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Chapter thirty-eight

Levana

Steam curls thick around me, clinging to the tiled walls and fogging up the glass as water pours over my skin in hot ribbons, turning my shoulders pink.

It’s been a little better since that one night after the hospital.

Patrick’s still off—skittish. But he hasn’t shouted again, and I’m trying to take that as a win. I know whatever happened in the back bedroom scared him, but I don’t know all the details. All I know is that Mara ‘can’t be trusted ’, and I’m not allowed anywhere near her now.

I mean, I know she can’t actually hurt me—she’s a mummified corpse—but it still freaked me out. The way he said it. The way he looked at me like I might not know what she’s capable of.

He genuinely believes Mara and I are close friends now. That we’ve bonded. That we whisper and share secrets when he’s not around. And that’s understandable, I’d spent hours in there talking at her about my life, my past, my future. So when he told me to stay away, I think he was scared I wouldn’t be able to. That I’d wander back for her friendship, or that she’d pull me back somehow.

But I proved him wrong. I stayed away from that door, didn’t ask questions, didn’t press. And in return, he’s calmer, and the trust between us feels thicker now.

I shift under the spray, resting my forehead against the tile for a second. The babies are heavy today. My whole body aches in a way I can’t fix. I just want to step out, dry off, sink into a loaf of bread, and pass out into something soft.

Side note—thank fuck we picked up fresh groceries after the hospital. I was going to die if I had to have one more slice of thawed out bread or frozen fruit.

“Medicated or unmedicated?”

“Uhh… I don’t know,” I say, rinsing the last of the shampoo from my hair. “I’ll decide in the moment.”

There’s a pause before I hear the sound of a page turning. “Water birth or regular birth?”

“Don’t know, Patrick.”

He hums. “What about a home birth?”

I snort. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“In case something goes wrong.”

For a minute, the only sound in the room is the spray of water against my skin.

“That’s fair,” he says.

The pages rustle again. “But we could get the house set up for it,” he adds. “Get one of those inflatable pools for the living room. Towels, hot water bottles. String up some of those fairy lights so it’s peaceful. I could do it all. Make it perfect for you and the babies.”

I could answer him and tell him I’m really not in the mood for this conversation right now, but instead, I switch the water off and poke my head out from behind the glass.

A smile tugs at my lips when I spot him. He’s sitting on the floor, legs stretched out with his back against the sink, glasses off because of the steam, squinting down at one of the baby books he pulled off the shelf this morning.

“Can you pass me a towel?” I ask.

He doesn’t look up as he slides his thumb across the corner of the page. “No.”

“What?”

“No,” he says again.

I push the wet hair back from my face. My patience is thin, my back’s aching, and irritation is settling itself right into my bones.

“Patrick, please? Just hand me a towel.”

He just keeps flipping the pages, eyes narrowed slightly at them.

“Fine,” I say, blowing out an annoyed breath.

I push open the door fully and start reaching out, stretching one arm toward the stack of towels on the counter just out of reach.

“Stop.” He says sharply.

“ You stop,” I bite back. “I want to get dry. I want to eat. I want to nap. I’m not doing this right now.”

He closes the book, stands, and steps right in front of me.

“Move,” I say trying to sidestep around him.

His eyes drag down the length of me and it makes something shift in my gut. I cross my arms over my chest automatically and squirm under the weight of his gaze.

“What?” I mutter.

His hands move, reaching out to glide down the wet planes of my arms, then my ribs and hips.

“Patrick, no,” I say, shrinking back a little. “I feel gross right now, I don’t want to—“

“You’re beautiful,” he interrupts.

“No I’m not,” I snap, taking a small step back. “I’m bloated, I’m breaking out, my back hurts, I’ve barely slept—“

“You’re carrying my babies.”

“ And? I feel gross, Patrick. I just wanted a shower, and a nap. That’s it.”

“You don’t look gross,” he says quietly. “You look like everything I’ve ever wanted.”

