Chapter 8 #2
I swallow hard and weigh my next words carefully.
“Seems like the joke’s on him, then,” I say.
“You are Savage if you think about it. You’re fierce and wild.
Untamed. Good in every way. From what I’ve heard, he was never kind and loving, caring and considerate.
He never raised you to be any of those things, and that’s exactly what you are.
At least, that’s how you’ve been to me.”
I meet his eyes, and the next thing I know, he reaches for my hand. “Come here,” he says softly.
I crawl back toward the top of the bed and kneel beside his legs, facing him.
“Is that what you think of me?” he whispers. Our heads are lowered, and I can feel the soft rasp of his callused hand against my cheek.
“I believe that about you,” I say, correcting him. “And more, Savage. So much more.”
His hand slides from my cheek to underneath my hair. He cups the back of my neck. “Claire…” My name on his lips sounds like music, like the prettiest song I’ve heard in a long, long time. “I’ve been wanting… I don’t want you to feel like you have to… I…”
I stop his stammering with a finger over his lips. “Savage, I want to kiss you more than I want to breathe.”
He swallows so hard his lips tense beneath my fingers.
Then he takes the hand that’s behind my neck and pulls me close to him.
I lick my lower lip, excitement flaring deep in my belly.
At the same time, my heart is racing. Once I kiss this man…
If I kiss this man… How will that change what he is? What he wants?
I don’t have time to worry because I feel his nose nudge mine.
I lift my face, so close to his I can see the dark, rich chocolate of his brown eyes.
He’s so beautiful. Thick lashes frame his eyes, and his stubble rakes across the tender skin of my fingertips…
Oh God. I’m holding his face, stroking the sharp edges of his jaw with my thumbs.
My breathing catches in my chest, and I swallow.
“Claire.” My name is on his lips. The soft puffs of his breath tease my lips, and I lick them again, my eyelids fluttering shut.
The heat of his large hands on the back of my neck radiates down my back, and I arch toward him, knowing that what we’re about to do will change everything.
I wish my brain could process thoughts, could protect me or stop me, but something stronger than my mind and more powerful than my fear takes hold.
“Savage,” I whisper back, and then it’s me who’s making the first move.
It’s my tongue that licks across his thick lower lip.
It’s my gasp at the electricity that flares between us when I feel that soft, plump flesh under my tongue.
He tastes…so good. So sweet. I swallow and open my eyes, my lids feeling heavy and soft all at the same time. “Savage, please…”
I want him to want this as much as I do, and he answers my plea with his lips. He’s leaning forward on the bed, my neck cupped in his firm hands, his mouth covering mine.
“Fuck…” he groans against my lips, “Fuck me, Claire, you’re so…so…”
But his words disappear when I open my mouth.
The gentle press of his lips against mine transforms into something deeper, something so real, so powerful, everything in my world narrows to him.
His tongue sweeping my mouth. His lips claiming mine, tasting me, exploring every part of my mouth with such hunger that our teeth clack together.
“On my lap?” His words are a question, an invitation. One that I feel able to accept or decline—he’s giving the power of what this becomes over to me.
I answer it without hesitation. He moves the laptop to the bedside table, and I climb onto his lap, my knees bent so I can run my hands along the perfectly shaped muscles of his shoulders as I kiss him.
A welcoming heat pools between my legs, and my belly feels full and hungry all at once.
I kiss him, tasting his mouth, working my fingers along the fabric of his T-shirt.
It’s like my hands have never touched anything so perfect, so fascinating.
I can’t decide what to touch and where to feel him because everything—the long waves of his hair, the rough outgrowth of stubble on his face, the arms that are so strong but hold me with perfect pressure against him…
I want it all. I can’t believe how he feels and that he’s real.
But he’s here and I want this. I want him.
I kiss him deeper, and I can’t help the tiny moans of pleasure, the needy, arousal-soaked gasps that slip between my lips every time we pause for air.
I pull away from his mouth and tenderly kiss his chin, the still-bruised jaw that’s got to be sore.
I run my fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly with my nails and tugging his face closer to mine when I bring my lips back to his.
We take turns exploring each other’s mouths, but his hands seem frozen in place, while mine are touching everything—his shoulders, his arms, his head. I pull back, my nostrils flaring as I try to drink in every scent of him—his cologne, his soap, the natural scent of his skin.
“Savage, what’s wrong?” I whisper. I look down at his hands. They’re planted like statues on my hips. I can feel his arousal, thick and hard, springing up between us, so I don’t think it’s that he isn’t attracted to me.
“I want you so goddamn bad,” he grunts, his eyes flaring with sparks of honesty and something else, some emotion I can’t place. “You don’t have to do this, Claire. I…”
“Is that what you think?” I pull my hands back to myself and lean a little farther back so we can look each other in the eye. “That I’m paying you back?”
My body grows cold, and I move to get up off his lap, when his hands clamp down harder.
“No. Fuck no. That’s…well, yeah. That’s what I’m afraid of. You don’t owe me this, Claire.”
I guess we were gonna have to have this conversation eventually.
I look over at the baby monitor. The white noise machine in Aurora’s room is soft and steady, and I can see in the color image that she’s sound asleep, peacefully dreaming.
Her little mouth is open, and she looks healthy. Cared for. Safe.
I point at it. “You gave me and my daughter everything when we had nothing. When I was nothing. I’m still nothing,” I tell him.
“I have nothing to give you but what’s in here.
” I hold a hand over my heart. “And this.” I lean forward and kiss him lightly, then pull back and meet his eyes.
“Is that enough for you, Savage? Am I enough for you? Scars and all?”
“Fuck yes,” he hisses, no hesitation in his answer. “But if we do this, if we go where I sure as fuck want to go, it will change everything. Can you handle that?”
I shrug. “I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. “But can you say for sure that you can handle it? Maybe we’re two broken pieces that, together, make a whole. I don’t know. You can’t know either, not now. But if I tell you I want you, I want this—at least for right now—is that enough?”
“More than enough,” he growls.
I don’t know if this is the worst decision I’ve ever made or the only good one.
But my brain is still turned off, and my fears are caged like the pounding of my demanding heart.
Savage is a good man. He hasn’t hurt me.
I’ve never seen him hurt anyone—except maybe the assholes who roughed him up.
Even before Anthony, I knew that life didn’t come with a guarantee.
A promise of sunshine and rainbows and happily ever after.
But I’d have to be dead in the ground not to want this—this man, this chance—the hope of something that maybe isn’t perfect. But that’s enough. Maybe even more than enough.
“Kiss me, Savage,” I beg him. “And don’t hold back. At least for tonight, I’m yours.”