Page 15 of Dirty Delivery

Savannah

The first thing I notice when I wake up is the heat. Not the suffocating, too-many-blankets kind, but the warm, solid kind that makes me feel cocooned and safe. My sleepy brain clings to it for a blissful moment before reality punches through.

Why am I so warm?

My eyes fly open, and it all comes rushing back. The storm. Rylan. The moment I asked him to stay. I glance down and see his arm draped over my waist, his body pressed against mine, and his face . . . oh God, his face is right there. Peaceful. Relaxed. Too close.

“What the hell?” I hiss, shoving his arm off me as I bolt upright.

Rylan stirs, blinking groggily. His hair is a mess, and he looks impossibly good for someone who just woke up. “Morning to you, too,” he mumbles, his voice husky and deep.

“What are you doing?” I demand, crossing my arms.

He frowns, sitting up slightly. “Sleeping?”

“You were holding me!”

“You asked me to stay,” he says, his expression deadpan. “What did you expect? Me to sleep in the corner like a dog?”

“Yes!” Grabbing a pillow, I throw it at his head with all the strength I have. He catches it easily, smirking like this is all some big joke.

“Good to know your expectations are so high.” He chuckles before tossing the pillow back onto the bed.

“Get out,” I say, pointing to the door.

“No.” He just sits there, leaning back against the headboard.

I blink. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean no, you wanted me here. I’m staying.” He cocky grin widening in triumph.

“I don’t want you here anymore!” I climb out of bed with as much fury as I can muster.

“Sounds like ayouproblem,” he replies with a shrug.

I grab the other pillow and launch it at him. This one catches him square in the chest, but it doesn’t faze him. He just laughs, the sound deep and infuriatingly sexy.

“Rylan,” I growl his name as I march toward the door.

But before I can fling it open, he’s there. His hand presses against it, holding it shut. I spin around, my chest heaving with anger. “Move.” I shove against him, trying to push him back.

He doesn’t budge. “Make me,” he challenges, his voice sultry and teasing.

I shove at him, but he catches my wrist in one swift movement. He pins the captured limb above my head, and it leaves me feeling caged, ensnared by my captor. I glare up at him, but his smirk doesn’t falter. “You done?” he asks.

“Not even close.” I try to pull my wrist free, but he’s too strong, and when I try again, he grabs my other wrist and pins it next to the first.

“You’re feisty in the morning.” Leaning in slightly, his breath brushes against my cheek, and my resolve wavers.

“Let me go,” I say, but the words lack conviction.

Instead of responding, he kisses me. Hard. Fierce. It’s not a question; it’s a statement, and I hate how much I love it. My body reacts before my brain can catch up, and I melt into his embrace.

His hands release my wrists, and before I know it, I’m wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He lifts me effortlessly, and my legs instinctively slide around his waist as he carries me back to the bed.

He stares at me for a moment, his gaze roaming over me, lingering on my bare skin. His eyes darken, and I feel exposed in a way that’s both thrilling and terrifying. When his gaze settles on my chest, his expression shifts to something hungrier.

“Rylan . . .” I start to reach for the waistband of his pants, but he cuts me off.

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