Page 8 of Let it Sizzle (Playing with Fire #3)

Serena

I wake up to the soft hum of morning and the faint smell of coffee drifting through the house. For a second, I forget where I am. The warmth of the bed, the soreness between my thighs, the way the sheets still smell like him—like cedar and heat—remind me quickly enough.

Levi.

Last night flashes back in dizzy, heated pieces. His hands. His mouth. His words. The way he touched me like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, not just something to take and toss aside.

But now, in the clear light of day, the doubts creep in like smoke under a door.

Maybe he was caught up in old memories. Maybe he just felt sorry for the broken girl next door who never quite learned how to stay whole. Maybe last night was just... convenience. Familiarity. Nothing more.

I roll onto my side, pulling the covers tighter around me, just as the bedroom door creaks open.

Levi steps inside, already dressed for the station—dark navy shirt stretched tight across his chest, pants slung low on his hips, boots tied with the kind of casual strength that makes my stomach flutter in spite of everything.

He smiles when he sees me awake. A slow, lazy curve of his lips that makes it harder to breathe.

"Morning, beautiful," he says, his voice rough from sleep, and somehow even deeper than usual.

I sit up carefully, tugging the sheet higher like it’s armor, ignoring how my body aches in the best possible way. "Morning," I whisper, my throat dry.

Levi crosses the room and crouches in front of me, his palm finding my bare knee beneath the covers. His touch is steady, grounding, and it almost breaks me right there.

"I’ve got to get to the station," he says, rubbing slow circles into my skin. "But I’ll drive you to your car first."

I nod too fast, desperate to get out of his house before my heart does something stupid like believe he actually wants me to stay. "Yeah, that’s probably best. I have a lot of work to catch up on."

He studies me like he can see every lie I’m trying to bury, but he doesn’t push. He just stands, gives my leg a final squeeze, and heads toward the kitchen, leaving me alone to scramble for my clothes and whatever scraps of dignity I have left.

We don't say much on the short drive to the restaurant where my car is parked. Levi drums his fingers lightly against the steering wheel, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye every so often like he wants to say something. I keep my gaze fixed out the window, counting cracks in the pavement, pretending last night didn’t change anything.

When he pulls into the lot, he doesn’t move to unlock the doors right away. Instead, he shifts in his seat, turns to me, and says quietly, "I’ll call you, later?"

His voice is soft.

I force a smile, something brittle and painful stretching my mouth. "Yeah. Of course. Sure."

Levi leans over and brushes his lips against my cheek, the contact lingering longer than it should. It’s tender. It’s patient. It’s everything I don’t know how to ask for.

By the time I climb into my own car and watch his truck disappear down the street, I feel hollow. Like maybe I imagined the whole thing.

Because here’s the truth no fairy tale ever tells you:

Sometimes, even when the hero kisses you and holds you close... you still don’t know how to believe you’re worth being saved.

I don’t believe it because Kevin was the same in the beginning.

Attentive and loving before he would say things like you would look so much better if you dropped a few pounds.

Get a gym membership, Serena. It will do you good.

Levi is not Kevin, Serena. You’ve always felt something for Levi and he does too.

I rush home because there’s only one thing that’s ever helped when my brain spins like this, when the doubts creep in and every good thing feels too fragile to hold onto—I draw.

I practically tear through my front door, tossing my keys somewhere without looking, yanking out my sketchbook like it’s the only thing that can save me.

My hands are shaking so badly I can barely flip to a clean page, but the second my pencil hits paper, the chaos quiets a little.

Lines flow out of me without thinking, fast and desperate—first a bear, big and broad and solid, carrying a smaller bear through a forest, shielding it with his body like nothing in the world could touch it.

His arms are massive, his jaw set, his whole body coiled with protectiveness, and before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m sketching details too human, too familiar—the slight crook in his nose, the crinkle at the corner of his eyes, the thick roped muscles of his forearms. I freeze, staring at the page, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest. It’s not just any bear.

It’s Levi. And suddenly, I can’t breathe right, because I don’t even know what last night meant.

