Page 10

Chapter ten

Levana

We’re chest to chest, with my face tucked into the crook of his neck. His arms are wrapped around me like a vice—one hand clamped to my hip, the other cradling the back of my head. For a second, I consider just lying there until he wakes up naturally, but my bladder’s screaming, and if I don’t move soon, I’ll probably die of dehydration or something.

Carefully, I inch back, just enough to look up at him.

He’s flat-out asleep. Dead to the world. Mouth slightly parted, hair a mess, lashes dark against his skin.

I smile.

I can’t even fucking believe how I got to this point. After everything. After my stupid ass rejected him in the first place. He hung around. He stuck by me.

He’s a good guy. A really good guy. Sweet, thoughtful, and holy hell, he fucks like a demon.

I don’t want to, but I manage to peel myself away from him. When I stand, I pause for a second, glancing back at him, gaze drifting to the gold ring glinting faintly on his finger. It doesn’t bother me at all any more. It’s a part of him.Everyone has baggage. I know that better than anyone else.

The cold floor stings my bare feet as I pad into the kitchen. My legs feel like lead pipes, every step a slog, and I barely make it to the counter before I just about collapse on myself.

I’ve only just started pouring two mugs of coffee—barely five seconds in—when a pair of hands grab my ass, warm and greedy, squeezing hard enough to make me jump.

“Morning,” Patrick mutters against my neck, voice low and raspy.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” I murmur back, leaning my spine into his chest.

“You weren’t in bed.”

“I thought you might want some coffee.” I gesture toward the mugs.

He hums, then presses himself closer, dragging his lips down my neck. “You know what I really want?”

I shiver, reaching back to press my hand against his thigh—part warning, part encouragement.

“What?”

“You,” he says, firm and easy like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

His hands slide up from my ass, under the hem of my shirt, fingers curling warm against my waist.

“Patrick,” I laugh softly, twisting my head up just enough to glance at his bed head and sleep heavy eyes. “Coffee first.”

“Coffee later,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss me.

His thumbs trace circles just above my hipbones, fingers digging in a little harder now, enough to make my stomach twist.

“You’re insatiable,” I mutter.

“And you’re fucking beautiful,” His lips brush against mine as he speaks. “And I bet, if I dip my fingers just down here…” His fingertips trace along my waistband. “… you’ll be wet too, right?”

I let out a soft moan and hook my arm back around his neck as his fingers ease beneath my underwear.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

I sigh, shifting against his hand. “I’m still sore from last night.”

“Oh. That’s a shame. Because I had so much planned for you today.” His fingers travel lower, tracing featherlight strokes along my entrance. “Are you sure, Levana? Are you sure you don’t want me?”

“Where the fuck did this side of you come from?”

“He’s been hiding in plain sight,” he chuckles as he pushes just the tip of one finger inside me. “Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you don’t want me , and I’ll stop right now.”

I don’t.

I can’t.

The words dissolve on my tongue, swallowed down by the ache curling low in my stomach. Instead, I tilt my hips, grinding against his hand, pushing his finger deeper.

His breath stutters. “Fuck. You really are such a dirty girl, aren’t you?”

The words hit me like a spark to dry wood, shame and want tangling tight in my chest. I can’t speak, don’t know how to answer, so I just stay there, caught between hesitation and need.

“What are you?” he rasps, curling his finger slightly inside me.

My breath hitches, and I shake my head—lost, unsure. I don’t know what to say.

His finger disappears for a second, but then it’s back, another beside it, driving into me fast and hard, filling me so suddenly I cry out.

“What are you?” he asks again, pressing hard against that spot that makes my whole body tremble.

“A… a dirty girl,” I stammer.

“Again,” he growls, fingers pushing deeper, knuckles pressed tight against me, twisting until I’m gasping for breath.

“A dirty girl,” I sob, louder now.

“Yeah,” he mutters, his mouth dragging over my throat. “That’s exactly what you are. My dirty girl.”

My .

My breath stutters, my thoughts spiraling. I suppose I am his now… but holy shit.

“Bend the fuck over this counter,” he growls. “Now.”

I move without thinking, and my palms hit the cold countertop, breath sharp in my throat as I brace myself for whatever’s about to happen.

His fingers hook into my waistband, and my pants are yanked down around my thighs. Cold air hits my skin, but the heat of him is right behind me as his fingers grip my hips, digging into my skin like he’s marking me. Without warning, he pushes his cock into me in one hard thrust.

“Holy fuck,” I gasp, fingers scrabbling at the counter to keep myself steady.

“Look at you,” he say as his hand slides up my back, pressing between my shoulder blades, pinning me down like he doesn’t trust me to stay still. “You take me so good, don’t you?”

I nod frantically, gasping for breath.

His hips snap forward again, sharp and deep. The edge of the counter’s digging into my stomach but I barely feel it. All I can focus on is his relentless pace, the way he’s driving into me, body pressing mine down like he’s staking a claim.

I’m shaking now, my breath a broken mess of gasps and whimpers. It’s too much, too fast, too deep. “Oh, god—I’m gonna—“

“Do it,” he demands. “Come on my cock, Levana. Right fucking now.”

