"Why, Savannah? When I could just talk sweet to you instead? Wouldn't you like that better?"
"If you talk sweet to me right now, it'll sound like pity. That's what you're thinking. You're…re-thinking. I shouldn't be here. We aren't gonna make it. The world is a cruel place and happy endings don't exist."
I don't reply, because she's right. Thatiswhat I'm thinking.
"I don't want you to feel sorry for me, Legion. Protect me? Sure. Rescue me when I need it? Absolutely. But all the other times, I want you to… " She looks away for a moment. Up at the water-stained ceiling like she's thinking. "I want you to take me for granted."
"What?" I almost laugh.
"Not in a bad way. Just… a for-sure way. Like you know, with one-hundred-percent certainty, that I willalwaysbe here." She places her hand on the side of my cheek. “Take me for granted. Talk dirty to me. Fuck me any way you want. And by doing this, you're sending a signal. A signal that says, you're so sure of my love, you assume it will be there tomorrow."
This sounds… well, crazy as all hell. The words are hard to put together because she's trying to describe a feeling of… comfortablenesss. Not even sure that's a word, which is the problem.
She's trying to define… emotional certainty. A kind of sacred mundanity. The feeling of being so woven into someone’s daily existence that your presence isn’t a question—it’s a given.
And I get it.
That's what I want too.
Someone who is so completely mine, I feel certain that she will be by my side no matter what.
No matter how far away, no matter how mad she is, no matter what.
We are awe. And we won't ever be alone again, even if we are.
Savannah gets up on her knees and takes off her jacket, throwing it across the small room. She tilts her head, smiling coyly at me.
So I help her with the shirt. Lifting it up over her head, watching as her tits appear. The moment I toss it, she starts clawing for mine. Taking off my cut, then my shirt joins hers on the floor.
For a moment, we're still. I watch her as she studies the tattoos on my chest.
Her fingertips trace the archangel's sword raised in the air, like triumph, if you don't look too hard at the defeat on his face. At the wounds in his side. Wounds he earned.
Below the angel, the demon wails. No sword in him now. That's the problem with the moment after.
The evidence is somewhere else.
"They're both dying," she whispers.
"Yeah." My voice comes out rough. "That's the point."
She leans down, presses her lips against the brand that marks me as Badlands property. The infection makes it burn, but I don't pull away. Pain and pleasure—they've always lived in the same house for me.
"I want you," she says against my skin.
I run my hand up her back, feeling the notches of her spine. She's lost weight since I went away. Three years of her life I missed. Three years of her changing while I stayed the same, locked in concrete and counting minutes.
"You sure?" I ask, even as my cock hardens against her thigh. "I mean, life is so fuckin’ heavy right now?—"
"I need this." Her eyes lock with mine, fierce and certain. "I need you. I want hard this time, Legion. I want to feel you. Your power. Your muscles, your strength. Claim me again. I want it."
I want it too. I want to claim her as mine every day for the rest of my life.
I lower her onto her back, allowing her to sort out her legs as I pin her wrists above her head with one hand. The blankets beneath us are rough and I don't care. I doubt she does either. I use my free hand to unbutton her jeans, tugging them down her hips. She lifts up, helping me.
"These aren't even yours," I growl.
"Nothing is anymore." She kicks them off. "Except you."
