Dirty Delivery (Bound & Delivered #1)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Savannah

Falling asleep completely satiated after a mind-blowing fuck is a new experience for me, and waking up naked in Rylan’s bed feels even stranger. The sheets are warm, tangled around my legs and his scent lingers on my skin. For a moment, everything feels . . . perfect. My body aches in the best possible way, and I’m tempted to bury myself back into the soft cocoon of his bed.

But then reality crashes back in.

I push myself up from the bed, clutching the sheet to my chest as the memories of the last few weeks swirl in my mind. Needing a moment to collect myself, I slip out of bed and make my way to the bathroom. Standing at the sink, I turn on the faucet, letting the cool water run before splashing it onto my face. As I glance up at the mirror, my eyes catch a small mark on my neck—a faint hickey, a reminder of Rylan’s lingering touch. My fingers brush over it, and a mixture of emotions rushes through me.

Vinny. The Castillos. Rylan. The danger that still looms over me like a storm cloud, ready to open up and rain down on me at any moment. The brief reprieve of last night feels almost cruel now, a fleeting escape from a situation that doesn’t have a clear end.

My eyes drift to the doorway, where I half-expect Rylan to appear with his cocky grin and some smug comment about breakfast in bed. Part of me hopes he does. Another part—the part that remembers he’s in the mob—wishes he wouldn’t.

I’ve been here long enough to know two things about Rylan Doyle. The first is that he’s infuriatingly charming, with a knack for making me forget just how dire my circumstances are. The second is that he’s dangerous, and not just because of the tattoos or the power he seems to wield effortlessly. No, Rylan is dangerous because he’s starting to make me feel things—things I have no business feeling for a man like him.

I sigh and pull myself out of bed to head to the bathroom. The reflection that greets me in the mirror is almost unrecognizable. My hair is a mess, my cheeks are flushed, and there’s a lightness in my eyes I don’t know how to explain. It’s like some part of me has decided to pretend this is normal, that I’m not a captive in a gilded cage, guarded by a man who likely kills without hesitation if it meant keeping me safe.

By the time I make it downstairs, the smell of coffee bombards my senses, and I find Rylan in the kitchen, shirtless, with his back to me as he flips pancakes like he’s been doing it his whole life. The tattoos that snake across his shoulders and down his arms catch the light, and I have to bite my lip to stop myself from openly staring at him like a lovesick fool, the effort nearly feels futile with how effortlessly gorgeous he is.

“Morning,” he says without turning around, his voice warm and teasing. “I was starting to think you’d sleep all day.”

“Good morning.” I slide onto one of the stools at the island, forcing myself to sound casual. “You cook?”

“Don’t look so surprised.” He glances over his shoulder with a grin. “I’m a man of many talents.”

“Clearly,” I mutter, hiding my smile behind the coffee cup he’s already set out for me. The mug is warm in my hands, and for a moment, I let myself enjoy the simple pleasure of it.

But then he turns, setting a plate of pancakes in front of me, and reality creeps back in. This isn’t normal—this quiet moment, the sense of safety, the way he looks at me like I’m the center of his world. It’s a far cry from the life I had—teaching in a classroom, going on casual dates, and living without the constant need to glance over my shoulder. And it’s certainly not the life I ever envisioned for myself, tangled in danger and emotions I never expected.

“You’re quiet,” he says when he sits down across from me. “Something on your mind?”

I cut into my pancakes to buy time. “Just . . . everything. It’s a lot to take in.”

“That’s fair,” he says, his tone softer now. “But you don’t have to do it alone, Savannah. I’m here. Whatever you need, you’ve got it.”

It’s such a simple thing to say, but the sincerity in his voice makes my chest ache. I want to believe him. I want to lean into this little world we’ve created, where danger feels distant and laughter is easy. But I can’t forget who he is, what he’s capable of, or the fact that this can’t last forever.

“Thanks,” I say finally, forcing a small smile. “That means a lot.”

He reaches across the table, his fingers brushing against mine. It’s such a small gesture, but it feels monumental. And for a moment, just a moment, I let myself believe that maybe . . . maybe this could work.

The buzzing of Rylan’s phone jolts me back to reality, and I quickly shift my focus to my plate of pancakes, idly pushing the last pieces around to look preoccupied. Rylan’s expression hardens as he glances at the screen, his jaw tightening. Just like that, the bubble we’ve been living in bursts like a balloon and all the pieces come sinking back down to earth.

“Everything okay?” I hedge.

He stands and slides the phone into his pocket. “It’s nothing. Eat your breakfast.”

I nibble at the edge of the pancake, but the taste feels muted now, drowned out by the heaviness in the air that’s all but rushed back in. I’m not sure what I was expecting—some grand confession? Reassurance? But the walls have been built back up, and Rylan’s carefully neutral expression reminds me that whatever connection we shared moments ago isn’t enough to change the reality of who he is.

I follow him into the living room after breakfast, the silence between us uncomfortable. He’s on his phone, typing furiously, and I’m left to pace the large room. The comfort of the room with its gilded mirrors and plush furniture do nothing to comfort me. They feel like bars in an elaborate cage.

“Rylan,” I finally say, crossing my arms. He looks up, and for a second, I see something soften in his expression. “Do you ever wish things were different? That you weren’t . . . tied to all this?”

A shadow crosses his features which causes his eyes to darken slightly, and he leans back, tossing his phone down onto the coffee table. “Every damn day, Savannah. But wishing doesn’t change anything.”

“Maybe not.” I ease down to sit across from him so I can look at him head on. “But it’s nice to think about, isn’t it?”

For the first time today, he smiles—a small, genuine smile that makes my chest ache. “Yeah, it is.”

The moment stretches. I let myself linger in it, even if I know it won’t last. For now, it’s enough.