Page 11

LEVI

Grace doesn’t hesitate. Not when I kiss her. Not when I touch her. Not when I slide my hands beneath her thighs and lift her off the porch swing like I’ve done this a hundred times before.

Because I have, just not with her.

She wraps her arms around my shoulders without question, legs snug at my waist. I walk us across the yard with that same slow swagger I always lean into when I want to feel in control, kissing her between steps like it’s the only thing keeping us upright.

The barn’s closest. It’s secluded, dry, and comfortable enough for what we’re both looking for. I know where the hay’s softest, where the shadows fall long, and where the doors creak unless you’re careful.

Conway’s going to be pissed. No question. He’ll call this recklessness. He’ll say it puts our story at risk, the family at risk. He’ll tell me Grace needs to be handled like a professional or a guest, not a woman or a sex object.

But I don’t think long-term. That isn’t my lane. That’s Conway’s, or Dylan’s, or Corbin’s.

I’m the one who keeps it light. Who smiles through the hard shit. Who knows exactly how to make a woman melt with a joke and a hand placed just right.

That’s what I’m good at.

It’s what I’m built for, and if Grace spends any more time here, that’s what she’ll see.

I might as well show her early.

It’s warmer inside the barn and thick with hay and the faint scent of horses and leather.

I set Grace down gently after I press her back into the wooden beam inside the door and kiss her slowly.

I want to make sure she remembers this part later.

She arches into me, fingers already in my hair, mouth parted and eager, and God, she tastes good.

Like bourbon, heat, and, sweet words. Like county fair cotton candy and first kisses.

Her body’s all curves and contradictions; firm where she’s sure of herself, soft where she’s still hiding, and I want all of it, not because I think I deserve it, but because I know how to give her what she’s asking for without her needing to say a word.

She has a hole inside that needs filling, like I do. A wound that won’t heal but needs salve.

She moans into my mouth, and it’s a sound I want burned into my brain. That sound means I’m doing something right. That I’m wanted. Useful.

Her hands are under my shirt, dragging it up, and I pull it over my head and toss it onto a bale, soaking in the hunger of her expression like a drug.

I kiss her harder as her nails rake lightly down my chest, and I groan into her neck, that pulse of pleasure mixing with something older, heavier. Something I’ve spent a lifetime pushing down.

Because this is what I know. Skin. Noise. Heat. Flesh on flesh. This is where I shine. I don’t have to explain myself. I’m more than just the kid who didn’t know better or the man who never figured out how to be more than eager hands and empty promises.

Her mouth moves to my collarbone, so open and warm. I nearly flinch because it feels so good to be accepted this way by an impressive woman like her.

I drop to my knees, ready to worship. My hands slide up her thighs, slow, steady, and she breathes out my name like a secret.

And then she says it.

“You don’t have to.”

The words hit like a slap. I blink up at her, stunned. “What?”

“You don’t have to do that,” she says again, gentler now. “It’s okay.”

I stare at her, and everything inside me freezes. The words hit wrong, cutting sideways across my focus, and for a second, I stare up at her, confused. But then the shame hits. That old, familiar hollowness clawing up from the base of my spine.

You don’t have to.

God, if she knew how many times I’ve heard those words in reverse.

How many times I said I’m fine when I wasn’t?

How many times I let someone use me for a moment and smiled through it like I liked it?

How many times I let myself believe that this—this physical skill, this performance—is the only part of me anyone wants or values?

I laugh, once, low, sharp, and unamused.

“Grace, darlin’,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “I’m gonna say this one time and one time only. Never sleep with a man who isn’t prepared to get on his knees for you. Ever again.”

Because what kind of man doesn’t? What kind of man doesn’t understand that this is the point? This is how you make a woman feel wanted and desired. This is how you breathe her hunger into your chest and taste her pleasure from the inside.

This is the only part I’ve ever been sure of .

She trembles when I show her what she deserves every time, because even though I can’t offer her stability, or trust, or anything that lasts, I can give her this.

And I do.

She tastes like rain and heat and woman , and I lose myself in it, pinning her down when her body undulates, soaking in her whimpers like a drug.

