His hand runs up the inside of my thigh to right where I need him, and my eyes flutter. Guttural sounds fall from my mouth, and he growls—he growls—in appreciative response. God. I want him to growl more.
I run my paint-covered hands all over his body as his mouth travels to my chest. He pulls his head up and stares down at my scar in the stormy moonlight, and my body tenses.
I’m afraid he’s going to change his mind and stop touching me. But instead, he slowly leans back down and presses a soft kiss to the top of the scar.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. He places another soft kiss just below the first, his lips featherlight as they brush against the red mark. “I’m so sorry you wear this.”
I skim my hands up his back and into his hair, stroking the strands as gently as he’s kissing my scar and loving that his lips—Levi’s lips—aren’t afraid to touch my brokenness. “I’m not.”
He looks up from under his dark lashes, his mouth still against my damaged skin.
“My scar reminds me of my hero,” I say.
At first, I think he’s going to refute my words. But quick as lightning, his mouth is back on mine, kissing me like he needs me. And I need him right back.
His back is too broad for me to get a good grip on him, but I sink my fingers into his shoulder blades anyway, grasping at his hot, slick skin as he kisses down my jaw and over my chest. He sucks on my nipple, and I’m pretty sure I would scream if I wasn’t so busy trying to catch my breath. He suckles and cups my other breast as I arch in to him and yank him tighter to me before he moves his mouth down to the sensitive skin of my lower stomach and pulls my panties off.
His hands, his mouth, his everything, work against me, finding wetness, finding the only part of my body that can leave me empty of everything but primal need, and then his mouth is between my legs.
Not touching me, just breathing—which is crazy arousing. Hot, deliberate exhales tickle the sensitive flesh spread out for him, and it’s all I can do not to scream and cry and wail in desire. I shove my hands in his hair and grip his head as his tongue slips from his mouth and slowly licks a trail up the crease where my hip meets my thigh and back down to the most southern skin of my belly. And then slowly, so slowly I think I might die, his warm, wet tongue gently strokes the very center of me with three soft caresses.
Holy hell. Sweet Jesus in heaven. Son of a biscuit eater. I’m in heaven.
Figuratively. Literally.
Heaven.
His tongue rolls over me twice more, and I cry out and fall apart and lose my mind under the blinding and brilliant sensation of his mouth. My thighs tremble violently as I arch my back and claw at the sheets. I don’t know where I am or what my name is or how to breathe, but who the hell cares about minor details like breathing?
Levi Andrews just undid my whole world. With his tongue.
“Condom,” he says breathlessly.
I force my eyes open. “What?” Is someone talking to me? Who DARES to interrupt my bliss?
“Condom,” he repeats.
“Oh. Yeah,” I say. “Good idea. Uh…” My brain doesn’t work. My brain doesn’t work. “My purse!” Brain working now. “My purse.” I point to where it sits on the floor.
He shimmies off the bed and starts digging through my bag. “Why do you have so many condoms in here?” He pulls one out and rips it open.
“Because my best friend travels like a porn star,” I say absently, my muscles flexing with needy bliss.
Did I just call Jenna my best friend?
Levi climbs back on the bed. “Remind me to ask you about that later.”
“Absolutely,” I say, my body still quaking. “We’ll have that conversation right after our conversation about knocking on Pixie’s door before entering her bedroom.”
He puts the condom on and smiles. By the time he’s hovering over me again, I’m pulling at his large body, trying to bring him into me like my vagina is starved and dying. On his elbows above me and with his body up against mine, he stops and stares down at me. Terrified. Nervous.
I shift my hips and whisper, “Please.”
“You sure?”
“God, yes. Yes, yes, yes—”
He pushes into me and I howl like a werewolf. Seriously. It’s that kind of doglike sound that comes out of my mouth. But I don’t care because Levi is inside of me and I feel complete.
He slowly pulls out, eases back in, and I moan impatiently. I don’t want slow.
I’m pulling at him, slapping at his back for more, for faster, and he just smiles at me, driving me crazy with slowness and gentleness.
I whisper, “Pleasepleaseplease—”
And then he shoves inside me, deep and full, and starts pumping away just like I need. He rocks out of me, then back in, until I’m once again on the verge of barking at the moon. I’m clawing at his back, breathing out moans and breathing in spearmint and safety and friendship and hope and healing.
Lightning strikes, and the room fills with thunder and blue light.
Yes.
Rain beats down on the window. The lavender field outside.
God, yes.
He groans and I whimper and we move against each other, two shadows merged into one against the flashing storm outside the window. Nothing has ever felt so right as Levi’s body inside me, his arms around me, and his mouth against me.
He works me to the brink of heavenly bliss again, and I come apart again, losing my mind, and probably my voice, as he thrusts into me one last time.
Lightning. Thunder. Panting. Racing hearts. Rain.
Love.
I wake up in Levi’s arms, morning sunlight glowing in from the window and lighting our bodies. I’m draped over his chest, my naked body rising and falling with each of his deep, even breaths. His skin is soft beneath my cheek and warm against my hands.
Everything before this moment seems like limbo, like I forgot who I was. Like without Charity and Levi to anchor me, I was cast into nothingness, all alone. Lost.
But here, in the warmth of Levi’s arms, I’m me again. Free. Brave. Flawed. Loved.
I want to cling to him for dear life, afraid that if he lets go, I’ll get lost again. I don’t want to be lost. I don’t want to be anything other than what I am right now.
I look him over. A line of bright blue is smeared across his pecs, and a dash of green paints his jaw. I lift up slightly and gaze down at his body. Bright strokes of red and yellow, blue and purple, mark here and there. Evidence of my paint-stained hands on his skin. I look at my stained hands and then at my own body, finding more vivid colors slashed against my hips and chest and arms.
Green and blue strokes smear across the bedsheets, and a splotch of yellow runs along the shell of his ear. A smile plays on my lips as I trace a green finger across a blue stroke on his collarbone. We’re a complete mess. A perfect, colorful, naked mess.