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My right hand finds my cock without me decidin' to. Already hard again. Already needin' more. I wrap my fist around it and start strokin' slow while I eat her, the rhythm matchin' what my tongue is doin', both of us buildin' toward the same edge from different directions.

Her thighs are shakin' now. The grip on my hair gone frantic. She's sayin' my name in pieces, broke apart at the syllables—Le—gion—Le⁠—

I suck harder. Stroke faster. Her hips roll up off the bench into my mouth and I follow her and don't let her get away from it.

She comes first by half a second.

Her whole body locks. Her thighs crush my skull. She cries out loud enough for the whole house to hear it and I don't stop, I keep goin', workin' her through every pulse of it—and then I'm right behind her, my fist pumpin', comin' across the wet tile with a groan that I bury against her inner thigh.

For a long minute, neither of us moves. That's all there is—me on my knees, face pressed against the inside of her thigh, chest heavin', my fist still loose around my cock. The water's still runnin'. Steam risin'. The whole world outside this shower stall doesn't exist and I don't want it to.

I can feel her pulse against my cheek. Slow now. Slowin' down. Her fingers still tangled in my hair but gentle, just restin' there, like she forgot they were. Like she forgot everything for a minute. Like me.

I stay down there 'til my breathin' levels. 'Til the shake in my legs settles.

Then I get up. Take my time doin' it. My knees are shot from the tile and I don't give a damn.

I get her up too. She sways a little when she stands and I catch her without thinkin', both hands on her waist, and she lets me. Leans her forehead into my chest and just breathes. I don't say anythin'. Don't need to.

We wash each other. That's the only way to say it. She soaps her hands and I soap mine and we go slow, takin' the whole mess of what we just did and rinsin' it off in pieces. The steam thickens. The soap smells clean. And for a minute—just one, just this one—the debt and the dirt and the three dead years between us don't exist.

Just the water. Just her hands on my skin. Just mine on hers.

We step out together into the cold air of the bathroom and it hits like a slap after all that steam.

Savannah grabs two towels off the heated rack and hands me one without lookin'. I wrap it around my waist. Then I take the towel from her hands and rub it down her body.

She takes my towel when I'm done and runs it down my arms, across my chest, careful around the brand. Always careful around the brand. Even now, months past the worst of it, she treats that scar like it's still tender.

We leave the towels on the floor.

The master bedroom is dark except for a strip of moonlight comin' through the gap in the curtains, layin' itself across the foot of the bed like it belongs there. The sheets are cold when I pull 'em back. Savannah slides in first and I follow, and before I can settle she's already tuckin' herself under my arm, face pressed into the side of my chest, one hand flat over my heart.

I pull her in close.

She's warm now. All that heat from the shower still sittin' in her skin. I rest my chin on top of her head and stare up at the dark ceiling of this house that isn't mine, in this town that eats people like me for sport, and I let my breathing slow.

Her hand rises and falls with my chest.

Outside, the creek moves over rocks. The Tetons sit invisible in the dark. Everything out there is clean, and cold, and indifferent.

In here it's just this.

Just her.

Just the weight of her against my ribs like she was always meant to be there.

CHAPTER 10

Late-morning sunshine streaming in through the bedroom curtains doesn't faze me anymore. Waking up late has become my new thing. A new normal.

It doesn't matter that Eleanor hated a late riser, had opinions about every hour of the day, had a way of making you feel like sleepin' past seven was a moral failing, a character flaw, proof of somethin' rotten in you.

Because Eleanor is gone and the warmth of Legion Kane's body is pressin' up against me with an addictive pull the likes of which I've never felt before.

I open one eye.

The war between good and evil rages across his long, muscular back. He's flat on his stomach, head turned away from me, arms bent at the elbows, forearms and hands tucked under the pillow.