I couldn’t hold it back even if I tried. My whole body seizes, my breath shattering as I come hard, clenching so tight around him it borders on painful.

“ Fuck …” he groans as he thrusts harder, dragging me through it like he doesn’t want it to end. My body’s still trembling when his rhythm breaks. Then, his breath turns ragged, and he jerks inside me, spilling hard with a sharp, broken moan.

His hands slide back and he slaps my ass once, the sharp sting shocking me back into my body.

“There,” he says as he pulls himself out of me, drags my pants up over my thighs and snaps the waistband into place. “That’s better.”

Before I can even catch my breath, or blink, he’s pressing a kiss to my shoulder.

“You wanted coffee, right?” he says casually.

I blink, disoriented and trembling, my heart racing as I turn to stare at him. He’s already at the sink, rinsing his hands.

“Coffee?” I echo weakly, my voice thin and unsteady.

He glances back at me with a smirk on his face, like he knows exactly what kind of mess he’s just left me in.

“Yeah,” he says, grinning like nothing happened. “The one’s you made have gone cold now. I’ll brew a fresh pot.”

The water’s scalding enough to leave my skin pink and steaming, but I’m not turning it down. Feels too good. I press my palms flat to the tiles and lean forward, letting the spray pound against my shoulders.

I smile to myself.

Christ.

There’s a deep, sweet kind of ache lingering in the best places. Thighs, hips, the dull throb low in my stomach. I tilt my head back and groan quietly. He really is absolute filth.

I huff out a laugh, water catching in my mouth.

Yeah, okay. I could get used to this.

I grab a towel, wrapping it tight around myself as I step out of the shower. The bathroom mirror’s fogged up, beads of condensation clinging to the glass. I swipe my hand across it, smudging a streak down the middle, and start my usual routine. Cleanser, toner, moisturiser. The same steps I could do in my sleep.

I’m halfway through slathering it all on when Patrick’s voice drifts through the door. I still for a second, trying to hear what he’s saying.

It’s none of your business, Levana. Don’t eavesdrop.

But something deep inside me overrides the thought, and I find myself pressing my ear to the bathroom door.

His voice filters through the wood, clearer now. “I know, I know, but I’m trying. I just need you to trust me.”

I frown and hold my breath, like that’ll help me hear better

“No, no, don’t say that. I told you I’d fix it.”

I shift my weight from one foot to the other, biting my lip.

Fix what?

“I know. You’ll see. Just give me a little more time, okay?”

I frown.

What the hell?

“She’s doing great. She’s happy. It’s all working out, just like I promised,” his voice drops even softer. “You’re going to love her. I swear.”

I blink. Love who?

Love me?

My stomach tightens.

His mom? I wonder. Yeah. Probably his mom. That’s gotta be it.

He’s mentioned her before, briefly. She lives across the country—moved there a few years ago when she retired. They were never too close, but they catch up every few months on the phone. This could be that.

I step back, chewing my lip.

None of my fucking business. I’d be furious if someone listened in on my conversations.

When I’m done with my face, I crack the bathroom door open and step out, still wrapped in a towel, hair damp and sticking to my neck.

Patrick’s sitting on the edge of my bed, elbows on his knees, fingers tangled loosely between them. He looks up when he hears me, and just… stops. Like he’s passed away in front of me.

But then his eyes drag over me slowly, before his teeth catch on his bottom lip.

Heat rolls through me, and I’m wet between my thighs, instantly.

Jesus Christ. How does he do that?

I swallow hard and grip the towel a little tighter.

“Come here,” he says, voice low.

I hesitate, just for a second, then step closer. I brace myself, half expecting him to grab the towel, to drag it off me like we’re about to make a mess on every surface of this bedroom.

But instead, he leans in and presses his face against my stomach, warm breath bleeding through the towel, arms curling loosely around my waist.

I freeze, unsure what the hell I’m supposed to do with my hands. But before I can figure it out, he shifts back just a little until just his forehead is resting against me.

“Listen, I’m so sorry, but a work thing’s come up. I’ve gotta deal with it right away.”

“Oh,” I say. “That’s… yeah, that’s fine. Sure.”

He shifts back, just enough to look up at me. His eyes are soft, almost guilty. “I’ll be as quick as I can, I promise.”

Before I can answer, he presses a kiss to my stomach like he’s trying to seal the words into me. Then another one, just above where my navel is beneath the stomach, before he stands and kisses me properly.

“I’m really sorry,” he says again.

“It’s okay,” I say, forcing a smile I don’t quite feel. “Seriously. Go.”

“I’ll call you later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I nod. “Sure.”

He gets to the bedroom door and stops right on the threshold.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

Before I can ask what’s wrong, he’s back in front of me—closer this time, hands cupping my face, kissing me like he’s never even touched me before. Then his mouth trails lower, dragging over my jaw, down my neck, my collarbone, chest. He tugs the towel loose, just enough to bare the curve of my breast, and then kisses lower still, mouth tracing softly down my ribs.

Then he stops at my stomach.

His lips press there and he groans, low in his throat.

“Sorry,” he says.

Then he’s gone, practically bolting down the stairs.

The front door clicks shut behind him, and I just stand there, still wrapped in my towel, staring at nothing in particular.

“Well fuck,” I say to myself. “Now what?”