Chapter 33
Savannah
His chest pressed against my back, his breath dragging over my skin like he couldn’t quite catch it. The heat of him seeped into me, heavy and grounding.
Neither of us moved. Not yet. His hand slid down, not rough this time but slow, fingers splayed against my hip like he needed the contact as much as I did.
I closed my eyes. For a second — just a second — I let myself forget all the warnings. It was just the weight of him holding me together, the sound of our hearts thundering in sync, and the sharp, terrifying feeling of belonging.
“Savannah . . .” His voice was low, not cocky, but almost . . . uncertain. Like he didn’t know what came next either.
I turned my head, just enough to glimpse him from the corner of my eye. His expression wasn’t the mask he wore for everyone else — it was raw, open in a way that made my chest ache.
We stayed like that, tangled and silent, both of us pretending the world outside the four walls didn’t exist. As we lay there wrapped in each other, I wished it didn’t.
"We know how this started," I said quietly.
"Yeah."
“You were using me, or keeping me close.”
He didn’t say anything.
"I'm still here." I swallowed. “You’re here . . .”
“I am.” He looked at me for a long time. "I’m not going anywhere."
"And I’m not walking away after what you did and what you called me.” I took a deep breath. “Don't make me regret it."
"I won't."
He rolled onto his side, bringing me with him, and somehow managed to shift me effortlessly until he was caging me in with one arm braced above my head. His forehead touched mine, sweat-damp, breath still slightly ragged.
“It’s me and you, Sav,” he murmured, voice low and steady. “No more games.”
For once, I didn’t argue. Didn’t remind him of all the outside pressures, of the fact I was his tutor, or of how badly this could end. Because in this moment, pressed beneath the weight of him, I didn’t care. I wanted him.
“Then stop talking,” I whispered back, and lifted my mouth to his.
The kiss wasn’t hurried now — it was deep, sure, threaded with all the hunger we hadn’t admitted but couldn’t hide. His hand slid to the back of my neck, holding me there like he was terrified I’d vanish if he let go.
My fingers dug into his shoulders, feeling the solid strength of him under my hands, the sharp reminder that this was real, flesh and heat and need — not some fantasy I could brush away when morning came.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes burning like he could see straight through every excuse I’d ever made. “Then we’re agreed — you’re mine.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yours,” I breathed, because it didn’t feel like a lie.
With that, the last of the walls crumbled. His mouth claimed mine again, slower this time, but no less consuming. Every press of his lips felt like something he hadn’t said yet.
I arched into him, and his hand slid down, his palm skimming over my ribs, my hip, until his fingers gripped my thigh and pulled me flush against him. Heat shot through me, fierce and impossible to ignore.
“Dante,” I whispered, the word breaking on my tongue like I’d been holding it back forever.
He groaned low in his throat, moving over me completely, the solid weight of him pinning me to the mattress. His kiss turned demanding again, but this time every bite of his teeth was followed by a sweep of his tongue, every rough touch soothed by something softer.
Skin on skin, heat meeting heat. He slowed only long enough to look down at me, his thumb brushing over my cheek as if he wanted to memorize me.
“You ready for another round?” he murmured, but his eyes said he already knew my answer.
“I don’t want you to stop,” I said, and meant it more than I’d ever meant anything.
That was all he needed.
The next kiss stole my breath completely, and then there was no more space between us — only the soft slide of hands, the clash of bodies, the sharp relief of finally, finally giving in.
I reached into my nightstand and handed him a condom, and when Dante handed it back to me to put it on him, it made the moment even more intimate.
The sex wasn’t uncontrolled this time. It wasn’t as urgent. Every movement was deliberate, every thrust a claiming. His hand laced with mine, fingers squeezing tight, grounding me in him, eyes locked on mine.
When my release came, it wasn’t a blaze; it was an explosion that cracked me open and left me trembling, held together only because he was holding me.
Dante buried his face in my neck, his breath hot against my skin as he shuddered through his own release, the sound he made guttural, raw, and undone, his teeth grazing over the vein in my neck, as if he could taste the heat of my pulse through my skin.
Afterward, we didn’t move right away. He stayed half on top of me, weight heavy, heartbeat thunderous against mine. His lips brushed over my temple like he couldn’t help himself.
