Work Text:
You think you might throw up in the elevator.
Levi is standing beside you in dark slacks and a black button-down, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the hotel key card between two fingers. He looks almost bored—something you’ve come to expect of him now. You know him well enough by now. At least, you think you do. You at least know enough to know he’s holding back from the tension in the line of his jaw.
The elevator lifts. Your bag hangs from your shoulder. Two nights. A locked room. No excuses, no rushed kisses stolen in his car, no hiding in the shadows of your dad’s house. Just Levi. Just you. Just all the filthy promises he’s been whispering into your ear for weeks.
You peek at him from the corner of your eye. “You’re unusually quiet.”
Levi’s gaze slides to you. “You want me to tell you what I’m thinking in an elevator full of cameras?”
Yeah, that sounds about right. You shut up, heat rushing to your face so fast that you have to look away. You shift your weight, trying to compose yourself and failing miserably when his eyes wander your body. He steps closer when the elevator comes to a stop. You can smell the scent of his laundry detergent and his cologne.
“You’re nervous,” he says.
“A little,” you reply.
“A little,” he repeats, almost mockingly. “You lied to your father, packed a bag, came to a hotel with a man old enough to be your father, and you’re only a little nervous.”
You inhale sharply. “You came too.”
He lifts one shoulder. “I never claimed I knew better.”
The doors open. He lets you walk out first, his hand coming to rest at the small of your back for a brief second. His touch burns through your shirt. The hallway is lit gold and dim. Your sandals are loud in the empty hall as he leads you down to the room at the very end.
You watch him unlock the door without hurry, though you can feel the restlessness buzzing underneath the surface. The click of the door lock is too loud for your liking. Then the door opens, and you step into a slightly-too-cold room that’s also expensive enough to make you lightly gasp.
A king-sized bed dominates the center, dressed in crisp white sheets and far too many pillows. Floor-to-ceiling curtains hide the city outside. There’s a couch near the window, a glass table, and a bathroom with marble counters and a huge shower visible through a half-opened door. Everything is extremely clean. Very Levi, you think.
He shuts the door behind you, then you turn around, and whatever flimsy attempt at a normal conversation had survived the elevator ride dies instantly when you see his face. He’s done being patient. His eyes rake over you—your top, your shorts, your bare legs, the mouth he’s kissed too quickly for too long—and his expression darkens slightly. He sets the keycard on the table, places your bag beside it, then crosses his arms and stares at you.
“You’re staring,” you mumble.
“I paid for the room. I can stare all I want.” His dry tone makes you laugh, but it wobbles a little. He notices that too. He steps toward you. “Come here.”
You obey without even thinking. By the time you’re within reach, his hand is already at your jaw, thumb pressing lightly beneath your chin to tilt your face up slightly. He looks you over in silence, his face giving nothing away, though his pupils have enlarged slightly.
Pretty. You're too pretty. The fact is almost irritating to him. Wanting you this much is still inconvenient even after weeks of giving into it. You standing in this hotel room with such an anxious, flushed look on your face practically rips at his self-control. Your father would kill him if he knew. But the thought doesn’t matter as much as it should.
Levi thinks about the smaller things. He focuses on the feeling of your pulse fluttering in your throat. He studies the way your lips part when he touches you. He’s unable to let go of the fact that you came here knowing exactly what kind of weekend he intends to have with you.
He strokes his thumb over your lower lip. “Last chance to change your mind.” You shake your head, but he copies the motion. “Say it out loud, doll.”
“I’m not changing my mind.”
“Good.”
Levi kisses you. His hand stays on your jaw, keeping your head where he wants it while he angles his mouth over yours and takes his time opening you up. The first sweep of his tongue is deep enough to make your knees go weak. You make a meek sound against his lips, and he exhales through his nose, almost amused, though the hand at your waist grips you fast.
The kiss turns feral in seconds. He backs you up without hurrying until the backs of your thighs hit the edge of the bed. Then he stops, one hand braced at your hip, the other still cradling your face. He kisses you with such an intensity you feel like you might forget your own name.
You clutch at his shirt, wrinkling the fabric under your fingers. “Levi.”
“What?” He bites your lower lip lightly, then harder when you whine.
You can barely think. “I missed you.”
He tilts his head, then presses his forehead to yours, and when he speaks his voice is lower than before. “I know, baby doll.”
He does. He knows because every night you’ve been home with your father, pretending nothing has changed, he’s been in his own apartment picturing exactly how you looked the last time he had you in his car, thighs spread and face flushed while you tried not to make any noise. He knows because he’s had to listen to your dad talk about you over coffee and casual dinners like nothing is wrong, like Levi hasn’t fucked you with his tongue almost weekly. He knows because this month has made him meaner, needier, and less inclined to be decent.
His hand slides down your throat, over your collarbone, then lower until his fingers catch the hem of your shirt. “Take this off.”
Your hands tremble a little as you pull it over your head. His gaze drops, taking in your brightly colored bra, your hardening nipples beneath the fabric, and the goosebumps rising over your skin from the cold air.
“Pretty,” he says, then he unhooks your bra and throws it aside. You instinctively fold your arms over your chest, but he grabs your wrists before you can hide. “Don’t.”
The command is spoken quietly, but it still sends a jolt of arousal straight between your legs. Levi pins your wrists gently behind your back with one hand and takes a good look at you. His face barely changes, yet the attention is so focused it makes you squirm. His eyes move over your breasts, your stomach, the redness spreading down your neck. He leans in and kisses the side of your throat, lips brushing your skin as he speaks.
“You’re getting all shy now?”
“A little,” you murmur.
“After agreeing to spend the weekend letting me do whatever I want to you?”
The wave of arousal his answer sparks is almost shameful. You suck in a breath and he feels it against his mouth. He lifts his head, sees the truth in your face, and his mouth curves almost cruelly.
“That’s what I thought.”
His free hand closes over your breast. The roughness of his palm and the first firm squeeze has you throwing your head back with a startled gasp. He watches every reaction. When his thumb drags over your nipple and your body twitches in response, his grip tightens on your wrists.
“So sensitive.”
You try to press your thighs together. “Levi—”
“Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this?” His hand still gropes you, kneading, pinching, making your breath break apart in embarrassing little sounds. “How many times I pictured getting you somewhere private and finding out what a good girl you can be for me?”
“I’m always good.”
“Yes,” he says, mouth brushing your ear now, “you usually are.”
Usually. Your stomach drops slightly, but before you can chase that feeling, he lets go of your wrists and pushes you backward by the shoulder until you sit on the bed. The mattress dips under you. He looks at you, standing between your knees.
“Take off the rest,” he commands.
You fumble with your shorts, then your underwear, feeling his eyes latch onto every awkward movement and every inch of skin you reveal. By the time you’re naked, your heartbeat is loud enough to drown out everything else. Levi remains fully dressed; that makes it worse. His gaze drops between your thighs, so you start to close them. He grabs one knee and pushes it wider.
“Did I tell you to hide from me?”
“No.”
“No,” he repeats your answer, then drags his fingertips up the inside of your thigh, not touching where you ache for it the most, but close enough to make your breath snag. He looks almost bored—the nerve of him. “You’re already wet.” Humiliation flashes through you. He looks up in time to catch it. “What, did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
“No…”
“Then stop acting embarrassed.”
