The First Move
Savannah pushed back in her chair, stretching out like she wasn’t a second away from losing herself, like she wasn’t soaked just from the way he looked at her.
She yawned, feigning innocence as she stood, making a show of adjusting his Henley, letting it slide just a little more off her shoulder, exposing just enough skin.
Chase’s gaze dragged down her body, his expression shifting to something dark, wicked, unreadable.
She padded toward the sink, her bare feet silent on the hardwood, and reached for a glass, filling it with water.
And then?
She drank.
Slowly.
She let her throat move, let the cold water slip past her lips, her eyes flicking to Chase’s just in time to catch the way his fingers flexed at his sides.
Good.
She set the glass down, brushed past him, letting her fingers graze over his stomach, feeling the tight, hard muscles that are normally hidden beneath a shirt.
She felt his sharp inhale, heard the way his breathing caught, but she didn’t stop.
Didn’t give him the satisfaction of a second glance.
She headed toward the stairs, tossing over her shoulder, “I’m gonna shower.”
Silence.
Thick. Heavy. Stifling.
Then—
Chase’s voice, low and fucking lethal:
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Savannah paused at the bottom of the stairs, looking back at him. “Why not?”
His jaw clenched, his body so fucking tense, like he was seconds away from pouncing.
She watched the way his fingers drummed against the countertop, how his nostrils flared just slightly.
He was right on the edge.
One step away from snapping.
She tilted her head, smiling sweetly. “Afraid of a little hot water, Montgomery?”
Chase exhaled, slow and controlled, shaking his head with pure amusement.
But his eyes?
Fucking deadly.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice soft, smooth, but absolutely terrifying.
Savannah barely had time to process it—
Because in one sharp movement, Chase launched forward, gripping the back of her thighs and lifting her off the fucking ground.
She yelped, gasping as he carried her straight up the stairs, his grip unforgiving, possessive, claiming.
“Chase—”
“You wanted to play, Monroe?” His voice vibrated through her, his breath hot against her neck as he took the stairs two at a time.
Her stomach flipped, heat pooling between her legs, her body throbbing against him.
“Now?” He reached the top of the stairs, pushing open the bedroom door with his shoulder, his body pinned against hers, pressing her into the chilled wall.
His eyes burned into hers, his hands gripping her thighs, his chest heaving, his restraint hanging by the fucking seams.
“Now, I’m gonna make sure you understand exactly what you started.”
Savannah swallowed hard, her body melting against his.
But she wouldn’t back down.
Wouldn’t let him win so easily.
So she smirked, trailing a single finger over his chest, her lips brushing his ear.
“Then don’t keep me waiting.”
Savannah’s breath was ragged, her back pressed against the cool wall, her thighs wrapped tight around Chase’s waist.
His grip was brutal, his hands digging into her skin, his body so damn close she could feel every thick, hard inch of him through his shorts.
And God help her—
She wanted him to snap.
She wanted him to lose every ounce of control he was barely hanging onto.
But Chase?
Chase was a cruel, ruthless man.
He dragged his lips down her throat, his tongue teasing, his teeth nipping just enough to make her shudder.
His fingers skated up her thighs, pushing beneath his Henley that she still wore, his hands roaming, claiming, burning.
Her pulse pounded, her nails raking over his back, her hips grinding against him without a second thought.
"How wet are you?" He whispered as he reached down to feel.
She let out a slight moan. She was losing herself, spiraling, falling so damn fast—
And then—
Then he stopped.
Savannah let out a frustrated whimper, her chest heaving as Chase suddenly backed off, his hands leaving her like she was on fire.
She blinked, disoriented, confused, throbbing for more.
“What the—”
Chase exhaled hard, rolling his shoulders back, his hands clenching at his sides, his jaw so fucking tight it looked like he was about to break his own control in half.
But he didn’t.
He just… stepped back.
Savannah’s stomach dropped, her body screaming in protest, throbbing for him, for his hands, his mouth, his body—
Instead, Chase ran a hand through his already wild hair, his chest still rising and falling, his restraint so fucking fragile it was almost painful to witness.
Then?
He smirked.
And that cocky, self-satisfied expression had her blood boiling.
“Go shower, Monroe,” he said, voice gravelly, thick with amusement.
Savannah scowled at him, her body still pinned to the wall, burning, pulsing, desperate for him to fucking finish what he started.
Her lips parted. “Are you—”
He tilted his head, stepping away completely, putting space between them, crossing his arms over his chest like he wasn’t the very reason she was about to combust on the spot.
His next words?
Pure, evil cruelty.
“I need to go clean up the kitchen.”
Savannah’s jaw dropped.
Her brain barely processed the words because no fucking way was he doing this to her.
She clenched her fists, pushing off the wall, eyes narrowing. “Are you serious?”
Chase grinned, and God help her, she wanted to wipe that smirk right off his perfect, gorgeous fucking face.
She crossed her arms, glaring. “You just—” She huffed, flustered, annoyed, burning. “You just did all that—just to leave me hanging?”
His grin widened. “As you can see, I’m the one hanging” he said with a wink.
Fucking bastard.
“You started this, sweetheart,” he mused, tilting his head, running a lazy, appreciative gaze down her body like he wasn’t just as tortured as she was.
Savannah inhaled sharply, narrowing her gaze.
“You’re such a smug asshole,” she gritted out, shifting on her feet, still flushed and aching and desperate for relief.
Chase chuckled, shaking his head, completely unbothered.
Then, the final nail in her coffin:
He leaned in, just enough to brush his lips against her ear, his hands gripping her hips again—
But instead of giving her what she wanted, what she needed, what he damn well knew she was begging for—
He murmured:
“Enjoy your shower, Monroe.”
And then?
He fucking walked away.
Savannah gasped, her entire body betraying her, her legs shaking with need, her breath coming too fast, too uneven, too wrecked for a man who had just abandoned her in this state.
She whipped around, watching as he disappeared down the hallway like he hadn’t just ruined her life.
The sound of silverware clinking in the kitchen only infuriated her further.
“Son of a bitch,” she muttered under her breath, running her hands through her hair.
Her pulse hammered, her body still on fire, still aching, still throbbing for him.
She stared at the into the bathroom, then at the empty hallway, then back at the bathroom.
She was going to kill him.
She was going to make him pay.
Game. Fucking. On.