AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But I can’t help myself. This is the closest I’ve ever been to him, and hell, it’s probably the last time I’ll ever get to feel his arms on my body.
This is wrong.
Or maybe it’s right. Maybe Savage likes me?
It’s a tequila-addled thought, but I don’t care.
The door slams shut, and I’m carried upward. I stare up at the side of his face, and my finger moves to his beard. “This is nice,” I say. “Your beard. I like the way it looks on you.”
His breaths come quickly. I’m not imagining it, right?
“Your keys,” he says.
“Oh, they’re in my purse.” I struggle, trying to get it off my shoulder where I hooked it at some point during the night. I don’t remember when.
“I’ve got it.” He takes the purse from me, and gets the keys out of it. He opens my apartment door one-handed then carries me inside, tucking a hand over the back of my head to keep it safe.
Lights flare, and I blink and shut one eye. I catch a glimpse of my living room before I’m carried through to the bedroom and set down on the bed.
“Can you sit up?” he asks.
“Yeah, I think so.” I struggle upright, and he guides me. I sit on the bed, bracing my hands on the floral sheets, and watch as Savage carefully removes my shoes, his fingers brushing over the sensitive skin on my ankles and feet.
It’s obscene, this huge man bowed before me, removing my shoes, and it makes my heart thrum in my chest, and a terrible, naughty idea forms in my mind.
He’s so caring with me. So gentle. Surely that means something? It can’t just be because I’m part of the Taylor family or because I’m Cash’s sister, right?
“Savage?” I whisper.
He’s just removed my second shoe and set it aside. He frowns and looks up at me. His thighs are encased in jeans, and they look as if they barely fit, as if they’re so strong he might just burst out of his clothes. God, I wish that would happen.
No, I wish he would take them off for me.
“Can you help me with my clothes?” I ask.
“Hannah.”
“Please,” I say. “I don’t want to sleep in jeans and a sweater.”
His jaw works, and his pupils dilate.
“Please,” I repeat it sweetly.
He gets up and then he takes my hands and stands me upright. He holds me in place with one arm looped around my middle while he unbuttons my jeans and strips them down my legs. He lifts one foot and removes a pants leg, and then does the same with the other.
The cool air brushes against my skin. I struggle to remember which underwear I chose today. The pink lace? Please, let it be the pink lace.
Savage stands and keeps his gaze fixed on a spot on the wall.
“My sweater,” I say.
His strong, callused fingers brush over my stomach, and I inhale.
“That feels nice,” I whisper.
“Hannah.” It’s a warning.
“Please,” I murmur. “I’ll be good.”
