Chapter 17 Savannah #2
And then his mouth is on mine again, and I stop thinking about scars and lost time and all the reasons this is a terrible idea. Instead, I focus on the way his hands feel on my skin, the way he tastes like coffee and possibility, the way my body seems to remember exactly how to fit against his.
The back seat of the jeep is looking more appealing by the minute, and apparently Logan is thinking the same thing because he's already reaching for the door handle.
"Back seat," he says, his voice hoarse with need. "Now."
"Thank God," I breathe, because the center console is really starting to become a problem.
We move into the back seat slowly, deliberately, every movement charged with anticipation.
Logan pulls me onto his lap so I'm straddling his thighs.
The position puts us at eye level, and for a moment we just stare at each other, breathing hard, both of us seeming to realize that we're actually doing this.
"Savannah," he says, my name a prayer on his lips. "Are you sure?"
"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," I tell him, and it's the truth. Years of wondering, years of what-ifs, years of pretending I didn't still want him with every fiber of my being.
His hands slide up my back, finding the clasp of my bra with practiced ease. "I've thought about this so many times," he confesses, his voice thick with arousal. "What it would be like to touch you again. To have you in my arms."
The bra falls away, and his eyes go dark as they roam over my exposed skin. When his hands finally cup my breasts, thumbs stroking over my nipples, I throw my head back and moan.
"God, yes," I breathe, rolling my hips against him. "I've missed this. I've missed you."
He responds by taking one nipple into his mouth, and I cry out at the sensation. Years of celibacy, years of pretending no one else could make me feel the way Logan did, and now I'm reminded exactly why no one else ever measured up.
His mouth and hands work in perfect harmony, driving me higher and higher until I'm trembling in his arms, making sounds I'd forgotten I was capable of. When he switches to the other breast, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak, I actually see stars.
"Logan," I gasp, my hands fisting in his hair. "I need you. Please."
He lifts his head to look at me, his eyes dark with want and something deeper. "I need you too," he says, his voice breaking slightly. "I've needed you for so long."
My hands find his belt buckle, fumbling with shaking fingers. He helps me, lifting his hips so I can push his jeans down. Then he does the same with mine.
"Are you sure?" he asks one more time, his hands stilling on my hips.
"Logan Pierce," I say, looking directly into his eyes. "If you don't make love to me right now, I'm going to die of sexual frustration, and then you'll have to explain to Mrs. Patterson why her cat rescuer died in the back of your jeep."
He laughs, the sound husky and beautiful, and then he's moving, positioning me over him, his eyes never leaving mine as he slowly, carefully, reverently joins us together after all this time apart.
The sensation is overwhelming. Perfect. Like coming home to a place I never thought I'd see again.
"Hell," he breathes, his forehead falling against mine. "You feel even better than I remembered."
We move together slowly at first, relearning each other, rediscovering the rhythm we used to know by heart. Every touch, every caress, every whispered endearment builds the tension between us like a carefully tended fire.
"Harder," I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders. "Please, Logan. I need..."
"I know," he growls, his hands gripping my hips as he drives up into me. "I know what you need, baby. I've always known."
I can feel him swelling inside me, his knot beginning to form, and the sensation makes me cry out. "Logan..."
"You fit so perfectly," he breathes, his voice thick with wonder and possession. "Like you were made for me. Only me."
The possessiveness in his voice, the way his knot is locking us together, the primal satisfaction in his storm-gray eyes, it all combines to send me spiraling toward the edge faster than I expected.
My head falls back, a cry escaping my lips that would probably fog the windows if they weren't already completely steamed over.
"That's it," he encourages, one hand sliding between us to touch me where I need it most. "Let go for me. I want to watch you fall apart."
And I do. Years of tension, years of pretending I didn't need this, years of lying to myself about being fine without Logan Pierce, all of it shatters as I come apart in his arms.
But as the waves of pleasure crash over me, Logan’s mouth finds the curve of my neck, and I feel the sharp pressure of his teeth against my skin. Not quite a claiming bite, but close enough to make every omega instinct I have sing with satisfaction.
“I want to claim you, Savannah. Can I?”
It’s like I’ve lost all sense of reason. Being in his arms. Feeling his touch. I’ve missed him. More than I realized until now.
"Mine," he snarls against my throat, his teeth scraping over the sensitive skin. "You're mine, Savannah."
The possessive words combined with the pressure of his teeth and the fullness of his knot send me over the edge again, harder this time, my body clenching around him as he marks me.
He follows me with my name on his lips, his teeth finally breaking skin in the gentlest claiming bite I've ever felt, his hands gripping me like I'm his anchor in a storm, and for a moment the world disappears entirely.
When I finally come back to myself, I'm collapsed against his chest, both of us breathing hard, both of us trembling with aftershocks.
His arms are wrapped around me like he's afraid I might disappear, and I can feel his heart racing against my chest. His knot is still thick inside me, keeping us locked together, and there's a warm trickle of blood from where his teeth broke my skin.
"Holy shit," I finally manage, lifting my head to look at him.
"Yeah," he agrees, his voice hoarse. "Holy shit."
His thumb traces the bite mark on my neck, gentle and reverent. "I didn't mean to without discussing it with the pack first…I couldn't help myself."
"Good," I say, surprising myself with how much I mean it. "I've been waiting too long for you to bite me."
His eyes go dark at my confession. "Savannah..."
"Don't," I say, pressing my finger to his lips. “…it feels right."
And as we sit there in the steamy aftermath, still locked together, still breathing each other's air, his mark fresh on my throat, I realize that maybe, just maybe, second chances are worth the risk.
Thank you, universe, for making me lose my damn mind in a steamed-up jeep with the one man I swore I'd never let break my heart again.