His fingers finally slide through your slickness, and you lurch at the sensation. “Fuck—”
Levi’s eyes narrow. “Language.”
“I’m an adult,” you say, glaring at him. “And you swear all the time.”
“Yeah, I do.” His fingers circle your clit once. “But you don’t get to unless I decide you can.” A desperate little sound slips out of you. He gives you another slow stroke and watches your body react as if it belongs to him already. Maybe it does more than either of you wants to admit. He pushes one finger inside, and you twitch.
“Levi—”
“How many times have you touched yourself this week thinking about me?” You blush so hard it almost physically hurts. “That many?” He curls his finger and your answer dissolves into a quiet moan. “I asked you a question, sweetheart.”
“Three,” you whisper.
He frowns. “Liar.” You bite your lip. He adds a second finger without warning, and your thighs tremble around his wrist. “Try again.”
“Five.”
“That’s better.”
He pumps his fingers slowly, stretching you just enough to make you keen. It’s almost humiliating how intimately he stares at you while he does it, as if he intends to stow away every twitch and gasp you make and use it against you later. You grip the sheets. He suddenly withdraws his fingers and lifts them to your mouth.
“Open,” he says.
You do. His fingers slide onto your tongue, and you taste yourself from his hand while he watches, eyes dark with approval. You suck them clean, and his jaw clenches.
“Good girl.”
The praise strikes through you like lightning. He pulls his hand away and unbuttons his shirt before shrugging it off. You’ve seen him half-dressed before, seen glimpses and hints, your hands under his shirt in stolen moments. But this is different. The light skims over his lean muscle and the hardness of his abdomen.
“Lie back,” he says. You listen, the sheets cold beneath your spine. Levi kneels on the bed, spreads your thighs wider and lowers himself between them. Your body tenses in anticipation.
Before you can form a sentence, his mouth is on you. The first touch of his tongue pulls a gasp out of you. Levi’s hand clamps over your hip to hold you down while he laps at you, broad and slow at first, then faster, honing his focus when your thighs start trying to close around his head. He spreads you open with his fingers and eats you like he has all the time in the world to devour you. Every pause is calculated enough to keep you desperate.
“Oh my god—”
“No.” His voice vibrates against you. “You say my name.”
Then he goes back to it, harder now, tongue pressing into your clit while two fingers slide into your pussy and crook upward. The sound that leaves you is wrecked, your hand flying to his hair. He catches your wrist immediately and pins it to the mattress.
“I didn’t say you could touch.”
“I’m sorry—”
His mouth seals over your clit and sucks hard, and all thoughts in your head completely dissipate. Your hips jerk. He holds you down with one hand and works you open with the other, wet sounds filling the room. The noises you’re making are soft at first, then worse, then impossible to control. Heat coils low in your stomach with frightening speed.
He can feel you getting close. He knows every sign now—the clenching of your thighs, your breathing going shallow, the little involuntary rocking of your hips even while he keeps you pinned. It satisfies him in a way he can’t explain, seeing how quickly you come apart under his touch.
“I’m close,” you whimper.
“Close to what?” His insistence on making you say it while he’s completely razing you is nothing short of vicious.
“Cumming,” you gasp. “Levi, I’m—”
“Then cum.”
That’s all it takes. The orgasm hits you so hard your back lifts off the bed. You cry out his name, legs shaking violently while he keeps licking you through it, refusing to let up until your whole body is hypersensitive and twitching under him. Only then does he stop.
He sits back on his heels and wipes his mouth with his thumb, eyes fixed on your face while you struggle to breathe. You’ve never looked prettier to him than you do like this: spent, flushed, dazed, and still wanting more.
You cover your face with one hand. “S-stop looking at me.”
“No.”
He rises from the bed and unbuckles his belt. The metallic sound rings through the room, your stomach fluttering in response. He strips, tossing his clothes over a chair instead of the floor. When he finally wraps a hand around his cock, you inhale sharply. He’s hard, flushed at the tip, and thick enough to make nerves knot in your belly. He steps closer, strokes himself once, then taps the inside of your thigh.
“Come.”
You push up onto your elbows. “What do you want?”
He smacks your thigh. “Watch your tone, brat.” A shiver runs through you. He climbs onto the bed, sits back against the headboard, then pats his thigh. “Lie down.”
Your mouth goes dry, but you listen, moving carefully until you’re laying between his spread legs. His eyes are fixed on you, unable to hide how utterly turned on he is. Levi looks two fingers under chin.
“You said you trust me.”
“I do,” you say.
“Good. Then open your mouth.”
You listen. He slides his thumb over your tongue first, pressing down, watching the reflexive way you soften for him. Then he grips the base of his cock and strokes the head along your lower lip. Precum smears against your mouth, your body tingling in response.
“You’ll tap my thigh if it’s too much,” he says. “Twice.” You nod, but it’s not enough for him. “I need to hear you say it.”
“Yes.”
He feeds himself into your mouth slowly at first, just the tip, giving you time to adjust. You try to relax, breathing through your nose, eyes lifting to his. He’s watching you with that same focus that makes you feel like he’s pinning you without even touching you.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Take it.”
You do, inch by inch, lips stretched, saliva gathering fast. One of his hands comes to rest in your hair, just holding. When he pushes a little deeper and you gag, he strokes your cheek once with his thumb.
“Breathe,” he whispers.
The praise hidden in that one word almost undoes you. You force yourself to relax around him, taking more, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. He swears under his breath, the sound sending a gush of wetness between your thighs.
He’s trying to control himself. He really is. But the sight of your lips wrapped around him, obedient and trying so hard to take what he gives you, is almost enough to scrape the discipline right out of him. Months ago, this would have seemed unthinkable. Now he has one hand in your hair and your spit on his cock in a hotel room he booked for the sole purpose of ruining you in peace.
He should feel guilty. He feels hunger instead, and only you can satiate him.
Levi slides deeper. Your nose brushes his lower stomach, and your throat constricts around him with another helpless gag. He curses quietly and tightens his fingers in your hair, enough to keep you where he wants you while you fight to breathe through your nose.
“There you go,” he says. “Relax that throat.”
Tears gather on your lashes and spill down your cheeks. The humiliation should sting more than it does, but him watching you burns hotter than shame. Every little struggle of your body matters to him because he’s the one causing it.
You pull back when he allows it, mouth wet, chest rising hard as you take air. A strand of saliva clings from your lip to his cock before breaking. Levi’s eyes drop to it and darken further.
“Look at you,” he says. “Making a mess already.”
You clutch at his thighs for balance. You feel his hard muscle tensing beneath your fingers. You swallow and lick your lips, then lean in again before he has to tell you. He strokes your hair back from your face with his free hand and guides you down again. This time, you open your mouth wider. Levi watches you take him, one eyebrow raising.
“Greedy little thing,” he mutters. You moan around him at that, and the vibration drags an inhale out of him. His head tips back for one second, throat working. When he looks at you again there’s far less patience in his face.
He starts fucking your mouth in short thrusts, keeping the pace slow enough that you can take it, deep enough that every push has your throat squeezing and your eyes watering. The sound fills the room, mixed with your broken breaths and the rustle of sheets under you. Your scalp tingles from the grip in your hair. Every time you try to ease your rhythm, he pushes a little deeper and pushes another gag from you.
