Chapter 18 Weight of Wanting
Weight of Wanting
That night, after hours on the water, they found themselves back at his place, standing on the dock under a blanket of stars.
The sound stretched endlessly before them, black as ink, the water barely rippling against the wooden posts.
The lanterns along the railing flickered softly, casting golden light against the dark, making everything feel impossibly intimate.
The air between them was thick with something unspoken, something electric. Chase stood close, his body a wall of warmth, his scent—salt, cedar, and something uniquely him—wrapping around her, making her dizzy.
Savannah shivered, though the night wasn’t cold.
It was him.
All him.
Chase’s gaze was heavy, lingering, his jaw tight as he studied her. He reached for her slowly, his fingers brushing over her wrist, then sliding up the inside of her forearm, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
That touch undid her.
She inhaled sharply, tilting her chin up, her lips parting slightly—an invitation, a challenge, a plea. Chase took it without hesitation.
He pulled her in, capturing her lips in a way that made the rest of the world disappear.
His kiss wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t careful.
It was consuming, deep, filled with the kind of hunger that spoke of years lost, of time wasted, of second chances finally seized.
His hands gripped her waist, pulling her closer, fitting her body against his like he had been made to hold her.
Savannah melted, her fingers threading into his hair, fisting the strands as if letting go meant losing everything.
She knew then—this wasn’t just a fling. It wasn’t just two people rekindling an old spark.
This was something deeper. Something undeniable.
And it terrified her just as much as it thrilled her.
Savannah didn’t think—she just reacted.
She climbed onto his lap, her knees straddling his hips, her dress riding up as she settled against him.
Chase let out a low, almost guttural groan, his grip on her tightening like he was holding onto the last thread of his control.
His hands spanned her thighs, warm and rough, his fingers pressing into her skin as if he needed to anchor himself.
“Jesus, Savannah—” His voice was hoarse, strained.
She leaned in, pressing her forehead against his, her breath mingling with his. "You started it," she murmured, a teasing lilt in her voice, though her own heart was hammering, her body thrumming with the need for more.
His chest rose and fell beneath her hands, his restraint evident in the way his muscles tensed beneath his shirt.
“Not like this,” he said, his voice like gravel, full of need and something else.
Her stomach flipped. “What do you mean?”
Chase exhaled slowly, his forehead still resting against hers. His hands settled at her waist, thumbs tracing slow, deliberate circles against her skin, soothing and torturous all at once.
“I want this,” he admitted. “God, do I want this. But not here. Not like this.”
Confusion flickered across her face, but before she could say anything, he lifted one hand, threading his fingers through her hair, untangling the strands that had caught in the sea breeze. His touch was achingly tender, reverent in a way that sent heat pooling in her belly.
“You’re not just another night, Savannah,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over the corner of her mouth. “You’re not just someone I’m going to fuck.”
Her breath caught. The blunt honesty of his words sent a sharp, sweet ache through her chest.
“I want to do this right,” he continued, his fingers brushing along her jaw, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheek. “You deserve more than rushed kisses on a dock and a night that feels too good to be real in the morning.”
Savannah swallowed hard, her hands still fisted in the fabric of his shirt. Her body was screaming in protest, every nerve ending on high alert, aching for him, for more.
But her heart?
Her heart whispered that he was right.
This wasn’t something fleeting. This wasn’t something she could wake up from and pretend hadn’t meant everything.
And that terrified her.
“Chase—” she started, but she didn’t know what to say.
He leaned in, brushing his lips over hers once more—slow, lingering, filled with the promise of something worth waiting for. He kissed her like he was telling her a secret, like he was sealing something between them, something irrevocable.
Then, with an exhale that sounded like it physically pained him, he pulled back.
His forehead pressed against hers for a second longer, their breaths mingling, their bodies still tangled, before he finally eased her off his lap.
"Come on," he murmured, standing and holding out a hand to help her up. "I'm taking you home."
Savannah hesitated.
She could still feel the heat of him, still taste him on her lips, still hear the way his voice had cracked just slightly when he said her name. And God, she didn’t want to leave.
But this was Chase. The boy she had wanted for years. The man who was still standing in front of her, offering her something real.
So, she took his hand.
Let him guide her off the dock, back toward the house, back toward the truck.
The ride home was quiet, but it wasn’t empty.
Chase kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console, close enough that she could reach for him, lace her fingers through his, feel the steady warmth of his palm against hers.
She almost did.
Almost.
When he pulled up in front of the Monroe house, the streetlights cast long shadows, the world still and quiet around them. He shifted into park but didn’t move to open her door. Instead, he turned toward her, his gaze roaming her face like he was memorizing her all over again.
Savannah bit her lip. "You sure you don't want to come inside?" she teased, though her voice was softer than she intended.
Chase let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You're trying to kill me, aren't you?"
She grinned. "Maybe just a little."
His eyes darkened, his fingers brushing against her thigh. "Oh, Savannah. You have no idea what you're doing to me."
She shivered, but before she could respond, he leaned in, pressing one last kiss to her lips—slow and deep, stealing whatever breath she had left.
Then he pulled back, his thumb tracing along her jawline before he exhaled and nodded toward the house. "Go. Before I change my mind."
Savannah smirked, opening the door, but just before she stepped out, she turned back to him, her voice playful, teasing. "Sweet dreams, Montgomery."
Chase’s smirk turned downright sinful.
"Oh, they will be," he murmured. "And they’ll all be about you."
Her stomach flipped, heat rushing to her cheeks, but before she could let him see just how much his words affected her, she closed the door and walked inside.
But she didn’t stop smiling.
Not once.