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I take the wine glass from her hand and set it down.
“Savage?”
“Come here.”
I take her in my arms, placing one around her waist and bringing her close to my body, and then I sway her on the spot beside the fire. She rests her head against my chest, her hand in mine as we dance to the song. Slowly, quietly, beside the fire, where no one will ever see us. Where no one will ever find out.
The song is over too quickly, and afterward, I lead Hannah down the hall to the bathroom. She hesitates before she steps inside.
“Thank you,” she says. “For everything.”
Anything for you, Princess.
I grunt instead of saying it, then leave her to shower.
Twenty-One
HANNAH
I cuddle up in front of the fire while I wait for Savage to get done showering. I’m deliciously mellow, even after running out into the rain, and my heart feels as if it’s going to beat its way right out of my chest. It’s the weirdest sensation—being warm, comfortable and relaxed but on edge.
I replay what Savage said to me, what he did to me, over and over again.
It feels as if we had sex, but he hasn’t even touched me yet. Not in the way I want. We haven’t even kissed.
Instead, he teased me relentlessly as payback for last night and this morning. And I ruined yet another pair of yoga pants.
“I’m going to ruin you.” The words I will never forget.
And the reason why I’m not wearing underwear or a bra, and I’ve opted to put on only Savage’s warm fuzzy sweater.
He thinks I’m playing with fire? Two can play at this game, and I don’t care how badly he thinks he’s going to ruin me. I want him. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my entire life.
The shower shuts off down the hall, and I hurriedly arrange the blanket over my legs so he can’t tell how naked I am.
A few minutes later, Savage enters the living room, and my mouth goes dry.
His hair is still damp from the shower. He’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt that hugs his muscles, showing off his tapered waist, the bulk of his shoulders and chest, and his strong arms. He's wearing a different pair of sweatpants, but they leave nothing to the imagination.
“Warm?” I ask.
Savage nods. “Are you hungry?”
“Not at the moment. Why don’t you come sit down?” I pat the sofa beside me.
Savage frowns.
Ugh. How am I this cringy? “Uh, I just meant that it would be nice to sit with you after?—”
“Hannah,” he says, “if you think I’m going to fool around with you on the sofa, you’re sorely mistaken.”
I blush. “Excuse you, but you were the one who just held me by the throat and made me moan your name repeatedly.”
“That’s because I can’t touch you.”
“Are you saying you want me to touch myself?” I ask.
His jaw drops.
