presses closer, her hand fisting in my shirt, and the kiss deepens into something hungry and desperate and eight years overdue.
She tastes like coffee and something uniquely her that I've never been able to forget. Her vanilla bourbon scent wraps around me like a drug, making my head spin and my control slip dangerously.
I pull her closer, one hand tangling in her hair while the other spans the curve of her lower back, feeling the soft warmth of her body through the thin fabric of her dress.
When my tongue sweeps into her mouth, she makes a sound that's half moan, half surrender, and it destroys whatever control I was trying to maintain.
She's soft and warm and perfect in my arms, all generous curves and heated skin, and I want to worship every inch of her.
When we finally break apart, both of us breathing hard, I don't go far. Can't go far. My forehead rests against hers, our breath mixing in the small space between us.
"That was..." she starts, her lips still close enough to brush against mine when she speaks.
"Inevitable." She laughs shakily, her fingers still twisted in my shirt. "I've been wanting to do that since the moment I got off the bus."
"Since I left, and realized what I was giving up, but I was too fucking proud to admit it."
