Dinner with Havoc and June.
The leaked videos.
My family.
His club.
All the forces trying to pull us apart.
For now, though, I let myself believe in that farmhouse, those wild-haired children, that life where Legion and I get to be just us, without the weight of our names or our pasts.
CHAPTER 7
Heaven is the awareness that you're not in Hell.
That's how I feel right now.
Like I'm not in Hell.
Watching Savannah in her dress that was given to her through some 'gifting' ritual that I had no idea even existed. It's a simple thing, cotton and comfortable, nothing like the designer labels she used to wear, but somehow it suits her more. Fits her like it was made for the woman she's becoming, not the one she was pretending to be.
It's nice though. That the women here have their own traditions, or whatever. For many reasons, not least of which we didn't have to go shopping for Savannah right away because she came here with nothing but the clothes on her back.
My clothes on her back, actually. Which was its own kind of heaven.
She's brushing her hair in the bathroom mirror while I watch, sitting on the bed in room 3. The mattress creaks under my weight, springs protesting like they've seen too many nights and not enough rest. The sound of the brush through her hairis hypnotic—steady, rhythmic. Makes a man think dangerous thoughts.
"What?" She asks, our eyes meeting in the mirror. There's something vulnerable in her gaze, like she's still not used to being looked at by my hungry eyes.
"Just you."
She smiles, twists her hair up into a ponytail, turns, walks over to me, and sits in my lap. Smiles again. The weight of her feels right, like the last piece of a puzzle I've been working on for years.
"Don't rev the engine if ya aren’t gonna step on the gas," I warn. "Because if you get me started, I'll finish it. And that'll make us late for dinner. And just so you know, if we're late for dinner, I'll blame it on you." My hands find her hips, fingers digging in just enough to make her breath catch.
She leans in, kissing me. Someone must've given her some lip gloss because she tastes like strawberries. Sweet, and artificial, and addictive. "Later then."
"Later," I agree, smacking her ass and standing up, taking her with me. She squeals a little. But I capture that squeal in my mouth with a kiss. Her legs wrap around my waist instinctively, like her body remembers exactly how we fit together.
"Have you always been this horny? Or is this new?" I ask against her neck, as I put her down. Just breathing in the scent of her is enough to turn me on.
"What?" She smacks me on the chest, feigning offense but her eyes are dancing.
"Woman, I've fucked you like ten times in the last twenty-four hours. I'm just wondering if I should adjust my new expectations or this is me winning the jackpot." My voice is hungry, even to my own ears.
She giggles. "I can't help it." Then she grabs my dick, right through my jeans. Her face tilts up, eyes on me, all innocenceand sin mixed together. "I've never been this horny in my life. I've never been so sore, either. But if this is the price I have to pay…" She grabs me again, fingers tracing the outline with expert precision. "It's worth it."
"I'm about to turn you over my knee and spank you 'till you come for getting me all hard again," I reach down, push her hand off me, and give my junk a little shake. The denim's too tight now, uncomfortable in the best way.
She flips her hair at me. Looks at me coyly over her shoulder. "When we get home, you can spank me all you want."
Fuck's sake. I'm about to tell her we should skip dinner when she opens my door and saunters out into the hallway, leaving me behind. The sway of her hips is deliberate, a promise for later.
I guess my dick will have to wait.
But I'll make her pay for it.
In the best way possible, of course.