You won’t tap out, though. Not when the heat between your legs is already so intense. You let him use your mouth, tears blurring your vision. Your thighs rub together for friction, but Levi slaps the inside of your thigh. You jerk with a yelp.
“Keep them apart,” he orders. You force your knees wider on the mattress. “That’s better.”
He pushes you down until your throat takes as much as it can, then holds you there for a long second. Your nose presses to his skin. You squeeze your eyes shut. You make a choked sound around him, and Levi lets out a low moan.
You’re trying so hard to please him. Too hard. The tears on your face, your fingers gripping him, your legs opening for him, you letting him have this—it strikes something primitive in him. He should ease up, but he draws you back just enough for you to breathe and feeds you down again, savoring the stretch of your mouth. You look up at him like this is exactly where you want to be.
When he finally pulls you off his cock, you suck in air with a gasp, lips swollen and shining. He hooks a finger under your chin and wipes one tear away with his thumb.
“Still with me?” he asks.
“Yes,” you whisper, your voice wrecked.
He leans down and kisses you, the taste dizzying—your spit, his precum, the saltiness of your tears. He kisses you hard, not giving you any time to be shy or self-conscious, his hand closing around the back of your neck while the other pushes you backward onto the bed.
The mattress dips beneath you. Levi climbs over you in one smooth movement, his mouth moving from yours to your jaw, then lower. He bites at the side of your neck, not enough to break skin, but enough to make you gasp.
“Be careful with these when you go back home,” he says against your throat. “Your father isn’t stupid.” Another bite, this one lower, at the space where your neck meets your shoulder. He soothes it with his tongue. “If I leave something where he can see it, you’d better cover it.”
Levi mouths his way down your chest, pausing to close his lips around one nipple and suck until your back lifts. His hand braces your hip, holding you in place while he alternates between licking, biting, and dragging his teeth against your sensitive skin. The sting is sharp, then melting, then harsh again. By the time he does the same to the other breast, your hands are tangled in the sheets and your breathing is ragged. He lifts his head to inspect what he’s done. Faint marks already bloom across your skin, deepening red. His thumb traces one slowly.
“Pretty girl.”
Then he reaches into his bag on the floor and takes out a pair of black silk ties. You stare at them. He rolls one out with a flick of his wrist and looks at you expectantly.
“Hands over your head.”
A thread of nervousness winds through the arousal now. You still do as you’re told. Levi pulls your wrists together, wraps the silk snugly around them, then secures it to the bedframe above. It’s not tight, but you can’t slip out of it. You test it once and feel the restraint hold.
Levi narrows his eyes. “If you’re going to tug at it, do it because I make you desperate, not because you’re being difficult.”
“I just wanted to see.”
“And now you’ve seen.” He says it so dryly yet sassily that despite everything, you let out a breathless little laugh.
You bound up like this is almost too much for him to look at without touching. Your arms stretched over your head, chest rising quickly, hair spread out over the pillows—every part of you invites possession. Meanwhile, your father thinks you’re drinking cheap wine with friends somewhere upstate.
He climbs into the middle of the bed, opening your legs. Cool air brushes against your heat, followed by his palm smoothing up your thigh. He spreads you with two fingers and watches your arousal drip. He gives your clit one quick touch, enough to make your hips twitch. He then replaces his fingers with the head of his cock, sliding it through your wetness. Your wrists pull uselessly against their bonds.
He pushes in slowly. No matter how ready he’s made you, the first stretch still steals your breath. Levi doesn’t rush it. He works himself inside, watching your face the entire time, one hand braced on your thigh, the other flat on the mattress near your hip. Your mouth falls open as your body tenses around him. He stops immediately.
“Relax,” he whispers. You try. He feels it when your walls give a little. He slides deeper with an exhale, jaw tightening as your heat closes around him. “Fuck.”
You’ve heard him swear a hundred times, but hearing it like this makes your face warm. You close your eyes for a moment. Levi taps your thigh.
“Open your eyes.” You do. “Good girl.” He bottoms out slowly and stills, his face drawn tight in a way you rarely see. He looks so good like this—hair slightly disordered, chest rising deeper than usual, control hanging on by a thread. He leans down over you and presses his forehead briefly to yours. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
“It’s okay,” you whisper.
He searches your face, finds what he needs, then his mouth brushes yours in a touch that’s too soft to call a real kiss before he pulls back and all that fleeting gentleness vanishes behind his hunger.
The first thrust is deep, enough to make your whole body slide slightly against the sheets. The second is harder. By the fourth, the room is full of the slick sound of him sliding into you and your own moans rising. He builds the pace, never losing control or wasting a motion. Every movement feels designed to remind you exactly how full he’s making you.
“Levi—”
“Talk to me, doll.”
You can’t answer. There’s too much sensation, too much pressure and the pleasure of being held open for him like this. He notices your struggle and smirks faintly, one hand sliding down to your throat, resting there with enough weight to make you feel owned.
“I said talk to me.”
“You feel—” Your voice breaks when he ruts deeper, hitting something that makes your whole body jerk. “So good.”
“That’s more like it.”
He changes the angle by shifting your leg over his shoulder, and the next ram of his hips has you crying out loud enough that he glances toward the door.
“Keep your voice down,” he says, though the satisfaction in his expression gives him away completely.
“You’re the one—ah—”
“The one what?” You stare at him, unable to speak. Levi gives one punishing thrust that leaves you squirming under him. “Finish the sentence.”
“Y-you’re the one making me loud.”
He tightens his fingers lightly at your throat. “You can blame me if it helps.”
He fucks you faster after that, enough to make the headboard knock softly against the wall. The bed creaks. Pleasure gathers low, fed by every drag of his cock, every little sound he doesn’t mean to make but can’t suppress. You feel the control in him slipping away, see it in the flex of his stomach and the way his breathing roughens when your cunt clenches around him.
His free hand slips down between your thighs and circles your clit. The added sensation hits you in a wave. Your head presses back into the pillows.
“I’m close,” you whimper.
“I know,” he whispers.
He rubs you harder, timed perfectly with his thrusts. The pressure inside you spikes so fast it’s almost painful. You pull against the ties without meaning to. Levi says nothing even though he notices, because the desperation in it is exactly what he wants.
“Cum for me,” he says. “Now.”
The command slices through the last of your control. Your orgasm crashes over you with a broken mewl, your whole body tightening around him in violent pulses. Levi swears and drives into into you through it, pace turning rough for several thrusts while he watches you shake with overstimulation.
You’re still coming down when he unties your wrists. For one dazed second, you don’t understand why. Then Levi flips you onto your stomach, one hand between your shoulders to pin you into the mattress while the other drags your hips up. A startled sound leaves you as your cheek presses into the sheets.
“On your knees,” he says.
You scramble to obey, limbs clumsy from the orgasm he just pulled out of you. He moves you himself when you aren’t fast enough, knees spread, chest lowered, ass tilted up. The position is too exposing. You hear him reach into his bag again, so you peek.
Lube.
Your heart stutters. Levi sees the exact moment you realize what he’s holding. “Not tonight,” he says. The knot in your stomach loosens and tightens at the same time. “Tonight, I’m making sure you remember what it feels like to be fucked properly before I start teaching you anything else.”
He lets a slick drop of lube spill over his fingers anyway, then stroke it over your already glistening entrance, where you’re sore and open and still sensitive.
