CHAPTER 8
I stand up so I can see her properly. Savannah is breathing hard, all stretched out on the blanket with her legs open and her dress pulled up to her chin. It’s a dirty fuckin’ pose, but the sunlight catches on the sweat beading on her skin, turning her into somethin’ golden.
"Take off the dress," I tell her, my voice thick with everything I'm trying not to say. "Do it slow, so I can enjoy it."
Savannah smiles, that same goddamn smile that's been haunting me since I was fourteen. Not the perfect Ashby heiress smile she gives to cameras, but the one that lives in the corners of her mouth when she knows she's got me by the throat.
"Yes, sir," she whispers, drawing out the words like she's tasting them.
She sits up, angling her legs into a side pose, her hair falling across her shoulders in waves. The movement shifts her breasts, and I clench my fists at my sides to keep from grabbing her. Patience has never been my strong suit, but with Savannah, I've learned to savor the wait.
Her fingers find the bunched fabric at her neck. She slides the dress up, inch by slow inch, revealing her face like she's emerging from water. When it's off, she shakes out her hair, letting it fall wild around her shoulders.
"Better?" she asks, tossing the dress aside.
"Much."
Then she does something that stops my breath. She looks right at me, those blue eyes burning into mine, and slowly spreads her legs open. The pink flesh between her thighs glistens wet, already slick for me. I swallow hard at the sight, transfixed by that perfect V, the soft folds parting like she's offering up a secret only I'm allowed to know.
She doesn't look away, doesn't blink, just holds my gaze.
My cock goes rock hard instantly, straining against my jeans. Blood rushes south so fast I feel dizzy with it. I want her so fucking bad my hands shake when I reach for my belt buckle. The metal clinks as I work it open, then pop the button on my jeans. I lower the zipper tooth by tooth, watching her watch me.
For a moment, I stand over her, letting her eyes linger on the bulge beneath my jeans. Her lips part slightly, her tongue darting out to wet them. I watch her watching me, savoring the hunger in her eyes.
My hand trembles slightly as I pull my cock free, wrapping my fingers around the base. I begin to stroke slowly, deliberately, from root to tip, letting her see exactly what she does to me.
Savannah watches me as I jerk off, her eyes following every stroke, every twist of my wrist with a hunger that burns hotter than the summer air around us. Her gaze tracks the movement of my hand with such raw intensity it feels like she's memorizing every detail. The way she looks at me—like I'm something sacred and sinful all at once—makes my cock throb harder in my grip.
I drop to my knees, leaning back as I continue to masturbate. "Touch yourself," I tell her, my voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes her pupils dilate. "I want to watch you play with that pretty pussy while I jerk off. Show me how you like it when I'm not there."
Her cheeks flush a deep rose that spreads down her neck. But it’s not embarrassment. It’s arousal. With a slowness that feels deliberate, her hand glides down the flat plane of her stomach, fingers trailing a path of goosebumps before disappearing between her creamy thighs.
When she makes contact with her wet pussy, a soft gasp escapes her lips. Her eyelids fluttering closed momentarily—just long enough for her to absorb the first wave of pleasure—before they snap back open to lock with mine.
Our breathing synchronizes into a ragged, primal rhythm, chests rising and falling unevenly as we devour each other with our eyes. Both performers and audience, as we bathe in the dusty afternoon light.
"You're so fucking beautiful," I say, my voice rough. "Look at that perfect pussy. Pink and wet and glistening in the light. Practically begging for me to taste it, and claim it as mine. To feel it pulse around my cock as you come apart."
Her fingers move faster, circling her clit. Her other hand slides up to cup her breast, pinching her nipple between her fingers.
"Is this what you do when you're alone?" I ask, squeezing my cock harder as I stroke. "Think about me while you touch yourself?"
"Yes," she breathes, her hips lifting slightly off the blanket, muscles tensing as her fingers work faster. "Always you, Legion. Every single time. Nobody else. Just you." Her voice breaks into a soft whimper as she arches her back, golden hair spilling across the worn fabric beneath her like liquid sunlight.
I kick off my boots, pushing them aside without looking. Then I peel my jeans down my legs, stepping out of them. I stand before her completely naked, hand still wrapped around my cock, working it slowly.
"Your cock is so fucking massive," she whispers, her eyes locked on my hand as I continue stroking myself. Her voice drops even lower, husky with desire. "I love how it stretches me wide open every time. How it reaches places inside me nobody else has ever touched. How it makes me feel so completely full I can barely breathe when you're buried all the way inside me."
Fuck, her dirty talk drives me nuts. Always has. It was a surprise how filthy her fuckin' mouth was that first time when we were teenagers. She's never been shy. I said one dirty thing to her that first time. Told her she was wet, or something stupid like that. And the filthy words I got in response almost killed me. Something about ruined panties.
I drop to my knees between her spread legs, pushin’ them wider with my hands. I lower my mouth to her pussy, breathing in her scent before my tongue makes contact with her slick flesh. The taste of her floods my mouth, sweet and tangy and perfect.
I lick a long, deliberate stripe from her entrance to her clit, savoring the sweet tang of her arousal as it coats my tongue. She responds immediately. Her thighs quiverin’ against my shoulders.
I take my time eating her out, letting my tongue press firm and flat against her opening. Then dragging slowly upward until I reach her swollen clit.
"Fuck, Legion," she moans, her back arching off the blanket.
