Page 52 of Levi

“You’re such a great kisser,” she mumbles against my lips when I pull away from her.

“You too, sweetness.”

“I’m responding to your lips,” she tells me. “Usually, kissing is a bit of a mess of tangled, probing tongues and noses smashing together, but kissing you, Levi... is a soul-stirring experience.”

Guys like Rod, Beckett, and Jace are guarded with their kisses. It’s one of the prerogatives of being a certified playboy. I’m more reserved when it comes to kissing for a whole other reason. It has nothing to do with being a player, but rather self-preservation.

“I’m happy to kiss you anytime you beg for it,” I tell her.

“I’m moved by your generosity,” she sasses.

“You should be,” I sass right back.

“Cocky much?”

“A lot cocky, but you like me that way.”

“You’re lucky I can’t argue.”

I chuckle.

“I want you to head to the bedroom, remove your shoes, suit and underwear, but keep the white shirt on. Then, I want you to find the blindfold in the drawer of the nightstand, put it on, and sit pretty on the bed. Got it?” My tone is non-negotiable, a strict order.

She grants me a flirtatious smile. “Absolutely.”

She sashays to the bedroom, shedding off her blazer on the way. She looks over her shoulder. Sin flashes in her hazel green eyes.

My dick swells against the fly of my pants. I palm it, willing it to calm down.

It’s ridiculous how much she turns me on.

I give her a few minutes.

I toe off my shoes and remove my socks. I slip off my suit jacket, fold it, and drop it on the couch before removing my belt. I head to the bar in search of an ice bucket. It doesn’t take me long before I spot one. I grab it and fill it with ice. I stride to the bedroom. When I reach the threshold, I pause for a few long seconds. The last time, my desire for her was so jacked up, I couldn’t take my time. Now, I can. I allow my eyes to travel down the length of her body, all the way down to her toes, painted in a sexy raspberry color.

I want to slide my big cock deep into this sweet little distraction so bad I can taste it.

Patience.

“I sense your presence,” she says. “What’s that noise?”

“You’ll soon find out,” I tell her.

I approach her, place the bucket on the floor and join her on the bed.

“Is that ice?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“We’re going to have a drink?”

“Not quite.”

“Why bring ice in the bedroom, then?”

“Do you like when I tell you what to do?” I ask.

She nods, her teeth worrying her bottom lip.