Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
But right now, she's mine. All mine.
Her hips rise to meet my mouth. I hold her steady, my hands spanning her waist as I lick into her, finding the rhythm that makes her breath catch. She's so wet against my tongue, so ready. Her hands fist in the sheets, then in my hair, then back to the sheets.
"Legion," she breathes, and my name in her mouth sounds like something holy.
I feel her getting close, her thighs tensing around my head, her breathing shallow and quick. I pull back, not ready for this to end. Not ready to let her go.
She makes a sound of protest that turns into a sigh as I move up her body, kissing my way back to her mouth. She tastes herself on my lips, and it makes her moan.
I yank my sweats down, position myself between her legs, the head of my cock sliding against her slickness. Her eyes lock with mine as I push inside, slow and steady, until I'm buried. "Fuck," I whisper against her temple, overwhelmed by the feel of her around me. Tight, and hot, and perfect.
I start to move, each thrust measured and deep. Not rushing. Not chasing. Just feeling every inch of her wrapped around every inch of me.
Her hands slide down my back, tracing the angels and demons inked into my skin. Touching the scars, the stories, the marks of a life lived hard, and fast, and without grace.
But there's grace here now. In the way she touches me. In the way she sees me.
I watch her face as I move inside her. The way her lips part. The flutter of her eyelashes. The flush that spreads across her cheeks and down her throat.
"Savannah," I whisper, her name the only prayer I know.
She arches beneath me, taking me deeper, her legs wrapping around my waist. I slide my hand between us, finding that spot that makes her cry out. My thumb circles it in time with my thrusts, and I feel her start to tighten around me.
"Look at me," I tell her, and she does, her eyes finding mine in the darkness. "Stay with me."
She nods, holding my gaze as her body begins to pulse around my cock. I watch every flicker of pleasure cross her face, every gasp and sigh and silent scream. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
I follow her over the edge, spilling into her with a groan that comes from somewhere deep inside me. Somewhere I thought was empty until she filled it.
Savannah fits against me like she was carved from my rib. She curls into my side, her head finding that hollow beneath my shoulder where it's always belonged. Her breathing slows, but her fingers don't. They keep moving, tracing the tally marks etched near my collarbone like she's trying to count them. Like she's trying to understand what each one means.
She won't. Nobody does. Not even Diesel, who's seen me add to them.
One mark for each time I should've died but didn't. One mark for each debt I'll never repay. One mark for each sin I've committed that can't be washed away.
I've stopped counting. Just keep adding.
Her fingers finally still against my skin. Her breathing deepens, evens out. Sleep claims her while I'm still wide awake, my mind racing like an engine redlining.
She clings to me even in sleep. Her arm draped across my chest, leg hooked over mine, like she's afraid I'll disappear if she lets go.
And she should be.
Fear's the only rational response to a man like me.
I stare at the ceiling, watching shadows from the trees outside dance across it. This room is bigger than my entire trailer. The sheets smell like fabric softener, not cigarettes and motor oil. Everything here is clean, soft, expensive.
Everything except me.
Her grip tightens in her sleep, fingers digging into my ribs. I recognize fear when I feel it. Been the cause of it often enough. She's afraid—of what I mean, what I bring, the darkness that follows me like a shadow. The danger I carry isn't something you can lock outside with fancy security systems and gates.
It's in my blood. In my name.
The tattoos across my back press into the mattress beneath me. The angels, the demons, the eternal war—all of them watching, judging. Reminding me of every decision I've made that led me here. Every failure. Every inevitable betrayal waiting to happen.
The archangel on my chest seems to burn, like it knows I don't belong here. Like it knows I'm just pretending. Playing house in a mansion while my brothers at the club turn their backs on me. While Cash watches from the shadows, waiting for me to fuck up so he can take Mercy for good.
While Savannah dreams of a life I can never give her.
I don't sleep. Don't even try. Just lie there counting her breaths instead, memorizing the rhythm. One-two-three-pause. One-two-three-pause. Storing it away for the long nights ahead when I'll be alone again, staring at a different ceiling, remembering how it felt to hold something clean, and whole, and good in these bloodstained hands.