Chapter 27 A Breath Away
A Breath Away
Savannah stirred, a deep, satisfied ache settling into her bones, the weight of exhaustion keeping her limbs heavy, languid, utterly spent.
Every inch of her body hummed, muscles deliciously sore from where he had held her down, lifted her up, taken her apart piece by piece, only to put her back together in ways she never knew she needed.
She sighed against the pillow, her fingers curling into the soft fabric.
It wasn’t just any pillow.
It was his.
His scent still clung to it—warm, masculine, a mix of salt air, faint cologne, and the heady, intoxicating smell of sex that still lingered in the air around her.
Savannah turned onto her side, breathing it in, letting the memories crash into her all at once.
The way he looked at her. The way he touched her. The way he wrecked her like he had no intention of leaving her whole.
A slow pulse ignited between her thighs.
She swallowed, her fingers grazing over the empty space beside her.
The sheets were still warm, rumpled, a mess of tangled limbs and restless, desperate hands.
But the bed was empty.
Savannah’s eyes fluttered open, sunlight spilling through the wide windows, streaking golden light across the room.
The view outside was breathtaking—the sound stretched out in front of her, seagrass waving lazily in the breeze. But none of it mattered.
Because Chase wasn’t there.
Her stomach tightened.
Did he regret it?
The thought was suffocating, unwelcome.
She pushed herself up onto her elbows, taking in the wreckage of their night together.
Her clothes were still scattered across the floor—her shorts were nowhere to be found, his shirt tossed haphazardly near the dresser, like he had been too impatient to wait even a second longer.
Her lips curled slightly.
Last night had been… everything.
The kind of night that burned itself into your skin.
And now?
Now she had to face the morning after.
She shoved back the covers, her body still buzzing with the remnants of his touch, of his mouth, of the way he had whispered filthy things against her skin while burying himself inside her.
Savannah bit her lip and grabbed the first thing she could find—his Henley from yesterday—slipping it over her bare skin. The fabric swallowed her whole, the sleeves falling below her elbow, but it smelled like him.
She padded toward the door, heart hammering, listening for any sign of him.
And then—
The faint sound of movement downstairs.
She exhaled.
He’s still here.
Relief curled through her, followed immediately by something far more dangerous—anticipation.
Savannah descended the stairs slowly, the scent of coffee and something buttery and rich wafting through the air.
And then she saw him.
Chase—Standing in the kitchen. Barefoot. Shirtless.
Wearing only a pair of gray athletic shorts that hung far too low on his hips.
Her thighs clenched at the sight.
His back was to her, the muscles shifting effortlessly as he flipped something in the pan. The tattoos lining his arms and shoulders looked obscene in the morning light, stretching over his broad, sculpted frame like something sinful.
Savannah’s breath caught.
No man should look that good in the morning.
She crossed her arms, leaning against the doorway, a slow smirk moving on her lips.
“So you cook after you fuck a woman senseless?”
Chase froze for half a second, spatula poised mid-air before he let out a low, knowing chuckle.
“Only for the ones who make me lose my fucking mind.”
Her stomach flipped. Her breath hitched. Her body betrayed her.
Because that’s what she was to him? A woman who made him lose control?
Before she could overthink it, he turned.
His gaze swept over her, slow, possessive, taking in the oversized shirt hanging loose around her frame, her bare legs peeking out from beneath the hem, her hair a wild mess from where his fingers had tangled into it the night before.
His jaw tightened.
His eyes darkened.
“Come here, Monroe.”
A shiver rolled down her spine at the way his voice dropped, deep and gravelly.
She smirked. “Or what?”
His expression shifted.
Something wicked, dangerous, borderline feral flashed behind his eyes.
“Or I’ll come get you myself.”
Her breath stalled.
This man. This mother fucking man.
She loved pushing him, loved seeing how close she could get him to snapping.
So she didn’t move.
She just tilted her head, squinting, watching him, challenging him.
His nostrils flared. “Alright, then.” Before she could react, Chase was on her, his hands gripping her thighs, lifting her off the ground effortlessly, throwing her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.
She shrieked, laughing as he carried her toward the counter, his fingers squeezing her ass through the thin fabric of his shirt.