“Why—”
“Becuase tomorrow we’ll need it,” he says, palm smoothing over the curve of your ass once.
He spreads the lube over your pussy until everything is slippery enough. Then he nudges between your folds with his cock from behind. The angle is deeper, more vulnerable, making you tense before he’s even fully inside.
Levi braces a hand on the mattress beside your shoulder and pushes in with a steady thrust. You moan into the sheets, muffled.
“Better?” he asks. You can only nod. “I didn’t hear you.”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, Levi.”
“That’s right.”
He starts slowly, giving you time to adjust to the angle, but there’s only a sliver of gentleness to him now. It’s all burned off from earlier. Each thrust fills you completely. The sound is filthy with the added slickness, lewd enough that you bury your face in the sheets. Levi catches a fistful of your hair and pulls your head back just enough.
“Don’t hide from me,” he growls.
You’re too full of him to be embarrassed properly. He sets a rougher pace, hips snapping into your ass. Your breasts press against the cold sheets. One of his hands grips your hip hard enough to leave marks; the other stays in your hair for several thrusts before releasing to smooth down your spine.
“Such a pretty fucking mess,” he says.
Your thoughts come apart under his roughness. All that remains is the feeling: the stretch of him, the sting of his nails digging into your hip, the hot bite of his mouth when he leans over to sink his teeth into your shoulder. You cry out at the sudden pain. He licks over the mark immediately, then bites lower, over the muscle of your upper back, then at the soft flesh where shoulder meets neck.
You don’t know what comes over you. You raise yourself onto your hands and try to crawl forward. He mutters a “No, no, no, get back here” and grabs your hips, pulling you back onto him. “Hold still,” he commands, pushing you onto your face again.
You try, but he makes it impossible. Every thrust jars through you. His hand slides under your stomach and lifts slightly, changing the angle until you feel him even deeper. A sob rips out of you before you can stop it.
He leans closer enough that his mouth brushes your ear. “You can take it.”
Your pussy clenches around him over and over involuntarily. Levi’s restraint frays visibly. He gives up any pretense of a measured pace and starts fucking you hard, deep enough to rip little cries from your lungs, rough enough that the slap of skin against skin fills the room.
He should slow down. You’re already trembling, already oversensitive from your previous orgasm. But you keep opening for him, keep taking it, and the sight of your back arched and your ass pushed up for him while bite marks darken over your skin is too much.
Mine, he thinks.
His hand slides around to your throat from behind, fingers spreading warm across the front of your neck. “Tell anyone about this,” he says into your ear, thrusting hard enough to make the words shake in your body, “and I’ll make you fucking regret it. You understand?”
“Yes.”
He thrusts again, harder. “Yes?”
“Yes, Levi.”
“Good fucking girl.”
The praise is all it takes. The second orgasm rises too quickly to outrun. It tears through you in a hot wave, your whole body locking around him while a broken moan spills from your mouth into the sheets. Levi feels every pulse of it. His hand tightens at your throat for one beat, the other digging harder into your hip as he guides you through it, using the way you clench around him until his own control slips.
“Fuck,” he grits out. His pace turns erratic for a handful of thrusts, rougher now, his breath breaking. You feel his body tremble as he keeps you in place to take exactly what he wants from you. When he finally cums, it’s with a low groan against your shoulder. His hips stutter hard twice, then still as warmth floods inside you. The sensation makes you whimper softly.
Levi stays bent over you for a moment, chest moving heavily against your back. Sweat cools on both of you. His hand loosens at your throat first, then his grip on your hip eases, fingers sliding over the marks he’s already left there.
You feel completely weightless, hot and sore. The sheets smell like sex now. Levi is still inside you, slowly softening. He presses one kiss to the back of your shoulder, then he pulls out. The loss of him draws a small sound out of you, followed by the unmistakable feeling of his release beginning to slide down your thighs. Heat floods your face.
Levi sits back, eyes tracking the slow spill of his seed. His cock twitches despite the fact that he’s just finished. His palm smooths once over the curve of your ass, then lower, collecting a bit of the mess with two fingers before pushing it back into you. You jolt, a soft moan escaping you.
“Stay still,” he says.
“Levi…” you whimper.
The sound of his name from your mouth like this does something unexplainable to him. He feels it as a very small aftershock in his stomach. He could keep going. He could turn you over, spread your legs again, and make the first night of this weekend into a lesson you won’t stop feeling for days. The thought is tempting, but instead, he drags a hand gently over your spine.
“Can you move?” he asks.
You laugh weakly into the sheets. “Depends.”
“On?”
“On whether you’re asking or ordering.”
Levi snorts. “You choose now to get smart.”
“You make me brave.”
He stops moving his hand halfway down your back. There it is again, that little shift in the air when the moment between you grows softer than you ever intend it to. It slips in at odd moments—after his mouth on yours in the dark, after the quiet late-night calls that somehow become an hour long, after he says something slightly cruel and then checks your face for your reaction to make sure he didn’t hurt you too much. Now it appears here, in a hotel room with your body marked up and his cum still leaking slowly down your thighs.
Levi doesn’t move for a second. He looks at the bite on your shoulder, at the impressions of his fingers on your hip, at the silk tie still dangling from the headboard. Every hour with you seems to deepen the trouble this secret arrangement is bringing.
“Roll over,” he says at last. You do, carefully, wincing a little as you shift your sore body. “Did I hurt you?”
Your mouth curves despite your exhaustion. “A little. But it’s a good sore.”
He looks unconvinced. His gaze moves over you now that you’re on your back—your flushed face, kiss-swollen mouth, the bruises on your throat and chest, the faint bite marks scattered over your skin. Some of them are dark enough that they’ll still be visible tomorrow. He files away where they are, already considering what clothes you’ll need to wear when he sends you home on Sunday.
Levi suddenly looks down between your thighs, to where you’re slick and glistening. You follow his gaze and immediately want to close your legs, but he grabs your knee before you can. He hooks your legs wider apart and studies the evidence of himself on you.
Then he stands and enters the bathroom to grab a towel. He kneels between your thighs. The first swipe of the warm damp cloth over your inner thigh is unexpectedly gentle.
You blink at him. “I can do that.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you?”
Levi looks up briefly, his expression unreadable. “Because I’m already doing it.”
That answer is so characteristic of him, you don’t bother fighting it. You bite back the response trying to rise in your throat and let him clean you. He wipes the slickness from your thighs, your pussy, the mess at the base of your ass where lube and sweat and him have mixed together. Every now and then, his fingers linger a second longer than necessary on your sensitive flesh.
“Still sensitive?” he asks, though he already knows.
“What do you think?”
“I think you should answer properly, you little brat.”
“Very.”
“Mm.”
The sound does nothing to hide the satisfaction in his eyes. When he’s finished, he tosses the towel aside and places his hand on your knees, spreading your legs one more time. You tense, unsure whether he means to start all over again. Instead, he just looks. Your entire body heats under the scrutiny.
“L-Levi,” you stammer.
“What?”
“You keep… doing that.”
“Looking at what belongs to me right now?” He strokes the insides of your knees with his thumbs. “Are you suddenly confused about the arrangement for this weekend?”
You swallow. “No, sir.”