I wrap my arms tighter around myself. “I didn’t ask how you thought I looked, I just asked for a—“

The words vanish from my mouth like the steam as his hand slides between my thighs, and his fingers press against my pussy.

“Patrick,” I gasp, reaching blindly for the tiled wall to steady myself.

He doesn’t stop, just rubs my clit in slow circles. “You. Are. Beautiful.”

My lungs don’t even get the chance to fill before his fingers slide lower and he thrusts two inside me.

He wraps his other arm around my waist, holding me up as he pumps his fingers into me hard and fast.

“You think I care that your body’s changing?” He bites the words out, panting like it’s him who’s being pleasured. “I love it. Love how full you are. Love how you open for me. Love how you need me.”

“No you don’t.” The words slip out before I can stop them.

I reach down and try to push his hand away, but he just tightens his grip and fucks into me harder, so fast and deep my body betrays me and I cry out.

“Are you calling me a liar?” He growls, eyes burning into me like he’s daring me to say it again.

I don’t answer, I can’t, I just stand there, dripping and trembling whilst he brings me to the brink of orgasm.

“For fuck’s sake,” he snaps.

He pulls his fingers out of me, leaving me gasping and empty, and I stumble forward slightly, hand catching the slick wall.

My eyes flick up to look at him. His lips are parted, jaw tight, hazel eyes burning through me as his chest heaves.

Fuck, he’s so sexy when he’s like this.

He grabs my hand, and I let out a squeal as he drags me out of the shower, completely naked.

He pulls me into the bedroom and tugs me to the full-length mirror in the corner, where he then stops and turns to face me. “Kneel.”

My eyes dart between him and the mirror. “Patrick…?”

“I said kneel, Levana.”

On shaky knees, I hit the floor. My reflection glares back at me, and I try to look away, turn my head and drop my gaze, but he doesn’t let me.

He bends down, wrapping his palm around my jaw, and tilts my face back to the mirror. “Look at yourself.”

I can’t. I keep my eyes to the side, fixed on a point on the wall.

The silence stretches., but then he moves, kneeling behind me, body heat radiating into my wet skin.

The hand on my jaw wraps around my throat, the other slides into my hair, gripping at the base of my skull, and he forces me to look.

“Stop hiding,” he snarls into my ear. “Fucking look, Levana.”

The reflection stares back.

Me, flushed, naked, breathing hard, thighs spread slightly from the way I’m kneeling.

Him, behind me, eyes swallowed up by his pupils, hands on me like he owns me.

“You’re not gonna take those eyes away. Not once. Got it?” He murmurs. ‘You look. You see what I see.”

The hand around my throat slides lower, down to my collarbone, over the centre of my chest, until he cups one breast in his palm and pinches my nipple.

“Look at these,” he says. “So fucking full. Heavy. Perfect. You know what they do to me, baby?”

He moves down, tracing the curve of my stomach, splaying his palm wide across the skin.

“Sweet Hell,” he breathes. “Look at this. Look at what your body’s doing. Carrying our babies. The most perfect thing I’ve ever seen.”

I bite my lip hard, eyes locked on the way his hand travels further down, sliding between my thighs until he finds my throbbing clit.

My hips buck forward as he starts to rub it just how I like.

“You’re gonna come like this first, okay?” He murmurs as he tightens his grip in my hair, keeping my eyes locked forward. “No looking away. I want you to watch what I do to you.”

I whimper, breath catching hard as I take in the way my nipples have hardened, the way my chest is rising and falling, the way my stomach is trembling.

“Look how your body reacts to me. You’re dripping, baby. You see that? You see how you’re grinding on my fingers? You do that every time.”

He pushes his fingers knuckle deep into me, curling them just right against my g-spot, and my thighs spread wider without thought, begging him to take me deeper.

“I love how desperate you get,” he groans. “You hear that? You hear how wet you are?”

I can. God, I can. Every thrust is loud and slick in the quietness of the room, the sound so filthy it makes my cheeks burn.

