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“Scream for me,” he says, thrusting his fingers into me before circling my clit with that sinful tongue. I can’t hold back as I shatter for him. Incoherent words fall from my lips as stars explode behind my eyes.
He finger fucks me through my release, his mouth suctioned to my clit so hard it drags out my orgasm until I’m shaking. He slowly pulls his fingers out of me as he stands, licking them clean while I watch him. There is no way my legs are going to work after that. My fucking showerhead will never be the same again. That fucker's been holding out on me.
“Fucking delicious,” he says with a devious smile. “Best dessert I’ve ever had.”
I'm limp, blushing, panting, and more sated than I’ve ever felt in my life. How was I so unaware that orgasms could feelthatgood? Lev stands with my joggers in hand and eases them back on before helping me to my feet. His gentle hands have me so confused about who these men are. I look in his eyes, trying to figure out what all of this means. He just stares back at me.
Do I thank him?
Heat rushes to my face at the thought before Lev’s arms wrap around me to pull me into a hug as his lips brush my forehead, and his hand tangles in my loose ponytail. I honestly can't remember the last time I hugged someone who wasn't my uncle. Yet, Lev feels right, like I fit perfectly into his arms. Part of me wants to melt into him and ask him not to let go.
I can't do that though. So instead, I pull away.
“I think we’re even now,” he says as he winks at me, then walks out the door.
I'm left standing there in the dimly lit classroom thinking about what just happened. In the span of the past two hours, I feel like everything’s changed.
I’ve survived tragedies, planned wars, gone up against world-renowned fighters, and created a name for myself in a male-controlled organization. Yet, when it comes to this place and these men, I have a feeling I’m in way over my head.
Chapter 13
Alexi’s still brooding. He won't look at me as he storms through the halls back to our suite. I try a few more times to get him to talk, but his grunts start to piss me off, so I decide to go confront Lev instead.
Alexi might not have noticed how Evie’s body seemed to curl into itself with his threat, but Lev and I sure as hell did. I don’t think he realized just how much her clothes mean to her. I’m shocked I even realized it. She may look strong on the outside, but I have a feeling this woman is hiding a few monsters in her closet.
I have to admit, I have a soft side for her already. She brought me pizza,with all the meat. How do I not ask her to marry me after that? I walk back towards the classroom and am taken by surprise when I hear a muffled scream. I glance around, unsure of where it’s coming from. It didn't sound like a painful scream. Oh well, there must be some kids getting it on in the janitor's closet or something.
Yet, as I get closer to the door to the classroom, the noises only seem to grow louder.
So this is why Lev stood up for her. Instead of barging in through the door to watch, I lean against the wall just outside. I hear Evie’s muffled voice shatter, calling out the little nickname Lev said she gave him. My dick practically groans in my pants, hard as fucking steel in an instant.
Damn, that's a beautiful sound.
I happen to know first hand Lev is talented in the bedroom. His quiet nerdy exterior might fool some, but he is patient in learning what a girl likes, and it seems he’s found exactly how to make Evie scream. I smile at that thought. Lev may know what he is doing in the bedroom, but he’s never really taken to anyone before. He’s always distant with women.
Hell, he’s distant with Alexi and me even though we’ve known each other since we were in diapers. He cares about us, but he doesn't really open up. Alexi struggles with that, thinking that it has something to do with Lev not respecting his future position, but I see it for what it really is.
Lev doesn't like what we do, but he does it for Alexi. He has to disconnect himself from the hard decisions though, and he does that by doing his best not to care unless he has to. Which is what makes this all so strange. Not only did he stand up for Evie, but he put his arm around her like he wanted to protect her. I intend to find out exactly what’s going through his head. The door swings open a minute later and Lev steps out with a shit-eating grin on his face and a small cut on his neck. He turns to walk away when he sees me, causing part of his smile to drop.
“Oh no you don't, brother,” I say, not wanting him to throw up his walls like he was caught doing something wrong. “Care to tell me what caused you to stick up for our little pet?”
A giddy grin spreads over his face as he throws an arm around me, “Come on, I’ve been inspired. I think I know just what to do with the piece you’ve been wanting.”
The little bugger knows just how to distract me. I've been waiting for him to finish this art for months. He likes my scars to be fully healed before he covers them, but I could tell he was struggling with this piece. It's a nasty one that ripples, but he’s been determined to find a way to cover it. My tattoos aren't an act of rebellion like Lev’s. He covered himself in art because he was denied the ability to create it. He colors his hair and paints his skin to hold on to the part of himself that he never wants to let go of. For me, they tell a story that’s too ugly for most people to understand. People think I got them to look scary and intimidating, like they are an accessory and not a part of who I am. They couldn't be more wrong, and I've never bothered to correct them.
When I was thirteen, I came home from school to my father in a drunken fit after my mother had died. He immediately came up to me and asked me why I failed my Greek history final. I smarted off to him, just as pissed at the world as he was. He backhanded me so hard that I fell into the coffee table and sliced my arm. I needed fourteen stitches that day. You would think after seeing your kid in the hospital covered in blood because of something you did, it would deter you from doing it again.
Instead, he seemed to take it as a game. Wanting to see how far he could push the limits before I broke or the evidence became too obvious.
He ended up leaving a lot of scars. He would shout bullshit at me about taking it like a man and needing to be strong if I was ever going to step into his position one day. I’m pretty sure if that man received half the beatings he gave me as a child, he’d be dead.
When I turned fifteen, I was sick of having to explain the scars, so I decided to tell my story with tattoos instead. Lev was talented with art and got into tattooing to help me out. He’s the only one who’s seen all of the marks my father left. He never dug too deep, but instead, he just left the floor open for me if I ever wanted to talk about it. He’s done every single one of my pieces, blending them perfectly to hide every ugly mark my father ever made.
The scar on my arm, the one that started it all, is now covered with Odysseus. The scar runs through his eye, splitting him in two. The same way I felt that day. From that point on, I was two people. The person my father thought he was making me to be, and the person I hid from him so that I could have my own sense of self.
Odysseus was a strategic warrior who helped the Greeks triumph in the Trojan War. After I failed the exam, our teacher allowed us to do a report on someone in Greek history who inspired us in order to bump up a letter grade. I picked Odysseus. I stayed up all night writing that paper, becoming more and more intrigued by everything I learned about his past. The teacher ended up giving me an A because she was so impressed. I didn’t deserve that letter grade, but I took it home proudly. My father's only response was to throw it in the fire.
My wing chest piece is laced with fire like a phoenix. When I would embarrass my father, he would hold me against a wall by my chest until I passed out. This was after people started asking questions about the cuts and bruises, so he began to change how he punished me. However, I learned to get right back up the second I could. I never crawled or cowered to him like he wanted me to. I would always stand up and face him like a man. I could never tell if that pissed him off more or made him proud.
