He caught my wrist gently. “Not yet. I want to be inside you.”
I nodded, heart pounding. He reached for his jeans on the floor and pulled a condom from the pocket.
“I brought more,” he said, voice rough. “Just in case.”
I watched him roll it on and felt another rush of heat at how much he’d wanted this, how prepared he’d been. How he took care of me.
When he was ready, he pulled me back up, rolling us so I was beneath him again. He settled between my thighs, the blunt head of him nudging at my entrance.
“Look at me,” he said softly.
I did. His eyes locked on mine.
“Keep your eyes on me,” he murmured, voice low and thick. “I want to see your face when I slide inside you.”
I nodded, unable to look away. He pushed in, slow, careful, stretching me inch by inch until he was buried deep. We both groaned at the fullness, the perfect fit. He stayed still for a moment, letting me adjust, forehead pressed to mine, breath ragged.
“You feel so good,” he whispered.
“This is amazing,” I breathed. “Move.”
He did with long, rolling thrusts that hit exactly right. I wrapped my legs around his waist, meeting him stroke for stroke, nails dragging down his back. The rhythm built, steady, then faster, the bed creaking softly under us. His mouth found mine again, swallowing my moans as he drove deeper, harder.
I came again—shattering around him, clenching tight, crying out into his kiss. He followed right after, hips thrusting, burying himself deep with a low, broken groan of my name.
We collapsed together, chests heaving, skin slick with sweat. For a long moment, neither of us moved—just breathed, hearts hammering against each other in a rhythm that felt like it had been waiting years to sync up. His weight pinned me gently tothe mattress, solid and safe, and I wrapped my arms around him tighter, as if letting go might make this disappear.
He shifted eventually, carefully pressing one last soft kiss to my lips before easing out of me. I felt the loss of him immediately—empty, aching in the best way. He disposed of the condom with quiet efficiency, tying it off and dropping it into the small trash bin by the bed.
The room smelled like us—sex and love and river air—and the quiet stretched, thick with everything we hadn’t said yet. My fingers traced shaky circles on his chest, following the steady thud of his heart. I could feel the tremor in my own breathing, the way my body still hummed with aftershocks and something deeper, more frightening: the realization that I’d just given someone the power to hurt me again. And I’d done it willingly. But with Levi, it felt safe.
I let out a shaky laugh. “You’re making this beautiful.”
He tilted my chin up gently, thumb brushing away the tear that had escaped. His eyes were steady, unguarded—everything he’d held back for years, laid bare in the dim light.
“Then let it be beautiful,” he said quietly. “Let it be everything. I’ve got you, and I’m never letting go.”
I leaned up and kissed him, tasting salt and sweetness and the faint edge of fear we were both still learning to share instead of hide. He kissed me back like he had all the time in the world, hands roaming my back, my hips, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. We kissed until breath became ragged again, until the afterglow turned into something warmer, softer, a quiet promise that this vulnerability wasn’t weakness, it was trust.
When we finally pulled apart, foreheads touching, I felt the tears dry on my cheeks, replaced by something steadier. Not certainty, not yet, but the beginning of it.
He kissed the corner of my eye, then my mouth again, lingering. “Stay with me,” he whispered. “Just like this.”
I nodded, curling tighter into him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The forty-eight hours ticked quietly toward whatever came next.
But right now, in this moment, nothing else mattered.
Chapter 27
Levi
Iwoke before the sun, but this time the bed felt different.
Becca was curled against my chest, her breath warm and even on my collarbone, one leg hooked over mine like she was afraid I’d disappear if she let go. The faint scent of her shampoo lingered on the sheets, mixing with the river air that slipped through the cracked window.
I didn’t move. I wasn’t sure I was capable of it.