“Chase—put me down!” she squealed, breathless, her heart slamming against her ribs.
“You had your chance, Monroe,” he growled, setting her down on the cold marble countertop, his body trapping her in place, caging her in.
Her pulse hammered as he leaned in, his mouth a breath away from hers, his hands trailing up her bare thighs, sliding under his shirt, gripping her hips like he owned them.
His voice was low, deep, a threat wrapped in a promise.
“Good morning, Darlin'.”
Savannah’s breath hitched, her fingers curling into the hard muscles of his biceps.
Fuck.
Everything about him was too much, yet never enough.
“Morning,” she whispered back, tilting her chin, brushing her lips against his—just enough to tease.
Chase’s hands tightened, his fingers digging into her skin, his body tensing, his control hanging by a thread.
"Chase," she whispered, her fingers trailing over the ridges of his abs, the sharp cut of his obliques disappearing beneath the band of his shorts.
He groaned, the sound low and wrecked, and fuck, she loved it.
She licked her lips, watching as his gaze dropped to her mouth, his control hanging by a damn thread.
"You keep looking at me like that," he muttered, voice thick, gravelly, his fingers flexing against her thighs, "and I won't be responsible for what happens next."
Savannah smirked, loving the tension, loving how close she could push him to losing it completely.
She dragged her fingers lower, tracing the sharp V of his hips, feeling his muscles jump beneath her touch.
"Maybe that's what I want," she murmured, her breath fanning over his lips.
Chase snapped.
His hands slid up, gripping her waist, pulling her flush against him, his body slotting between her legs, the heat of him pressing into her exactly where she needed it most.
She gasped, her hands fisting into his hair, holding on as his mouth crashed into hers, all heat and reckless, raw need.
The kiss was a promise, a threat, a fucking warning all at once.
Savannah whimpered as he took control, as his tongue slid against hers, as his teeth nipped at her bottom lip before soothing the bite with a slow, filthy kiss.
His hands were everywhere, mapping her, learning her, owning her.
She arched into him, her body grinding against his, and Chase let out a deep, gravelly sound, his grip tightening.
"Fucking hell, Savannah," he rasped, his forehead dropping to hers, his breathing uneven, raspy.
Her nails scraped down his back, her own breath coming in sharp little gasps, her body thrumming with need.
But Chase suddenly froze, his hands stilling against her skin.
She blinked, heart pounding, stomach flipping when he pulled back just enough to meet her gaze.
There was something different in his eyes.
Something fierce. Something real.
He exhaled sharply, like he was trying to regain control of himself, and then he smirked, grazing his hands where her shorts should be, pressing one last slow, deep kiss to her lips before pulling away.
"You're a fucking menace," he muttered, stepping back, his fingers lingering on her thighs for just a second longer than necessary.
Savannah's breath hitched, her lips still swollen, her body still burning for him.
She frowned. What the hell was he doing?
"What—?"
Chase grinned, running a hand through his hair, looking too damn smug for someone who had just turned her into a mess of need.
"Breakfast first," he said, turning back to the stove, grabbing the spatula like he hadn't just obliterated her in the span of five minutes.
Savannah gasped at him.
"Are you serious?"
He chuckled, flipping whatever the hell was in the pan, like he wasn’t rock hard and one touch away from completely losing his shit again.
"Starving," he said simply.
Savannah's jaw tightened, her pulse pounding.
"You're impossible," she muttered, hopping off the counter.
She adjusted his shirt on her body, crossing her arms, glaring at him as he plated their food.
Chase barely glanced at her, just reached for a cup of coffee, taking a long, slow sip before turning back around, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
"Something wrong, Monroe?"
She narrowed her eyes.
She could play this game too.
Savannah tilted her head, stepped closer—close enough that he could feel the heat of her against him, close enough that she knew it would drive him crazy.
Then, she leaned in, her lips grazing the shell of his ear.
"Nothing at all," she whispered, her fingers ghosting over the chiseled bulge from his shorts, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch.
Then she pulled back just as quickly, grabbing her plate and heading toward the table like she hadn’t just mind fucked his entire existence.
Chase cursed under his breath, his jaw clenching as he watched her.
And Savannah?
She just smirked, taking a slow, satisfied bite of food.
Game. On.