Page 11 of Requiem Of Him (Of Solace And Sin #1)

I knew the answer he wanted, and I wanted to give it to him because I was here for him, but it wasn’t the whole truth.

I made myself available to Jameson for the Pbr event to get closer to Levi, but it wasn’t necessary.

Neil, the PR manager for Pbr, was already working with Jameson, and I didn’t give a damn about it.

In the same vein, I knew if I didn’t give Levi an answer, he would make good on doing everything in his power to keep me away.

So, I settled on a half-truth I hoped wouldn’t send him running.

I slowly took a step closer to him and kept my movements controlled, even though I itched to plaster his body against mine again, just to revel in the fact that I could. But instead, I kept my hands to myself and gave him something else. “I’m here for you, Levi. You were always the goal.”

Levi doesn’t say anything, he just continues to stare at me, but this time it doesn’t seem like he’s seeing anything.

I wait for some sign that he heard me, but he remains unfocused in a trance-like state, looking right through me.

I think for a moment I might have broken him before a soft smile tugs at the corners of his mouth that he stops in its tracks.

“If you’re lying, I’ll kill you.”

He has cats. I’m not sure why it shocks me, but it does.

And they couldn’t just be normal cats either—no, they were big fuckers, burnt orange with brown markings unlike any I’d seen before.

I don’t remember a time that Levi ever said anything about wanting or even liking the nefarious things.

I didn’t hate them. They had a job and did it well on my ranch, but I didn’t particularly go out of my way to be around them.

Not like I did with Gritty, Duchess, and Strike, my border collies, and Tracer, our livestock guardian, although he wasn’t ever in the house like the girls were.

They all had jobs, but the cats kept to themselves, and I preferred to keep it that way.

“He’s not going to attack you, but if you keep staring at him like that, he might get offended,” Levi says as he brushes past me to make his way over to his chair before curling up in it with said cat.

I grumble to myself as I take off my cowboy hat and go to hang it up but think better of it, needing to keep my hands occupied.

While Levi watches my every move, I take in the home he built, noting each novelty adorning the walls.

Some pieces he’d acquired over the years are vintage western art or décor I hoped I would find while others were newer and feel like a glimpse into his life without me.

It feels as though I am taking in physical manifestations of two completely different people who reconcile into one cohesive being that is Levi.

When my eyes settle on a framed photo, my heart almost gives out.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to find that.” His breath tickles the back of my neck, making the hairs stand on end. I hadn’t heard him get up, but his front is nearly touching my back, only a few inches keeping us apart from a salvation both of us yearn for.

Distracted by his proximity, I forget what I’d even been looking at until he reaches around me to pick up the photo.

He’s careful not to let our fingers touch when he hands it to me, but this time he doesn’t take a step back.

He stays right next to me, close enough that each time he inhales, his chest brushes against my arm.

When I finally pull my eyes away from him, I feel my heart leap into my throat as I look at the photo again, taking in every piece of him atop his stunning mare in all his show wear.

His hair was longer then too and had been curled, I’m sure, within an inch of its life before being pulled into a ponytail so he could easily wear his signature black and emerald rhinestone studded cowboy hat that matched the silk button-up show shirt.

My favorite piece of the attire was the black suede fringed chaps he’d always worn, and by God, they fit him like a fucking glove.

The photo was one I’d taken of him during one of his last shows with his mare, Hera, who’d been his champion in the reining show pen.

He hated reining, but he was made for it.

She went on to be a part of his breeding program when he retired her, and she was my son’s favorite.

She’s also the mare who is Ares’ dam. She’s every bit the typical mare who people chalked up as temperamental, mean, and could be downright nasty when she was in foal, but she was an amazing mover, and when she loved you, she’d do anything you’d ask her to.

She always made you work for her affection, but once you had it, that was it for her.

Hera ended up being Levi’s only reining horse and his only true black mare, much to his dismay, with a striking bald face, and begrudgingly she had been his heart horse.