He nods. His gaze changes slightly—you wonder if he’s looking for fear, regret, hesitation. You don’t know what he sees there, but you see his shoulders ease a little. He stands and heads to the bathroom without another word. You hear water run. Cabinet doors open and close. When he returns, he has two bottles of water and the small toiletry bag you saw was tucked into his overnight case. He sets one bottle on the nightstand beside you.
“Drink,” he says.
You push yourself up onto your elbows and take it, grateful for the coldness against your heated skin. You wince after the first swallow, your throat still feeling raw. Levi notices instantly.
“Hurts?”
“A little.”
He unscrews his own bottle and drinks half of it, then sets it aside. “You did well.”
You grip your bottle tighter. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He opens the toiletry bag and pulls out a small tube of gel, gesturing for your arm. “Come here.”
“Did you seriously bring bruise cream to a sexcapade?” you laugh quietly.
“I plan ahead.” He takes your wrist and smooths a little gel over one spot where his grip has already darkened the skin. Then another at your hip. He moves carefully for someone who spent the last little while biting and manhandling you.
He finishes with your wrists, then lets his eyes travel over the marks on your neck and shoulders, assessing what can be concealed and what needs time. He reaches out and brushes his thumb over one bite on your collarbone.
“This one might darken.”
You look down at it. “You did that.”
“I’m aware.”
“Why do you sound like you’re annoyed at me?”
“I’m annoyed at myself.” Levi seems to realize he said too much, because he stutters for a short second. He recaps the gel and sets it aside. “You need sleep.” He reaches for the hotel robe folded at the foot of the bed and tosses it toward you. “Put that on before you start shivering.”
You slide the robe over yourself and sink back against the pillows while Levi pulls on a pair of black boxer briefs and nothing else. The sight of him half-dressed, marked lightly by your nails in a couple of places, makes heat stir again despite the ache between your thighs.
He pulls back the covers and gets into bed beside you, propping himself against the headboard. There’s a moment of awkwardness then, a strange quiet after all the intensity, where neither of you knows whether to preserve the intimacy of what happened or let yourself forget it altogether.
You shift closer. Levi freezes for a second, then lifts his arm without a word. You tuck yourself against his side, your head resting on his chest. His skin is warm, and his heartbeat is slowing under your ear. One of his hands rests on your upper back. Somehow, that simple touch feels more dangerous than the fact you’re sneaking around your dad to have sex with his best friend.
Levi stares at the curtains across the room, fingers moving in absent-minded strokes over the robe at your shoulder. In his mind, he wants to outline tomorrow and set rules, or tell you to sleep on your side so you won’t put pressure on the marks, but he just lies there with you and lets the silence go on.
Your father would have a stroke if he saw this, he knows. The thought is irritating enough that he speaks just to break through it. “Your friends know you’re not with them?”
“Two of them do.”
“Only two?”
“Telling more means more risk. I’m not stupid.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“No, but you were thinking it in your Levi way.”
He looks down at you. “My Levi way?”
“You know. The face.”
“I always have the same face.”
“That’s not true.” You trace your finger lightly over his sternum without thinking. “You have at least… five.”
“Five,” he repeats, sounding almost insulted.
“Maybe six.”
“You’re ridiculous.” You yawn in the middle of the word you’re about to say next, and he scoffs. “There. Sleep.”
“You’re very bossy after sex.”
“I was bossy before sex too. You just find it more charming now.”
You laugh softly into his chest. “Maybe.”
His hand shifts up to the back of your neck, thumb brushing gently under your hairline. “Your father call at all?”
“No, I texted him when we checked in.” You lift your head enough to see his face. “Well. Not that we checked in. That I got to the cabin.”
“Cabin… creative.”
“I panicked!”
“Clearly.”
“All that matters is he believed me.”
Levi’s fingers slide through your hair. Your body is getting heavier by the second, the warmth and the adrenaline finally starting to unwind, dragging you toward sleep.
“Tomorrow,” he says after a while, eyes still on the curtains, “I’m waking you up early.”
Even half-asleep, your stomach flutters. “Why?”
“Because I said I booked two full days.”
You make a small sound, somewhere between a hum and a whine, and feel his chest move with a silent exhale that might just be amusement.
“You’re going to eat breakfast, and then you’re going to do exactly what I tell you.”
“Very romantic.”
“I’m trying to make sure you don’t pass out halfway through the weekend.”
“Oh… that’s kinda romantic for you.”
“Go to sleep.”
You smile against him and close your eyes. He leaves one arm around you and stares into the dim room while your breathing deepens and your body becomes heavier.
Long after you drift off, Levi stays awake. He looks at the marks on your skin in the low light, already planning what he’ll do differently tomorrow, where he’ll put his mouth, how far he’ll push, where he’ll make you hold eye contact. He thinks about the bottle of lube in his bag. About your expression when you saw it. About the mix of nerves and trust that flashed across your face before he told you not yet.
His hand rests on your back, feeling it rise and fall. Then, because no one is here to see it and because the room is dark enough to hide even from himself, he bends down and presses his mouth to the top of your head.
.
Levi bends you over the mattress, pressing your chest into the sheets. One cheek turns to the side against a pillow that’s warmed from your body. He stands behind you, one hand spread over the small of your back, the other gripping your hip hard enough to keep you exactly where he wants you.
He’s spent all day taking what he wants from you in every room this hotel suite allows—against the shower wall under running water, on the couch with your legs thrown over his shoulders while the afternoon sun painted your skin gold, on your knees on the rug while he made you suck him until you had tears in your eyes. Hours of it, broken only by water, food, and the occasional praise from him.
Now his cock drives into you from behind in deep ruts, and your body can do nothing but take him.
Your body already feels wrung out from the day. Every push is too deep, every drag back leaves you gasping into the pillow, and Levi knows it. He knows from the pitch of your moans, from your fingers grabbing the sheet, from the tight, oversensitive clench of your cunt every time his hips slam against your ass. He’s rougher than he was earlier, hair damp from the shower you took together an hour ago and immediately ruined.
“Stay up,” he orders. When your arms start to give he hooks a hand under you and drags you back onto him harder. A broken sound spills from your mouth. “You can manage that.” You don’t know if it’s an order or reassurance anymore. With him it’s often both.
You turn your face slightly toward him. “I’m t-trying.”
“I know you are, baby doll.”
Levi’s hand slides from your back to the nape of your neck, fingers spreading there as he pushes you down fully, angling you. The next thrust drives a wanton moan from your throat. The sound makes him exhale through his teeth.
There. That angle. He keeps it, hits it again, and again, feeling your whole body react under him. Your cunt is swollen from the day, too sensitive, but it still keeps taking him, fluttering and clenching every time he finds that spot inside you that makes your thoughts break apart. The sight of you like this—back arched, ass up, skin already decorated with his marks—does ugly things to his gut.
He should pace himself—he knows this. You’ve had enough to make anyone sore. He knows your body is beginning to feel it; he can see the little wince you make when you move. But every time he thinks to go easier, you make one of those breathless, wrecked noises into the sheets, and the impulse dies.
“Levi—”
“What?”
You can never decide whether you hate when he answers you like that. Right now, it just makes your gut stir. “You’re…” The sentence falls apart when he rams deep enough to steal the rest of it. “Too much.”
“You can take it.”
