Page 33 of Dirty Delivery

Chapter Twenty-Five

Rylan

I don’t see any chance of me sleeping tonight, not that I expected to. My head’s a mess, but it’s nothing compared to what Savannah’s been through. We’re both sitting in the kitchen, the faint hum of the heating system fills the silence between us. She’s nursing her tea, her fingers curl around the mug as if it’s the only thing grounding her. I’ve barely touched mine. My attention keeps drifting to her—I’ve never seen anyone nearly as beautiful as her.

She doesn’t say much, but the weight of everything she’s holding in is written across her face. There’s a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. I can’t help but wonder what’s goingthrough her mind, what thoughts keep her up when the rest of the world is silent. She is so strong—a resilience that’s impossible to miss, even in the way she sits, shoulders drawn back as if she’s daring the world to throw more at her and I hate that I can’t do more to take the weight off her.

There’s a quiet elegance about the way she moves, even now, wrapped in that worn blanket she dragged from the living room. Her face is soft but striking; her green eyes hold a depth that could drown a man if he stared too long. She’s breathtaking, and she doesn’t even realize it. It’s infuriating and intoxicating all at once.

“Since we both won’t be getting any sleep tonight,” I break the silence, “want to watch a movie?”

She looks up, eyebrows raised as if she is surprised by my suggestion. For a moment, she hesitates, then finally nods. “Might as well try to distract myself.”

I nod and stand, motioning for her to follow me to the living room. The soft glow of a lamp spills out into the hallway as we settle on the couch where I keep a respectable distance. I pick up the remote to scroll through options.

“Anything in particular?” I ask.

“Something mindless,” she says with a faint smile. “I don’t think I can handle anything serious right now.”

I land on some rom-com I’ve never seen before, but it seems harmless enough. The movie starts, and for a while, we sit in silence. She’s curled up at the far end of the couch, her focus on the screen, the blanket she brought from the kitchen draped over her legs. But I haven’t the faintest idea of what is happening in the movie I selected. My attention is on her.

After a few minutes, she glances at the empty space between us, then at me. Before I can stop myself, I pat the cushion next to me.

“Come closer,” I say. “I don’t bite.”

Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t argue. Instead, she slides over and settles against my side. The blanket shifts with her, and she carefully spreads it over both of us. The warmth of her body next to mine is intoxicating, and I already regret this decision.

To make matters worse, I reach up and start gently stroking her hair. It’s soft, impossibly soft, and I let the strands slip through my fingers. She leans into the touch, relaxing against me, and my chest tightens. I should stop. I know I should stop.

But I don’t.

Her back is pressed against my side, and I can feel every subtle movement she makes. My thoughts begin to spiral, wandering places they shouldn’t. Her scent surrounds me, a mix of vanilla and something uniquely her. My pulse quickens, and before I know it, my body betrays me. Heat surges through me, and I feel my pants grow uncomfortably tight as my arousal intensifies. If I stay like this much longer, the zipper is bound to leave an imprint on my cock.

Fuck.

I shift slightly, in hopes of trying to create space that doesn’t exist. My inner dialogue is in full-blown panic at this point.Get it together, Doyle. She’ll notice. Any second now, she’ll notice.

But she doesn’t move. If anything, she presses closer, tucking her legs tighter under her and letting out a soft sigh. My jaw tightens as I fight to stay still.

This is fine,I tell myself.She doesn’t know. She doesn’t need to know.

Then she shifts again, just enough to brush against me, and I swear under my breath. My hand stills in her hair, and I force myself to focus on anything else. The movie. The pattern on the blanket. The goddamn heating vent humming in the corner. Anything but the way her body feels against mine.

“Rylan?” Her voice call,soft, uncertain.

I clear my throat, keeping my tone steady. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay? You’ve gone all tense.” She glances up at me. Her green eyes search mine.

I force a smile, looking as strained as it feels, I’m sure. “I’m fine. Just . . . thinking.”

Her brow furrows, and for a moment, I think she’s going to press me. Instead, she turns her attention back to the screen, leaning her head against my shoulder. The movement is innocent, casual, but it sends my heart racing all over again.

This was a mistake,I think, even as I bring my arm around her to pull her closer. If she notices the way my body reacts to hers, she doesn’t say anything. But I can’t shake the feeling that she’s going to figure it out sooner or later.

And when she does, I’m not sure how I’m going to explain myself. The last thing I want is for her to think I invited her to watch a movie just to get her into bed. She’s been through too much, and I just wanted to give her a moment of normalcy. Now, with the way my body is reacting, I’m afraid it’s sending the wrong message. How do I make her see it’s not just desire—it’s about her?

Savannah

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