Chapter 12
TWELVE
SAVANNAH
I wake up warm. Lucky is behind me, spooned tight like he anchored himself there sometime in the night and never let go.
One of his arms is banded across my waist, and the other is tucked under my pillow, hand curled near my shoulder.
His legs are threaded through mine, knee braced behind me like a barricade.
Then the memory of everything that happened last night comes back to me.
The screaming. The nightmare. Everything I said.
Everything I showed him. Oh god. My stomach flips with embarrassment.
Heat crawls up my neck and I try to ease away without waking him, suddenly hyperaware of how intimate this looks and feels.
Oh my god, and my front door. I suck in a breath and start to push up from his embrace, but his arm tightens around me instantly, dragging me back against his chest. He presses a kiss to the side of my neck, slow and possessive, voice thick with sleep. “Where are you going, Firecracker?”
I freeze. Then glance around the room. Menace and Psycho are still on the bed. Psycho is perched by my pillow, and Menace is sitting near Lucky’s forearm, both of them glaring at him like he’s on thin ice. “Is the front door still open after you broke in last night?”
He laughs, low and unapologetically, his chest moving against my back.
“No. When you fell asleep, I made sure it was locked up.” A pause.
“Well, I shoved something heavy in front of it to keep it closed. I’ll get it fixed today.
Sorry about that. I heard you scream and I had to get to you.
” He holds me tighter, like he’s reliving the memory.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He shifts just enough to tuck his chin against my shoulder. “No. You don’t thank me for that. You were terrified. I couldn’t bear to see you like that.”
My throat tightens. “I’m sorry.”
He pulls back slightly so I can hear him clearly. “Stop. Don’t you ever apologize for that.”
I nod, even though he can’t see it.
“I mean,” I add quietly, “I’m sorry I left last night. And didn’t answer your calls or texts. It was just too much. I had to get out of there.”
I feel him tense. “How did you get home?” he asks carefully.
“I met two girls in the parking lot,” I say. “They looked nice, so I took a chance.” I glance back at him. “Actually, they said they know you. Bella and Bri.”
His body relaxes immediately. “Yeah. I’m friends with their husbands.”
“They gave me a ride.”
We’re quiet for a minute before he finally asks. “Why did you leave?” “What happened? I thought we were having a good time.”
I hesitate to answer. In the daylight, everything feels raw and stupid and exposed. “I just… I had to go.”
“Uh uh,” he says softly. “Something happened last night. What was it?”
I close my eyes tightly and breathe out a heavy sigh already hating that I’m about to tell him this.
“There were these women in the bathroom,” I admit.
“They were talking about me, and you.” My voice wobbles despite myself.
“Saying that you’re with a different woman every night.
I was probably a bet, or you just wanted to see if you could bang a fat chick.
And once we fucked, you’d be gone and I’d never hear from you again.
” The words feel uglier spoken out loud.
I wait for him to pull away, or worse, act like it’s all a lie, even though Bella and Bri told me part of it’s true.
He goes still in the way a predator goes quiet before it moves. His arm tightens around me, not crushing me, but firm enough that I feel him everywhere. “They said that?” he asks, his voice low.
I nod, staring at the wall. “Yeah.”
I feel him shift, propping himself up on one elbow so he can look down at me properly.
“Those fucking women,” he mutters. “They had no right to say those things to you.” I flinch at the anger in his voice and he notices instantly.
“Hey,” he says, softer for half a second, thumb brushing my side.
“Not at you. Never at you.” Then the anger comes back, hotter.
“A bet?” he repeats, incredulous. “They really said that?”
I nod again. “They said you bang a different woman every night at Perdition. That I was just… something for you to try.”
His hand fists in the sheets. “It’s bullshit,” he snaps.
“I don’t give a fuck what my reputation looks like to women who don’t know me.
” He sits up fully now, careful not to jostle me, but there’s tension rolling off him in waves.
“I don’t make bets about women,” he says.