He drags your hips back against him with a firmer grip, meeting your body in a rhythm that’s gone from careful—in his terms—to punishing. Sweat gathers on your skin. You feel the tension winding tight in his body, his breath rougehning as he chases his release. One hand leaves your hip and slides under your stomach to lift, making the angle even more brutal.
“Levi—”
“Hold still, baby.”
You try. Your thighs shake. Your walls tighten around him in little spasms that only make him lose control faster. He swears under his breath in a vicious, low sound, and his pace turns frantic for a handful of thrusts before he sinks in all the way and stays there, painting your walls with his release. He keeps himself buried as long as he can, and when he finally eases back, his hand remains on your hip.
You tremble, face pressed into the pillow, your whole body tingly with aftershocks of strain and pleasure. Levi looks down at the curve of your back, at the marks on your skin, at the place where your thighs are slick and your pussy clenches reflexively around emptiness now that he’s pulled out. He feels a pang of satisfaction at the sight of his seed beginning to seep out of you.
Then his eyes flick to his bag by the bed. The bottle of lube waits there where he left it, untouched until now.
He’s trying, with mixed success, not to let anticipation show too plainly. He’s thought about this all day. Longer than that, if he’s being honest. Since last night, when he first saw the flash of anxiety on your face and purposefully made himself wait. Through breakfast when you sat in one of his shirts eating fruit and toast with your thighs pressed together. Through the afternoon when he bent you over the couch and watched you take his cock so sweetly he nearly changed his mind right then and athere. Through the evening, knowing exactly where the weekend was going.
He reaches for the bottle, and your breath hitches. Levi hears it and turns his head enough to look at you. “Roll onto your side for a second.”
You obey more slowly than usual. He watches the hesitation in the moment, your hands clutching at the sheets before you push yourself up and turn. Your face is flushed, your hair messy, lower lip caught between your teeth. Nervous, not unwilling. He knows the difference. He wouldn’t be standing here otherwise.
Still, he takes a moment before speaking. “Look at me.” You do. “If you’ve changed your mind, say so now.”
Your heart hammers, not from fear exactly, but from the scale of this moment. From how new it is to you, how intimate it feels in comparison to normal sex.
“I haven’t changed my mind,” you say, your voice a little weaker than you’d like it to be.
“You’re nervous,” he says, looking you over closely.
“Yeah.”
“You’re allowed to be,” he says, brushing his thumb over your hip once.
“What if it hurts too much?”
“It’ll hurt some at first. I’m not going to lie to you about that. It should ease if you listen to me and stop tensing every muscle in your body before I’ve touched you.” Despite yourself, a weak laugh escapes you. His mouth twitches. “That’s better.”
You search his face for some sign of impatience and find none. Only focus and a highly controlled hunger.
“It’ll be okay,” he says. “I’ve got you.” You nod. “I need words.”
“Yes,” you whisper. “Okay.”
He moves you then, pulling the pillow over and positioning you how he wants: on your front again, one knee drawn up slightly, hips angled just enough to open you without strain. He settles one hand on the curve of your ass and spreads you while the other flips open the bottle and coats his fingers generously. The first touch of cool lube makes you flinch.
“Breathe,” Levi says.
You inhale shakily through your nose. His fingers spread it slowly, making sure you’re relaxed before anything else. He works the lube over the tight ring of muscle with slow circles of his fingertips, not pressing it just yet, but letting you get used to the sensation. Your whole body wants to tense on instinct.
“Stop anticipating pain and pay attention to what I’m telling you.”
“I’m trying,” you half-whine.
“I know.” He lets one lubricated fingertip press gently against you, only applying slight pressure. “Relax here.”
You concentrate hard enough that it almost makes your eyes burn. The stretch of him in your cunt still lingers, but this new point of pressure is stranger and undeniably frightening. Levi gives you time—more than you expected. When you start breathing calmly enough, he pushes just the tip of his finger in. You gasp.
“That’s all. Nothing dramatic,” he murmurs.
Easy for him to say. But he doesn’t mock you. He waits for the tension to fade before he adds a little more, careful enough that you can feel every small surrender of your body around him. It burns. It’s not unbearable, but it’s strange.
“You’re doing fine,” he says. “Keep breathing.”
A second finger joins the first after a while, only when the first no longer has you flinching at every movement. This time the stretch bites harder. You make a small noise and clutch the sheets. Levi leans over you, mouth brushing your shoulder.
“I know, darling.”
His fingers move carefully, working you open, giving your body time to adjust. Sweat prickles at the back of your neck. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears. There’s something both humiliating and deeply intimate in letting him do this to you.
When he draws his fingers out, you already miss them. The mattress dips as he reaches for more lube. You hear the slick sound of it coating his cock. Anxiety rushes through you so fast it almost drowns out everything else.
Levi sees your body tense. He leans over you again, presses a kiss to your cheek, then another just beneath your ear. “Listen to me. I’m going to start slow. If I tell you to breathe, you breathe. If I tell you to stop clenching, you stop.” His lips brush your cheek again. “And if it’s too much, you say so.”
Your voice barely cooperates. “Okay.”
He settles one hand at your waist and guides the head of his cock to you. The first press is only pressure. Your whole body stiffens instantly.
“You’re too tense,” he says.
You drag in air, then let it out, trying to make your muscles obey the calm in his voice instead of the panic in your body. The next push breaches you. The sensation is so unfamiliar, so impossible at first, that tears spring to your eyes before you can stop them. A keen breaks from your throat.
Levi freezes immediately. “It’s alright,” he says, one hand flattening soothingly between your shoulder blades. “Look at me.”
You can’t turn much, but you angle your face enough that he can see it. Tears have already spilled warm onto the pillow. The hunger in his eyes doesn’t vanish, but it recedes slightly, surrendering temporarily to concern. He bends and kisses your cheek, then uses his thumb to wipe away the tears.
“I know,” he says again, quieter this time. “I know. You’re okay.” You nod shakily, sniffling. He brushes another kiss to your cheekbone. “You want me to stop?”
You swallow and shake your head. “No.”
His eyes search yours for a long second, then he kisses your cheek once more. “Good girl.”
The praise sends a small shockwave through the discomfort. Levi waits until your breathing steadies before he pushes a little deeper. You cry again, softer, fingers fisting the sheets so tightly your knuckles ache. He pauses every inch, letting your body adjust, murmuring low instructions near your ear. Breathe. Relax. Take it. That’s it. You’re alright.
It feels endless. It’s probably only moments.
When he finally bottoms out, the stretch has become almost blinding, pain braided with a deeper sensation that your body hasn’t processed yet. You can do nothing but lie there trembling, tears drying on your cheeks, feeling impossibly full.
Levi doesn’t move. He stays bent over you, one hand at your waist, the other stroking slowly down your side and back up again. “There. You took it.”
The roughness in his voice makes you realize dimly that this is costing him more control than anything else has all weekend. He gives you time to get used to him. The burn eases, softening into a pressure. It’s no longer unbearable. You let out a shaking breath.
“That’s better,” he murmurs. “Tell me.”
“It’s… better. Still a lot,” you mumble.
“I know.”
He kisses your cheek yet again, then the corner of your mouth from where he can reach it. The tenderness is disorienting enough that you almost turn to mush under it. When he finally draws back and gives the first careful thrust, your breath catches, but you don’t cry this time. The second is slow too, only enough to start teaching your body how to handle the new sensation.