I knew it gutted him to leave behind his horses, but he had no choice.

As we both look at the photo together, he seems to shrink inside himself the longer we do.

I take a risk and tip his chin up so I can see what is happening behind those eyes, and all I can see is a war he’d been fighting since I laid eyes on him.

While my thumb caresses the fine bones of his trembling jaw, I press a kiss to his forehead and whisper words I hope would bring him peace.

“She’s happy, you know. Still a rank bitch, but she’s happy. ”

The frame shakes in his hand as he puts it back where it belongs, but that is the only indication he’s heard me.

He doesn’t run, but he doesn’t say anything when he takes a small step back to create space between us again, and I don’t force him to come back to me—this time I won’t, but if he starts running, it’s out of my hands.

Levi goes into the kitchen and comes back with a beer and a tumbler of whiskey he hands to me on his way over to his chair. That fucking chair is going to be the death of me, but I guess that’s the point. He wants to keep his distance not just from me but anyone he invites into his space.

I watch as he shoves the lime wedge into his Corona with his thumb and then without thinking wraps his lips around the digit to suck the remnants of sticky juice from his skin.

The act is innocent, but my cock stirs to life anyway, pressing painfully against the metal teeth of my zipper.

I curse under my breath and take a deep breath when he raises the bottle to his lips and watch his throat work as he drinks.

Taking a healthy gulp of my own drink, I try to rein in my impulses.

Ones that would fuck everything up before we were even able to get our cards on the table, although I’d been avoiding that since I got here.

We needed to get it out the way, and my dick was not a part of this equation. At least, not right now.

“You havin’ an issue keepin’ your head on straight over there, cowboy?” Levi asks, but he knows the answer. I track his eyes as they dilate when they land on my denim-covered crotch. A wolfish, almost sinister grin graces his handsome face the longer I stay quiet.

“You tell me, baby?” I taunt and that grin starts to slip the moment I adjust myself and spread my thighs to give myself some breathing room.

I lean all the way back and stretch one of my arms across the back of the couch while I rest my right hand on my thigh, tapping my fingers against the muscle, challenging Levi while keeping my gaze on him the entire time.

He takes another swig off his beer before setting it aside.

I wait for him to decide, whether he comes over to me or not is entirely up to him, but if he does, I’m not letting him go until he accepts he’s mine.

I wasn’t normally a selfish man, but I was possessive in my own way, but in this I knew it was absolute.

I’d let him go once to keep him breathing, but now there was nothing that could possibly keep me from him if he gave in.

And I will tell him as much. I want no room for miscommunication, no room for misinterpretation.

He needs to know what he is getting himself into.

“Be sure, Levi.” I demand as he unfolds himself to stand, long legs covered in tattoos down to his feet eat up the distance at an agonizing pace. I need him to be decisive. The closer he gets to me, the harder my heart batters against my ribcage, until his knees brush mine.

I look up at the man standing in front of me, and I have never been more unsure of what he might do. I know what I want him to do, but he is impossible for me to read, and that’s a foreign feeling between us.

As I continue taking in the sight of him, he’s never been more beautiful.

It was the lean, hardened muscle he’d built to hide the delicate boning he was born with.

He is no longer drowning in oversized clothing, the sharpness of his features no longer obscured by a veil of thick black curls, the fine bones of his hands now disguised by intricate black ink covering the back of his hands and each finger.

He is no longer the gangly, knobby-kneed kid who shot up to six feet and was playing hell to catch up.

He’s every bit who he was meant to be. But when he’s like this, soft and pliant—willing and no longer full of piss and vinegar—he is breathtaking.

The moment he lowers himself to his knees in front of me, laying his head in my lap and nuzzling my aching cock with his nose before settling against me, a familiar burning assaulted the bridge of my nose, the pain that flared in my chest and hadn’t stopped since the day he ran away finally began to soothe and uncoil itself.