“I don’t joke about them. And I sure as hell don’t talk about their bodies like that. ”
I swallow and look into his eyes. “But you do have a reputation.”
His mouth twists, but he doesn’t deny it.
“Yes, I’ve made mistakes,” he says. “I’ve hooked up with women, a lot of women.
I’ve been careless with my own shit. But I don’t use people.
And I don’t humiliate them.” He looks down at me then, really looks, and the anger shifts direction.
Turns protective. Feral. “And anyone who looked at you and said that,” he continues, voice shaking now, “is projecting their own ugliness. Not speaking the truth.”
My chest tightens. “Lucky…”
“No,” he cuts in gently. “You listen to me.” His hands slide down, catching mine, holding them tight between us.
“You think I don’t want you?” he asks, voice low, barely containing everything underneath it.
“You think I don’t see you?” He looks at me like I’m something he’s been starving for.
“You’re so goddamn gorgeous, Savannah,” he says.
“Yeah, you’re thick. You’ve got curves for days.
And I can’t stop thinking about every single one of them.
” His jaw tightens. “I adore every inch of you.” He pulls my hand down his chest to the front of his jeans, where his very hard, very big cock is now pressing against my hand.
“Does that feel like a man who’s just curious?
” he murmurs. “Or one who can’t get you out of his head? ”
My breath stutters, but he doesn’t push.
He just holds me there, steady and unyielding, like he wants the truth to sink all the way in before anything else happens.
“I’ve wanted you for weeks,” he says quietly.
“Ever since the first night I saw you at trivia.” His arm tightens around me.
“The way you laugh and argue and don’t back down when you know you’re right. ”
His mouth brushes my temple, voice lowering. “Your fire. Your mouth. That loud, stubborn heart you pretend isn’t soft.”
His hand shifts at my waist, firm now, claiming without asking. “I wanted you last night. I want you now and I don’t see that changing.” His breath warms my ear. “And I won’t let anyone make you feel like any part of you is shameful. Not your body, your voice, or the way you exist in a room.”
Then he pulls me back against his chest and breathes me in, slow and deep, like he’s marking the moment as much as he’s claiming me.
“I need coffee,” I say, my voice rough but steadier now. Then, because I apparently have no filter this early, I add, “And pancakes.”
Lucky huffs a quiet laugh against my hair. The tension doesn’t disappear, but it loosens, like he’s finally letting himself breathe again. “Pancakes,” he repeats. “Banana or blueberry?”
I turn in his arms, squinting at the morning light slipping through the blinds. “Blueberry,” I say. “And a lot of coffee. If I don’t get caffeine soon, I might cry again, and I think we’ve had enough of that for one morning.”
He smiles then. Not sharp. Not teasing. Just soft, like the moment deserves. “Alright,” he says. “Coffee and blueberry pancakes it is.”
I exhale, letting my forehead rest against his chest for just a second longer. “You can have some too,” I say, then turn and scoot toward the edge of the bed, “but only if you help.”
“I can be a very good boy when there’s something I want.”
I glance back at him over my shoulder. “Is that so?”
His mouth curves, lazy and dangerous, eyes warm now instead of stormy. “Absolutely. Especially when pancakes are involved.”
I shake my head, rolling my eyes, but I’m smiling as I stand. “Then get up,” I tell him. “Coffee doesn’t make itself.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says easily, already swinging his legs out of bed.
I slip into the bathroom and take care of business, then I brush my teeth slowly, watching my own reflection. On impulse, I open the drawer and pull out a brand-new toothbrush. Still in the wrapper. I set it on the counter, hesitating for half a second before deciding not to overthink it.
“Hey,” I call softly, a smile tugging at my mouth. “I put an extra toothbrush out for you if you.”
The room is empty. The bed’s rumpled where he was. The cats are gone too. My stomach gives a tiny, stupid flip before I shake it off and wander down the hall. The house feels different this morning.