Levi keeps his eyes fixed on your face, watching every flicker of emotion there obsessively. Each shallow stroke loosens you another fraction. Pain still sparks, but you’re now only focusing on the intimacy of being opened this way for him and only him.
“You’re doing better than most would,” he says after a while.
“You have a lot to compare me to?” you half-tease.
His hand slides to your throat from the side, just touching. “Now isn’t the time to get possessive.”
“I’m not.”
He gives a slightly deeper thrust that knocks the protest loose. “Liar.” The insult should sting more than it does. Instead it sends a pulse of heat through your belly. Levi feels the little reaction in the way your body shifts and gives a knowing sound.
His pace remains gentle a little longer, enough that your body gradually stops fighting every movement. The burn dulls. The pressure becomes almost consuming. Your mind grows hazy. Levi notices each change, each tiny exhale, and it satisfies him.
Then your body loosens around him properly for the first time. He clenches his jaw, pulling out farther this time before pushing back in with more force. Your cry is loud. More. He does it again.
He told himself he would keep it slow all the way through. He meant it when he thought it. But now he’s inside you, and your body is finally taking him, and the sight of your tears drying on your lashes while you open up for him anyway has gone to his head like a drug.
The next thrust lands harder. You moan into the pillow, voice breaking around his name. Your mind can’t sort out the sensations anymore. It hurts, yes, enough to make your eyes water, but you also feel so deliciously helpless every time he pulls out and fills you again. Levi hears the difference in your noises and loses the last of his control. He brushes your hair away from your face and bends close, mouth at your cheek.
“That’s a good girl,” he whispers.
Then he rams into you. The bed starts knocking against the wall, which would normally embarrass you, but right now you’re barely coherent and have no room left to care. His hand pins you in place while his cock pushes into you. Small noises fall from your mouth. The pillow muffles some of it, not all.
You can’t seem to decide whether to push back or try to get away from the intensity of it. Your body keeps doing both at once, every thrust making you move forward then rock back onto him again as if it doesn’t know what it wants.
“Too fucked out to hold still, huh?” he murmurs, a hint of approval under his insult. “You were doing so well.”
He keeps your hair off your face with one hand for another moment, thumb brushing once under your eye where tears have wet your skin. Then that same hand slides down to your jaw and turns your face just enough so he can see it better. Your eyes are glossy, your mouth parted, breath coming in shuddering gasps and pulls.
He releases your face only to brace both hands at your hips and drag you back harder onto every thrust. The angle is unforgiving now. There’s no room left for hesitation; everything is near-brutal—the stretch, the pressure, the sting that still sparks, and the disorienting fullness underneath it. Your mind tries to center itself and fails. All it can do is break apart.
“Levi—Levi—” Your voice is reduced to just saying his name.
“I’m right here, baby doll,” he says.
You grip the sheets, knuckles blanched. The marks on your body from the other day ache. Bites on your shoulder and inner thigh. Fingertip bruises at your hips. A faint red impression on one wrist where he tied you up in the morning and left you spread on the bed while he took his time with his mouth. You feel all of them now in quick flashes, your nerves lit up from hours of his attention.
He pulls your earlobe between his teeth. “You’ve spent all day under me and you still spread when I tell you to. Greedy little thing.” A sob gets stuck in your throat. Levi hears it and growls. “You like hearing it.” He thrusts deep enough to wring another moan from you. “You like being used until you can’t think.”
You shake your head weakly. His laugh is almost nonexistent, just a breath of dry disbelief at your ear.
“Lying now?”
Another ram of his hips. Harder. Your answer collapses into a cry. You don’t have enough coherence left to feel properly embarrassed by how wrecked you sound. Every time he pushes all the way in, your mind blanks out for a second. He’s not giving you an easy route to an orgasm, if he’s giving you one at all. You’re just taking him now. Enduring him. Wanting him. All at once.
Levi can tell the exact point at which that realization sinks into you. Your moans turn thinner, more desperate, your hips trying to push back to meet him. He swears softly and sinks his teeth into your shoulder. He kisses over the bite right away. You try to say something—slow down, please, or just his name again—but it dissolves into breathy nonsense. You make a shameless sound.
“Talk to me,” he murmurs against your skin.
“I—I d-don’t—”
He sees it then, the moment your mind slips too far under. He’s pushed you right to the edge of being able to answer, and now what’s left is all moans and pleading tones. The sight of it should probably make him ease up, but it floods him with a dark satisfaction instead.
“So gone already,” he says, then next to your ear, “Look at you. Can’t even tell me what’s wrong.” You whimper again, your whole body shuddering under the force of the next buck of his hips. “Poor thing. No wonder you’re crying.”
You whine. He drags your hips back with a harsh pull and your whole body shivers in surprise.
“Answering me with noises now,” he says, hand sliding to the swell of your ass, squeezing once hard. “Pathetic.”
He’s close. You can feel it, his thrusts losing some of their precision, gaining force instead. His face is pulled tight whenever you manage to glance back enough to see him. His hair is disordered, cheeks faintly flushed, eyes fixed on the place where your bodies meet.
You make the mistake of trying to look back at him fully. Levi grabs your jaw and turns your face just enough to kiss the corner of your mouth, a hard, quick gesture, almost greedy in its own way. When he draws back, his thumb strokes your wet cheek once.
“You’re alright,” he says. “Just take it a little longer.”
You nod. He rewards the obedience with another kiss to your cheek, then another brutal rock of his hips that knocks a cry out of you.
“Good. Just like that.”
His hand slips between your thighs for a second, not to get your off, but to feel the slick mess there, the evidence of how thoroughly he’s fucked you all day. You gasp at the contact. He huffs a low sound.
“So wet and still not getting what you want.” His fingers drag once teasingly between your folds and then leave. “Cruel, isn’t it?” The loss makes you make a desperate sound. “I know.” It’s almost viciously fond, the way he says it. “You’ll survive.”
Then both his hands are back on your hips and he fucks into you hard, chasing his release. Your body can do nothing but yield and shake and make those ruined little sounds into the pillow while he uses you. Every thrust feels too deep, too hard, too much.
Levi’s praise turns rougher as his composure breaks.
“That’s it.”
Another thrust.
“Take it.”
Another.
“Good girl.”
Another, harder, pulling a whimper from you.
“So fucking pretty like this.”
You cling to the sheets as his hand clamps hard on your hip. He buries himself fully and cums with a rough, low groan against the back of your shoulder, hips stuttering before going still. You feel his hot seed inside you, stranger than the release he left in your other hole earlier.
Levi exhales shakily through his nose, forehead dropping briefly between your shoulders. His grip on your hip loosens before he finally lets go. For several breaths, he stays there, half draped over you, still inside you. You don’t move either. You’re not sure you can.
He finally straightens a little and very carefully pulls out. The emptiness afterward is almost as intense as the fullness had been. You make a small surprised sound. A second later you feel something warm begin to seep out of you and you flinch at the unfamiliar sensation.
He soothes you with a hand to your lower back. “Easy.” He grabs a towel from the foot of the bed and folds it beneath you, catching the spill before it can soak into the sheets. Then he slides a hand under your side and helps you roll onto your back. You look up at the ceiling, dazed.
Levi looks down at you, chest rising a little harder than usual. His hands are gentle as they brush your hair back from your damp forehead, the other adjusting the towel under you.