Was it just heat? Was it just sex? Maybe he woke up and realized he made a mistake, that I’m not shiny enough or confident enough or beautiful enough for someone like him.

I tell myself not to check my phone, but I do anyway, every three minutes like some lovesick idiot, finding nothing—no text, no missed call, no hey beautiful, no last night was incredible.

Just silence. I make tea, but it goes cold on the counter.

I pace the tiny kitchen, trying to focus on the drawing, but all I can think about is the way he kissed me like he owned me, the way he whispered that I was his.

Was that real? Was it just talk? By the time the sunset paints the kitchen in soft pink and gold, I’m so far in my own head I almost miss the knock at the door—and for half a second, I don’t even move, because facing more disappointment feels like it’ll break me clean in half.

The knock comes again, louder this time, and something inside me lurches, dragging me to my feet like I don’t even have a choice.

I stumble to the door, heart hammering, fingers fumbling at the lock, and when it swings open, he’s there—Levi.

Still in his station gear, boots dusty, his navy firehouse t-shirt stretched tight across his chest, and his face—God, his face—wrecked and wild, like he hasn't slept, like he’s been fighting something bigger than any fire since the second he left me.

He doesn’t wait for an invitation. He steps inside, kicks the door shut behind him with one boot, and cages me against the wall without touching me, just leaning in close enough that all I can breathe is him—smoke and soap and pure, masculine heat.

His hand lifts, rough fingers brushing my cheek, tilting my chin up so I have no choice but to meet his eyes.

"You didn’t call," I whisper, hating how small my voice sounds.

His jaw tightens like he’s pissed at himself, not at me, and when he finally speaks, his voice scrapes low and rough across my skin.

"It ended up being a crazy day—brushfire on the east side of town—but none of it mattered.

All I wanted was to get back here and see you.

" I nod because I don't trust my voice, but he sees straight through me—of course he does. His eyes narrow, like he’s reading all the fears I’m trying to choke down.

"Hey," he says, taking a slow step closer, "I parked a few streets away so no one sees me here. Figured you might be worried about Byron."

I shake my head too fast. "It’s not that." He moves in even closer until I have to tilt my head back to keep looking at him, until I feel the heat rolling off his body like a damn furnace.

"Then what is it, baby?" His thumb brushes my cheek, soft, coaxing, no judgment in those steel-blue eyes. "Don't say nothing, Serena. It’s something. Talk to me, sweetheart."

My throat locks up, but somehow I whisper, "I’m just scared..." I can’t even say it right, can’t get it all out, but Levi—God, Levi—he doesn't need me to.

"Scared I'm gonna get tired of you? Scared I'm gonna tell you you’re too much?

That you have to change to fit beside me?

" His voice rumbles with something dangerous and beautiful, the kind of raw emotion that sinks straight into my bones, and before I can even nod, before I can breathe, he crushes his mouth to mine.

It’s not a kiss. He’s staking his fucking claim.

His tongue sweeps into my mouth like he owns it—like he owns me—and when I whimper, when I melt against him, he drags me even tighter against his chest like he can’t stand even a sliver of space between us.

"I hate what that fucker of an ex did to you," he growls against my lips, his hands threading into my hair, holding me there like I’m something precious, something he refuses to let go. "But it’s not just him, is it, baby? It’s everything.

It’s the way your old man made you feel like love had to be earned. Like you weren’t born deserving it."

My whole body goes still at his words, my heart splitting wide open. He’s right.

"I hate that too," Levi breathes, fierce and broken all at once. "I hate that you had to fight so fucking hard just to believe you’re worthy of what’s always been yours. I see you, Serena.”

Tears sting my eyes, but I don’t get the chance to cry.

Not when his hands are sliding down my waist, cupping my ass with a possessive squeeze that makes my knees wobble.

I can feel his hardness pressed against me.

I whimper into his mouth, clinging to his shoulders, and I don’t even think—I just slide my hand down between us, finding the thick, hard ridge of his cock pressing against his pants.