“Well, we’re going to need to do that every day,” he murmured, looking down at me with that familiar gleam in his eyes.
“Every day?” I gave him a shy smile. “I think you need your energy for other things, don’t you?”
“Nope.” He rolled off me, removed the condom, and looked over the side of the bed, dropping it in the trash with the other one. “Give me a minute,” he whispered against my mouth, pressing a kiss to my lips before he got up and went to the bathroom.
He was back quickly, and we swapped places as I visited the bathroom and prayed to God he couldn’t hear me peeing.
When I came back out, he was lying on his back, my blanket around his hips, one hand behind his head, and staring at the ceiling.
“You staying?” I asked, pulling on my sleep shorts and a shirt.
Dante frowned. “You want me to go?”
I shook my head. “No, I-I’d like it if you stayed,” I admitted.
“I’d like it if you take all those clothes off,” he said with a smile as I climbed back into bed beside him.
“I’m wearing two articles of clothing,” I told him drily as I lay back down.
“Two too many.”
“You’re ridiculous.” I wiggled to get comfortable, and then he moved, pulled me in tighter to his side, so my head was on the crook of his arm, and my arm was draped over his torso.
We lay tangled in silence, his hand running slowly up and down my arm, my pulse still trying to slow.
It should have felt like the end of something reckless. Instead, it felt terrifyingly like the beginning.
My fingers moved over his skin as I watched him. His eyes were closed, and he looked . . . content. I was careful to stay away from trailing my fingers any lower, even though I desperately wanted to, and I saw the slight curl of his mouth, and he knew exactly what I was avoiding.
He picked up my hand and placed it around his thick cock.
“You don’t need to hesitate,” he murmured. “If you want to touch me, you will always have my permission, okay?” He lifted his head, and even at the awkward angle, he managed to kiss the top of my nose.
I gave his cock a subtle squeeze. “I would say you’re unbearably smug about this, but I guess you have the right to be.”
He laughed out loud and turned, my hand dropping off him as he did. We lay on our sides facing each other.
“I need a minute,” he told me with a wry smile. “Then I’ll happily make you come again.”
I shook my head, the movement restricted by how we were lying. “I’m sleepy.”
His fingers trailed lightly from my temple to my jawline. “Well, I’ll wake you up when you’re ready.”
“Of course you’d be the insatiable boyfriend,” I said with a mock roll of my eyes, and then realized what I’d said and looked down as my cheeks burned.
Dante shifted, propping himself on one elbow so he could look down at me. His hair was damp with sweat, his chest rising and falling against mine. His gaze searched my face like he was memorizing every detail.
“What is it?” he asked quietly. “You think I’m not boyfriend material?”
“Um . . . I mean, we’re probably not there yet, right?”
“This,” he said, voice low, gravel scraping over velvet. “It can’t just be nothing. Agreed?”
My throat tightened. “It’s not nothing.”
“Then why won’t you look at me when you say boyfriend?” he pressed, because he knew there was always a but with me.
I pushed my hair back, stalling. “My dad would—”
“Fuck your dad,” Dante cut in, sharp and immediate. “You’re not him, Sav. You don’t need his permission to breathe.”
I flinched, but he caught my hand, thumb stroking over my knuckles until my pulse steadied again.
“I’m serious,” he said, softer now. “You’re not going to lie there and keep trying to find reasons this won’t work, because look at us. Tell me this doesn’t feel right.”
I closed my eyes, hating that I couldn’t lie to him. “It does. That’s what scares me.”
He leaned in, his forehead pressing to mine. “Then let it scare you. But don’t walk away.”
The breath I let out shook. “We’d have to be careful. So careful.”
His mouth curved, not into a grin but something steadier. “Careful’s not my style, Cole. But for you? I’ll play the long game. Whatever it takes.”
I looked up at him, and I let myself believe he meant it. “Okay.” I licked my lips. “So . . . you’re my boyfriend?” I asked shyly.
“Well, Sav, I’ve been inside you three times, and I plan on doing it every day, probably more than once, so if you don’t want to label it—” he kissed me softly — “tough. You’re labeled. Already told you, at least twice now, you’re mine.”
I started to laugh, turning and lying on my back as I giggled. “What’s the label?” I asked him playfully. “Property of Dante Spence?”