Page 65 of Freeing Savannah

Now, back in the hotel suite high above the sleeping city, her chest felt hollow.

She knew the truth about the Senator, now. About Tomas, about the part her music played in his image. He’d sent people to use a tour meant for unity and peace for his shady, underhanded deals. The concerts, the diplomatic receptions . . . She’d been the gilded mask worn over something rotten. That knowledge sat like ice in her veins.

She turned off the water and stepped out into the thick, humid air of the bathroom. A soft knock came at the door, followed by his voice.

“Savi?”

“I’m here,” she called, voice quieter than she intended.

When she stepped out, wrapped in a towel, he was waiting. Sawyer leaned against the doorframe, shirtless and looking at her like she wasn’t broken. Like she was still everything.

“I’m sorry the concert sucked,” she muttered.

“It didn’t,” he said gently.

“I skipped an entire phrase in the second movement. I couldn’t feel anything.” She dropped onto the bed, towel clutched to her chest. “I feel like a ghost of myself. I just . . . I need to feel something again.”

She looked up at him then, unable and too tired to hide it. The grief, the anger. But there was also the need. Not just for comfort. But to feel alive.

Sawyer didn’t say anything. He stepped closer and touched her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Then let me help.”

She reached for him, pulling him to her like she’d drown without his heat. There was no rush, just the slow, consuming press of lips, of skin on skin. He shed the towel from her body with reverence, and when he laid her down, his mouth followed the curve of her collarbone, down her ribs, and lower, worshipping the parts of her she was trying to reclaim.

It wasn’t frantic. It wasn’t sad. It was healing in motion—slow, reverent, and entirely focused on making her feel. His hands were steady where she’d felt unmoored. His body against hers was grounding.

He moved his way down her body, the anticipation of his intent making her blood heat and her core clench. He touched. He tasted. He gave. And he took.

His tongue worked magic, swiping through her folds, igniting things deep inside her she had never known existed. His hands seemed to be everywhere. Her breasts, where he tweaked her nipples until they were so hard they could cut glass. Her pussy, where he pushed a finger inside her, pumping her even as hismouth worked over her clit. The second finger joining the first inside her made her moan. The third, made her cry out. The orgasm made her scream his name.

She barely heard the rustle of fabric or the crinkle of foil as she lay in her wanton position, breathing so hard it drowned out other sounds. He covered her once more with his body, but she wanted something different this time.

For so many years, control had been taken away from her. It was time for her to take it back. She gave him a push, and he went willingly, rolling off her to lay on his back in the center of the bed. She rose to her knees, then threw one leg over him, straddling him. She felt him hard and throbbing against her core.

Lifting, she reached between them and stroked him a few times, drawing sounds from him that filled her with confidence. Holding him in place, she sank down, slowly. He slid easily inside her. Inch by inch. It felt like he was deeper than before, and it was exquisite torture. Fully hilted, she paused, reveling in the fullness. He growled as she leaned forward to kiss him. She knew what that sound meant. He needed her to start moving. But she wasn’t ready to give up the power of this type of control quite yet.

She kissed down his neck and over to his Adam’s apple. She didn’t know why, but she loved kissing him there. Especially when it drove him wild, and he attempted to thrust his hips against her.

Deciding to take pity on him, she sat up and rose off him until just the tip was still inside her. Then she plunged down, hard. They both groaned. She moved in earnest then. Up and down. Swiveling her hips with each downward movement. Grinding her clit against his pelvic bone. His hands lifted to cover her breasts. He played with her nipples, sending pleasure shooting straight down to her core.

Her movements grew faster and more disjointed as she began to tire out. He moved one hand to between her legs. To her clit, where he played her like a virtuoso.

“God, Savi. If you could only see what I see.” She opened her eyes to find him with his head lifted and his eyes fixed on where they were joined. “Every time you lift, I can see my cock covered in your juices. Sexiest thing ever.”

His words and the growl behind them sent shivers racing down her spine. She faltered, but he didn’t. He held her steady by the hips and took over, thrusting up into her. “Give yourself pleasure, Savi,” he growled.

“What?” she asked, confused by his meaning.

“Touch yourself.”

She hadn’t done anything like that before. At least, not in front of another person. But with him, she didn’t feel any shyness about getting herself off. Moving her hand to her clit, she began to stimulate herself in the way that pleased her. Sawyer’s eyes were fixated on her ministrations.

“So sexy,” he groaned.

Pleasure grew until her entire body tightened. Then she was flying. And not just because of her orgasm. She flew through the air as he rolled them until she was on her back under him. Her fingers dug into his back. His mouth met hers again and again. She gasped, clung, opened. He thrust deep, once, twice, three times, then followed her over, dragging another orgasm from her at the same time. She came undone beneath him with a quiet sob of release.

Later, wrapped in his arms, Savannah drifted in and out of sleep. They woke up twice in the wee hours of the morning, reaching for each other.

Afterwards, Sawyer held her securely against him, listening to her breathing even out, his thumb brushing lazy circles over her bare shoulder. The city glowed below them. But in thatroom, wrapped around each other, they found peace . . . if only for the night.

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