Page 118 of X's and O's

His fingers landed on my leg beneath the table.

I didn’t do anything to push them away.

They crept higher, inching their way up my inner thigh.

“I thought about touching you every day I was in prison,” he whispered, leaning his head closer to mine, so only the two of us could hear his words. “Every time I touched myself, it was because the very idea of you got me hard.”

His fingers slid higher, and dammit, my traitorous body responded to his every touch, even though I was still so mad I could barely breathe.

Just the thought of him, lying in his prison cell, stroking his cock in the darkness while he thought of me was a turn-on. All I could see was his hand wrapped around himself as he read my letters, him thrusting into a grip that I so desperately wanted to be mine.

My lips parted, and he pressed his fingers against my clit, rubbing me through my pants.

“Can I get you folks some drinks to start?” the waiter interrupted.

I jolted. I’d completely lost track of where we were. I’d been too busy drowning in Levi’s eyes and getting lost in the feel of his fingers between my legs. I shoved his hand away.

I quickly snatched up the menu and buried my hot face in it, praying the waiter hadn’t seen what we were doing beneath the tablecloth and that Levi could think under pressure better than I could. I peeped at him over the top of the menu, so I was watching as he lifted his head, and his expression turned from neutral to surprise, to something dark and vaguely terrifying.

“Levi?” I whispered.

His chair jerked across the grubby tiles with an ear-piercing scrape that curdled my blood. He grabbed my hand, pulling me to my feet. “We’re leaving.”

I blinked. “What? Why?” I was starving, and we’d already wasted more than half my dedicated lunch hour. I doubted Bliss would really care if I took a little longer getting back, but I didn’t want to look like I was taking advantage of her relaxed nature either.

The waiter answered for Levi. “Because your boyfriend doesn’t like me.” He shook his head. “Don’t run off on my account.” His gaze slid to me, and he held his hand out. “I’m Adam Dickson. An old friend of Levi’s.”

“Violet Garrisen.”

I went to take his hand, but Levi stepped in front of me before I could grasp the man’s outstretched fingers.

“Don’t fucking touch her,” he growled, staring him down.

He was starting to draw a crowd of eyes, the people at the tables around us hearing his threat and all curiously turning in our direction.

This was just like that night at Sinners, where he’d attacked Whip because he didn’t like the way he touched me.

“Levi, stop—”

“Forget her name,” he practically spit out. “Forget you ever saw her.”

Dickson put his hands up in mock surrender, his waiter’s notepad and pencil still clutched in his fingers. “Whatever you say, bro. I’m just trying to do a job here. You came into my diner.”

“We won’t be back.”

I made a face behind Levi’s back. I loved the Dead End. I wasn’t going to stop eating here because Levi didn’t like one of the waiters. That was his problem, not mine.

And it pissed me off that he was speaking for me when I hadn’t asked him to.

“Let’s go.” Levi grabbed my wrist and hauled me through the restaurant and out the door to where I’d left my bike. It was only once we were outside that I was able to yank my wrist free from his grasp.

I spun on him. “What the hell was that?”

He glanced back through the grimy windows of the diner. Dickson was watching us.

Levi swore under his breath and fumbled with the bike lock, yanking the chain through the wheels in sharp, rough jerks.

This time it wasmewho grabbedhisarm. “Levi! Answer me! What the hell was that? Are you going to do this every time a man talks to me in a restaurant? First Whip. Now this guy?”