I push her shirt up over her head, and she lets me, arms raised in surrender, her breath catching when I trail my hands down the bare skin of her waist. She’s flushed and warm and so damn responsive. A woman who doesn’t hold back when she wants something.

And right now, she wants me.

She sinks her fingers into my hair again as I kiss down her throat, slow and deliberate, pausing at every place that makes her sigh. I want to map her. I want to leave fingerprints on every part of her that aches. Maybe then she’ll remember this as more than a moment.

Maybe I will, too.

I take her apart, slowly, reverently, like a puzzle I already know how to solve. Her thighs tremble. Her hands grab at anything they can reach: my hair, the blanket, the curve of my shoulder. She cries out my name like it means something, like I mean something.

And for a little while, I believe it.

Until I press my hand over her heart and realize that some smoke and mirrors shit is going on here.

“Grace,” I whisper, kissing her hip and licking her salty skin. “I know you haven’t come yet.”

“I did,” she lies.

I kiss her again, then lick across her belly and lower until the tip of my tongue rests on her swollen clit. She moans, and I pull back.

“Your heart is too quiet,” I say. “You don’t have to pretend. I’m not in a rush. Let me learn what it takes to make you come apart.”

Our eyes meet across the length of her body, and hers seem glassy. “I can’t,” she whispers, shame flattening her expression. “I never have.”

Fuck. She sounds wrecked. Heartbroken. Have I uncovered some secret shame she’s hidden beneath the war paint, pristine clothes, and knowing smiles?

“You never have? Ever?”

“Never with a man.”

“By yourself?”

She looks away, focusing on a thick nail protruding from the wooden wall. “While I’m sleeping.”

I freeze for a minute, her words taking a moment to digest. “Only while you’re sleeping?”

She nods, still unable to look at me.

I kiss my way up her body, slowly, deliberately, until I’m braced above her, her breath warm against my mouth, her eyes wide and searching.

I kiss her lips until I feel her relax beneath me, and while I do it, I formulate a plan.

There’s no way I’m fucking this girl without making her come first. I won’t be another dude in a long line of selfish assholes who’ve let her pretend her pleasure.

I cup her cheeks with my big, rough palms and kiss the tip of her nose. “Do you trust me?”

She should say no. She barely knows me, but we’re here in the dark, touching and kissing. There has to be some level of trust between us, however small.

“Yes,” she whispers.

“So, let me try. Teach me what feels good.”

She swallows so hard it makes a clicking sound and sniffs like she’s trying to inhale the tears she hasn’t let fall.

I roll us onto our sides and ball up my shirt to keep her legs parted.

Grace lets me kiss down her body, moaning when I suck her tight little nipples and squeeze her firm breasts, gasping when my tongue finds the swollen button of her clit.

“Relax,” I tell her. “Close your eyes. Forget that I’m here. Forget that it’s me touching you. Let your body find the way.”

Her fingers thread into my hair as I trace slow circles around her clit and curl two fingers inside her. I work her slowly, taking care to sense her reactions so that I can get her closer, but she’s tense, and it isn’t working the way I hoped it would. She’s too in her head.

But rather than giving up, I keep going, sucking gently, pressing inside over and over until her legs start to shake.

“That’s it,” I murmur as I kiss her clit.

“That’s it, Grace. Good girl. You’re so close, aren’t you?

You want to come. Your body wants to let go.

So, be my good girl, Grace. Be my perfect girl and come on my face. Let me taste your sweetness.”

I flick my tongue faster and fuck her a little harder with my fingers, watching her legs stiffen and her belly tense, and then her pussy ripples around my fingers, and she cries out into the night.

This time, when I press my hand to her heart, it’s racing like the thunder of wild horses, and when I shift until we’re eye to eye, Grace seems dazed, and her eyes are glassy.

I pull her close, tucking her face into my chest and wrapping her tight in my arms. “That’s it, Gracie. You did it. You were so good for me.”

She shivers, her hand flexing against my skin, pulling me closer.

I stroke her back, giving her time to come down, hoping she feels good in my embrace.

“How?” she asks breathlessly.

I smile and kiss her sweaty forehead. “It was all you, baby. All you.”