His breath shudders out against my neck, and when I start rubbing him through the pants, he lets out a deep, filthy groan that makes my thighs clench.

I feel bold and powerful, not reckless, not desperate—just seen, wanted, claimed by the only man who's ever made me feel real.

"I want you," I whisper, fingers tightening around the thick base of Levi’s cock, feeling how hard and ready he is for me.

"Can I... please? Can I suck you off?" His whole body locks up, fists clenching at his sides like it’s taking everything in him not to slam me against the counter and wreck me, his jaw ticking as he fights for control.

"Baby," he rasps, voice low and raw, "I'll give you anything you want." He drops his pants and his thick hard cock springs free.

That’s all I need. I stand slowly, dragging my shirt over my head and letting it fall to the floor, baring my breasts without an ounce of fear. Levi’s eyes go black with hunger, his hands rough and reverent as they cup and lift the weight of me, his thumbs stroking my nipples until I’m shivering.

"These fucking tits," he growls, nipping lightly at the soft curve of my breast. "I could die right here and die happy.

" Dropping to my knees, I press my bare tits against his cock, rubbing the flushed, leaking head through the valley of them, teasing him slow and filthy.

Levi groans, deep and broken, the sound going straight to my core.

"You’re so fucking big," I whisper, licking a long, slow stripe up the underside of him.

"And you’re fucking perfect," he fires back, sliding a hand into my hair, anchoring me like he needs me there. I moan low in my throat and take him deep into my mouth, hollowing my cheeks, stroking the thick shaft heaving in my hand. Levi’s whole body jerks, his hips flexing, but he lets me set the pace, lets me own him.

"Goddamn, you're gonna fucking break me," he groans as I slide him between my tits again, suckling the head, rolling my tongue against the slit until he’s cursing filthy promises under his breath.

He cups my face in his big, rough palms like I’m something fragile he’s terrified to break.

"You’re fucking perfect," he rasps against my forehead. "You know that, right? No one’s ever gonna touch you again. No one’s ever gonna see you the way I do."

Before I can answer, he scoops me into his arms, carrying me like it’s the most natural thing in the world, straight to the bedroom.

He lays me down gently, like I’m something precious. Reverent. His body shadows mine, big and warm and trembling with restraint.

"You tell me to stop, baby," he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "You tell me if it’s too much."

"It’s not," I whisper back, reaching for him, needing him, needing this. "I want you."

He kisses me then—slow, deep, filthy and tender all at once—and as he slides his hand between my thighs, stroking the slick heat there, I arch into him, desperate for more.

He peels my pants down and off, leaving me bare beneath him.

His hand strokes over my hips, my belly, the swell of my breasts like he’s memorizing every curve.

"You’re so beautiful," he breathes against my skin, worshipping me with every touch, every look, every ragged sound he makes. "Every fucking inch of you, Serena. I see you."

I almost cry from how much I believe him.

He lines himself up, thick and ready, and pushes in slow, giving me time to adjust to every inch, every stretch, every deep, delicious burn that connects us even deeper.

My breath hitches, but he doesn't rush, doesn't pound—he moves like he’s savoring it, savoring me , rocking in slow, shallow thrusts that make me feel full, stretched, claimed .

I wrap my arms around his neck, clinging to him, letting him anchor me as he moves inside me, dragging pleasure through every nerve in my body.

"You're mine," he growls against my mouth, hips grinding slow and deep, hitting spots inside me that no one ever found before. "You’re fucking mine, baby. You hear me?"

"I hear you," I whisper back, tears slipping from the corners of my eyes—not from pain. From how good he feels. From how good he makes me feel.

He kisses the tears away, murmuring broken praises against my lips, against my skin, telling me how sweet I am, how tight, how fucking perfect.

And when I come, clenching around him in waves so intense I see stars, he follows with a rough, desperate groan, spilling deep inside me, holding me tight as he presses our foreheads together.

We don’t speak for a long time.

We just breathe.

His body still deep inside mine, his hands cradling me like he’s afraid to ever let go.

And maybe he never will.