I hit the kitchen doorway and stop. Lucky is crouched by the counter, pouring food into bowls. Psycho and Menace are glued to him, weaving around his legs, tails straight up, purring so loud it’s ridiculous. I cross my arms. “Traitors,” I say dryly.
He glances over his shoulder, a grin spreading slow and unapologetic. “Hey, I didn’t call them. They came to me.”
Menace flops dramatically onto his side, demanding attention. Lucky obliges without hesitation, scratching its belly.
I shake my head, but my chest feels light. Then the smell hits me. Coffee. Real coffee. Brewing. “Oh my god,” I murmur. “You’re feeding my cats and making coffee?”
He stands, brushes his hands on his jeans, and turns toward me, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “I heard the priorities were caffeine and pancakes.”
I laugh, leaning back against the counter. “Before that,” I say, nodding down the hall, “there’s a toothbrush on my sink for you.”
His gaze slides past me toward the hallway, and something warm and unmistakably pleased crosses his face. Not smug. Not cocky. Just quietly there.
“Yeah?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say softly.
He leans in and presses a soft kiss to the top of my head, “I’ll be right back,” he murmurs, already turning toward the hallway.
I watch him head down the hall toward my room, then turn back to the stove. I put the bacon in the pan and listen to it start to sizzle. Then I mix up the pancake batter. The coffee finishes brewing and the kitchen smells like it. I take a breath and keep going.
By the time I pour two mugs of coffee and set them on the counter, I hear his footsteps behind me.
He doesn’t say anything at first. He just steps in close, brackets me in with both hands on the counter, his body warm and solid at my back.
I inhale sharply, the scent of him mixing with coffee and bacon and something that feels dangerously like contentment.
Then his mouth brushes my neck. I close my eyes without meaning to. “Mmm,” I murmur. “If you keep doing that, breakfast is going to burn.”
His lips curve against my skin. “Worth it.”
I tip my head slightly to give him better access, then catch myself and laugh softly. “Coffee first,” I say. “Then you can distract me.”
He laughs, and finally eases back just enough to grab his mug, but his body stays close, like he’s not ready to move away.
We move around each other easily after that. He flips pancakes while I manage the bacon. When we’re finished, we eat at the counter, knees bumping, my cats posted nearby like they’re supervising. I drink too much coffee.
When we’re done, he leans back against the counter, arms crossed, expression shifting. “There’s some stuff I’ve gotta take care of today,” he says. “Club shit.”
My chest tightens just a little, instinctive, but he reaches out and catches my hand before the thought can spiral.
“Before I go,” he continues, voice steady, eyes locked on mine, “I need to make something real clear.”
I nod, curious about what he’s about to say.
“I’m interested in you,” he says plainly.
“I don’t date. Never have. But I will if that’s what you need.
” My breath stutters. “I want you, Savannah,” he says.
“I know it’s fast. I don’t give a damn.” He steps closer, close enough that I can feel his heat, but he doesn’t crowd me.
Doesn’t touch me yet. “I’m sure that fifty years from now, you’re gonna be the woman rocking beside me on a porch while our grandkids are tearing up the yard.
” A faint smile tugs at his mouth. “I’m sure there’s no one else I could possibly want that makes me feel like you do.
” My throat burns. My eyes sting. “So whatever you wanna call this,” he says quietly, “that’s what we are.
Because I’m playing for keeps, Firecracker. ”
He finally takes my face in his hands, thumbs brushing my cheeks. “I need to know you hear me,” he adds. “And I don’t want you to listen to those bitches at the bar.” His jaw tightens just a bit. “If something comes up, you ask me. You don’t assume. You don’t run.”
I nod, the motion small but certain. “I hear you,” I say. My voice shakes, but it doesn’t break. “I do.”
Relief flashes across his face, followed by something deeper. Fiercer. “Good,” he says softly.
He kisses my forehead, lingering, then my cheek, like he’s memorizing me. “I’ll be back later,” he says.
I watch him go, heart full and terrified and hopeful all at once.