“That little twitch in your thighs?” He whispers into my ear. “That’s your body begging me to finish it.”

My thighs do twitch. My stomach clenches too. I’m so close I could scream.

“Come, Levana,” he orders. “Come just like this. Watch yourself fall apart just like this.”

My neck flushes, my body trembles, my brow scrunches tight, my lips fall open, and my orgasm crashes over me in waves. White-hot, endless waves that consume every single nerve as I gasp out breathy moans into the room.

He pulls his fingers out, glistening with my come, and he brings them in front of my mouth. “You felt it. Now fucking taste it.”

I hesitate, just for a second, but that isn’t good enough for him.

He tips my head back and pushes them past my lips.

The taste of my own release hits my tongue, warm and messy, and I moan softly, cheeks flushing.

He pulls them out and goes right back between my legs, gathering more of my come before he brings them right back to my mouth and smears it across my lips. “That’s all you,” he rasps. “ That’s what I do to you. Now, suck.”

I open my mouth and take them in again, sucking deep, swirling my tongue, letting myself taste exactly what he does to me. He thrusts them deeper, pushing them right to the back of my throat, and I gag, eyes watering, fighting back a cough.

“Good girl,” he groans, voice thick with pride. “Fucking perfect.”

When he finally pulls himself from my mouth, he grabs my arm and hauls me to my feet. My legs are shaking but he holds me up and bends me over until my palms hit the reflective glass.

He moves fast, tugging his pants down just enough to free himself. I catch a glimpse of how hard he is in the mirror before he’s there, pushing between my legs, rubbing the head of his cock through the mess he made.

“You ready?” He frames it like he’s asking, but it’s not really a question at all.

He thrusts into me in one long, deep push, and I cry out, eyes wide as I watch my reflection jerk with the force of it.

“Look at yourself,” he breathes as he grips me tight. “Watch how you take me.”

My breasts bounce slightly with every thrust, and my mouth hangs open, his name escaping my throat in breathy moans.

He leans forward, mouth near my ear, thrusting deep and slow. “Tell me what you see.”

I try to shake my head, but his hand is already sliding up, grabbing my throat from behind, guiding me back into place.

“Say it,” he demands. “Say something good about yourself.”

“I… I look—” I swallow, the words catching on my tongue.

His hips snap forward hard, making me gasp. “Try again.”

“I look…” My voice shakes through his thrusts. “I look… Patrick, I don’t know.”

His hand tightens around my throat. “Not good enough.”

He slams against my ass again, and I scrabble for the edges of the mirror, for something to hold onto while he breaks me down and makes me see it.

He growls behind me. “You look like a fucking goddess. Say it.”

“I look—”

Another thrust, harder. “Say it.”

“I look like a fucking goddess,” I gasp.

His hand slides from my throat down to my chest, grabbing a handful of my breast, squeezing so hard I wince.

“Damn right you do,” he pants. “And you’re fucking sexy, bouncing while I fuck you like this. Now say it.”

“I’m sexy,” I whimper, barely able to speak.

“Yes,” he snarls, driving into me harder now. “That’s the truth. Say it again. All of it.”

“I’m sexy,” I cry out. “And I look like a goddess with your cock in me.”

That does something to him. His rhythm breaks, thrusts coming faster, harder, messier.

“That’s my girl,” he groans. “My beautiful, filthy, perfect gi—oh fuck, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come—”

He doesn’t tell me to watch.

But I do.

I watch the way his eyes shut, the way his lips part in that quiet, desperate groan. I see his body stutter, his hands gripping my ass cheeks as he spills deep inside me.

The sight of it tips me right over the edge too, and I come again, body clenching around him, legs shaking as I moan his name.

And the mirror catches all of it.

The mess. The wreckage. The beauty.

He leans into me slowly, chest pressing against my back, breath ragged on my skin as he wraps his arms around my waist.

His gaze is soft now, heavy-lidded and full as our eyes meet through the glass. “I love you, Levana.”