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He’d come here looking for justice and found something better.
Salvation.
“You okay?” she asked, tilting her head. All that hair, silver in the moonlight, fell over her shoulder, and he couldn’t have walked away from her if he was on fire. There was simply no way.
“You’re a goddess,” he said. Her answering smile was indulgent, doubtful, and he knew that she didn’t believe him. Didn’t see all of her own beauty.
“And you’re very far away.” She smiled. “Come back to bed.”
He crawled over her body, pressing kisses to her knees, blowing air into the damp curls between her thighs, licking her belly button.
“You don’t believe me?” he asked, stroking the hair from her face.
“About what?” she panted, arching herself against the leg he pressed between hers. He pushed harder against her and she groaned, grinding herself against him.
“That you’re a goddess.”
“I have nice hair,” she conceded.
Laughter gushed out of him. “You’re stunning. Every inch of you.”
“Matt.” She shook her head. Her modesty doubled his lust. She didn’t know. She had no idea.
I’m going to have to show her.
His blood pounded and his mouth watered at the thought.
Retracing his steps, he trailed his tongue along those stunning collarbones, kissed his way across her breasts. Found every rib with his lips.
A kiss on her belly button and he slid down, easing open her thighs.
“Matt,” she sighed, pushing her fingers into his hair, scratching and petting him as he made his way to her secret heart and settled in to make love to the damp, hot mystery that was Savannah O’Neill.
SAVANNAH CALLED IN SICK the next day for the first time since Katie had gotten the chicken pox when she was a year old.
“You can handle things there, Janice,” Savannah said.
“Well, sure I can,” Janice agreed. “I’m just surprised is all. You don’t sound too sick.”
“It’s a stomach thing,” Savannah said and shot Matt a dirty look while he pressed kisses to the trembling skin of her belly. His chuckle blew hot air across incredibly sensitive flesh.
“I…ah…gotta go, Janice. I’ll talk to you soon.” She hung up Matt’s cell phone and glared at him, his rumpled hair so dark against her and the white sheets. His eyes so green, his smile so warm.
A knot of something hard and sad sat in her throat and she swallowed past it, not wanting sadness. Not now. Not until the moment Matt walked away. Until then, she wanted to absorb every single ounce and fleck of joy she could.
“You’re in trouble,” she told him, laughing as he tickled her belly button with his tongue. She kicked her leg over him and rolled him to his back.
The condoms, two fewer than before, were in reach and she tore another one from the strip.
“No,” Matt joked, palming her breasts. “Not that. Anything but that.”
She slid the condom on him, her fingers running over him until he groaned, his hands digging into her skin.
They were both covered in little bruises and marks, physical proof of how out of control they’d gotten last night.
Proof of how out of control she was.
This is going to hurt, she told herself. When he leaves it’s going to hurt like nothing ever has.
But she didn’t care. She’d take the pain later if it ensured the pleasure now. Because right now, she felt as though she’d die without the pleasure.
“I’m afraid so,” she said, using her best librarian voice and his eyes flared. “You’ve been very bad, Matt Woods.”
“Yeah?” He groaned and she slid down on him, until she could feel him in her heart. He rocked upward, and she moaned, sitting back on him, her thoughts scattering. “How bad can you be, Savannah?” he asked, his voice like honey.
She leaned down over him, her breasts against his hot chest, her tongue licking at his mouth. “Put on your glasses,” she said. “And I’ll show you.”
“YOU CALLING IN SICK AGAIN?” Margot asked on Friday, as they waited for the coffee to brew.
Savannah nodded and cleared her throat, careful not to look at Margot, or let her look too closely at her. “Stomach thing,” she said, cupping her coffee mug to her chest like a secret.
