Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 38333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
Five minutes. That's all that's left before I need to be gone.
Marcus's voice still echoes in my head. His certainty. His casual ownership. The way he said, "We both know how this ends, Savannah," like my life was already written and I just hadn't accepted the final chapter yet.
Fuck him.
I smooth down the white summer dress—shorter than I'd normally wear around the ranch, thin enough to show shadows of what's underneath. It's not about looking pretty. It's about access. Legion's hands finding my skin as quickly as possible. The dress coming off easily.
It's always about sex with him. Especially now. We don't talk anymore—not really. Not since he left without saying goodbye. Not since I slapped him and he pushed me against the wall, both of us panting with rage that turned into something else entirely.
I don't care. I’ll take Legion Kane any way I can get him. I just need him inside me. Need to feel something that isn't this crushing weight of loss and expectations.
I open my bedroom door, listening for any movement in the house. Nothing. Cash sleeps like the dead after his nightly bourbon. Wyatt's probably passed out in some corner. The staff all retire to their quarters by ten.
But this is just habit. There's no sneaking required. Not anymore.
Marcus literally gave me permission to sneak out and fuck Legion.
Not that I need it.
The night air hits my skin as I step outside, still warm from the day's heat. I don't bother with the side entrance to the barn—I use the main doors, flipping on lights as I go. Cassia looks up from her stall, ears pricked forward.
"Hey girl," I murmur, grabbing her bridle. "Time for our midnight ride."
I don’t bother with a saddle, never do when I’m on my way to the silo. Just lead her over to the mounting platform and get on.
I guide her toward the back pasture, making no attempt to hide in the shadows. The moon is nearly full tonight, lighting up the grass, making it silver. I don’t jump her over the fence tonight. Just open the gate, walk her through to freedom, and kick it closed with my toe after we’re out.
Once we're on the grass, I give Cassia her freedom too. She breaks into a slow canter, knowing the way as well as I do by now. The path to the silo is worn into my memory, into her muscles. We've made this journey so many times.
Twenty minutes later, the old grain silo appears on the horizon, a dark cylinder against the star-filled sky. I slow Cassia to a walk as we approach, giving her time to cool down. No Legion yet. His bike isn't here.
I dismount, my dress riding up as I slide down, then leave Cassia to graze, her reins fastened into the chinstrap of her bridle. She won't wander far.
Then I pace around the silo entrance, checking my watch again and again as the seconds tick towards midnight.
My body responds to the distinctive growl of his bike cutting through the quiet night. Instantly, heat is pooling between my legs. I stand still, watching as his headlight bounces over the uneven ground, growing brighter as he approaches.
Legion kills the engine but leaves the headlight on, illuminating me in its beam. I can see him clearly—leather cut over bare chest, jeans worn in all the right places, boots kicking up dust as he dismounts. He walks toward me slowly, deliberately, eyes never leaving mine. I don't move. Won't give him the satisfaction of seeing me eager, even though my heart is poundin’ so hard I can feel it in my throat.
When he reaches me, he doesn't speak. Doesn't smile. Just grabs my face with both hands and crashes his mouth against mine.
Everything ignites. My hands are in his hair, pulling him closer. His are already sliding up my thighs, finding the edge of my underwear. We stumble backward until my shoulders hit the metal wall of the silo.
"No talking," he growls against my mouth, as if I was about to start a conversation.
I bite his lower lip in response, hard enough to make him hiss. "Shut up and fuck me."
His hands are everywhere at once—ripping my underwear down my legs, shoving my dress up around my waist, squeezing my breasts through the thin fabric. I'm fumbling with his belt, desperate to feel him. The zipper gives way under my fingers and I push his jeans down just enough to free him.
His cock is already hard, hot and heavy in my hand. I stroke him roughly, watching his eyes darken.
"Get on your knees," he commands, voice low and dangerous.
I sink down in front of him, the cool grit of the ground biting into my bare knees. He reaches down, pulling on the hem of my dress. Yanking it over my head and tossing it aside.