“You with me?” he asks.
You stare at him for a second too long. “Mm.”
He furrows his eyebrows. “Answer me properly.”
“Yes, I’m here,” you mumble.
“Atta girl.”
He scans over your face. Your lashes are wet. There’s a faint puffiness around your eyes from crying. Your lips are swollen from the day’s kisses and the way you keep biting them when you’re nervous. He wipes at one lingering tear track you hadn’t realized remained on your cheek.
“You did well. Very well,” he says.
He kisses your forehead, then disappears into the bathroom. You hear water running, but it’s stronger than it would be from the sink. A bath. He’s drawing you a bath. He comes back long enough to gather the bruise gel, a clean towel, one of the plush white hotel robes, and your abandoned bottle of water before returning to the bathroom again.
When he reappears a second time, he leans over the bed and slides one arm under your shoulders and another under your knees. You look up at him.
“You don’t have to carry me,” you say.
“I’m aware.”
“Then why are you?”
He looks down at you. “Because if I wait for you to stand up on your own, we’ll be here all night.”
The comment makes you smile despite its dryness. You let him lift you. Your body protests instantly—hips, thighs, the ache between them, the newest soreness. Levi feels you tense and adjusts his hold on you, keeping you closer to his chest as he carries you into the bathroom. He sets you down carefully on the closet toilet lid first and crouches in front of you, looking straight at your face.
“Dizzy?” he asks.
“A little,” you answer honestly.
“Drink.”
He hands you the water bottle and waits until you’ve taken several swallows before he seems satisfied. Then he checks one of the darker marks at your thigh.
“This one will definitely bruise,” he mutters to himself.
“You sound proud of yourself.”
His mouth barely twitches. “Get in the bath.”
He helps you step over the edge, one hand on your waist. The hot water bites at first against your already oversensitive skin, then slowly turns into relief. You lower yourself with a small hiss, then sink until the water covers your sore thighs and hips. A groan slips out before you can stop it. Levi, still crouched beside the tub, gives you a long, assessing look.
“Better?” he asks.
“Much.” He nods, then rolls up a washcloth. You watch him. “Are you getting in?” you ask him.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because then you’ll never get clean.”
You hold back a smile. He wets the cloth and begins wiping slowly at your thighs, cleaning away the last traces of lube and sweat and the day’s accumulated releases. You lean your head back against the tile.
Levi rinses the cloth and drags it more lightly over your calves, then your arms, avoiding the bite marks. “You need food.”
“I know. I can order.”
“You can barely keep your eyes open.”
That is unfortunately true. You watch him through lowered lids as he stands, strips off his underwear, rinses quickly under the shower, then wraps a towel around his hips. Back in the bedroom he grabs his phone from the nightstand and begins tapping through a delivery app while you soak. Every now and then he asks a question without looking at you.
“Soup or something solid,” he asks.
“Solid,” you say.
“What kind?”
“Whatever you want.” He gives you a look. You smile faintly and answer, “Italian.”
“Fine.”
He orders enough food for two people, and by the time it arrives, he’s helped you out of the bath, patted you dry, applied bruise gel to the darker marks, and wrapped you in the robe. He’s changed the bed in the meantime as much as possible—a fresh sheet from the hotel closet, ruined towels bundled in the corner, pillows refluffed.
You sit at the small table by the window when the knock comes. Levi opens the door wearing black lounge pants and a grey t-shirt. He takes the bag and brings it over. The meal is simple: pasta with butter and parmesan for you, chicken breast with mushrooms for him, bread, sparkling water, and two little containers of sauce. The smell kicks you into hunger in seconds.
You eat in near-silence. Your fork scrapes lightly against the takeout box. Levi drinks water, watches you finish half your food, and then only seems to show some sort of private concern he hadn’t voiced.
“You were worried I wouldn’t eat?” you ask.
“I was right to be,” he says.
“I’m eating.”
“Yeah. Try to keep doing that.”
You smile down at your food. A few more minutes pass, and the silence lengthens comfortably. Levi finishes his food first, sets his fork down, and leans back in the chair across from you. His eyes move over your face.
“You did very well,” he says.
Your fork pauses halfway to your mouth. “With… dinner?”
He rolls his eyes. “With earlier.” Heat rises slowly through your face. You look up, and Levi is already watching you. “For your first time, you did better than most people would.”
The praise lands harder now than it would have in bed. There, half-strangled by moans and sweat and his hands on your body, it had fed arousal. Here, sitting across from him in a hotel room with damp hair and a tired body, you feel goosebumps run over your skin.
You lower your fork. “You don’t have to keep saying that.”
“Yes, I do.”
You blink. Levi seems faintly annoyed with himself for saying it so quickly, but he doesn’t take it back. He reaches for his water instead, drinks, and sets the glass down.
“You were nervous, but you still did what I asked. You didn’t panic.”
You look down at your food because holding his gaze when he says those kinds of things borders on overwhelming. The parmesan on your pasta has started to melt. You eat another bite just to do something other than stare at it.
“I cried,” you murmur.
“Yes,” Levi says.
“That isn’t exactly handling it well.”
Levi crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair. “You cried because it hurt and because it was intense. Not because you wanted out. There’s a difference. If you wanted to stop, I would’ve stopped.” You know that. Still, hearing it spoken plainly does something to your gut. Levi notices and stares at you for another second before reaching for the bread again. “Eat.”
You laugh. “You really can’t help yourself.”
“With what?”
“Ordering me around.”
His mouth twitches. “You respond well to it.” He suddenly stands and extends a hand. “Come on. You need sleep.”
He helps you up from the chair with one hand at your waist, the other catching your elbow when your legs take a second to cooperate. You make a face the moment you straighten fully. Levi notices.
“Bad?” he asks.
You consider lying and decide it’s pointless. “Not too much.”
“That means yes,” he says, guiding you toward the bed. You sit down and roll onto your side. He adjusts the pillow under your head. He then circles to the other side of the bed and switches off the lamp. Darkness settles over the room, broken only by the city glow. The mattress shifts as he gets in beside you.
Levi moves closer and fits himself along your back, one arm sliding around your waist. His hand rests flat over your stomach beneath the robe. His breath warms the nape of your neck. You let out a slow breath and melt back into him.
Tomorrow you’ll have to go home. Tomorrow night you’ll be back in your room pretending you spent the weekend drinking with friends and sleeping in too late and talking about nothing. The thought feels unreal from here.
Levi seems to sense the turn in your thoughts. “Don’t start that.”
“Start what?”
“Thinking about Sunday.”
Of course he would know. “I wasn’t.” He makes a low sound that calls you a liar without needing the word. You trace your thumb over the back of his hand. “You’ll text me anyway.”
“Yes.”
“Boss me around from a distance.”
“Yes.” You laugh. His arm tightens around your waist. “Go to sleep.”
“You say that like I have any choice.”
“With me, you rarely do.”
You laugh again. You feel him brush his mouth against the back of your shoulder through the robe, not quite a kiss. It sends a small shiver through you anyway.
You feel sleep starting to drag you under when you speak again.
“Levi.”
He makes a small sound of acknowledgement. You don’t know what you mean to say at first. There are too many things. None of them feel safe. In the end what comes out is simpler than any of them.
“Thank you.”
He freezes behind you. His hand then slides once over your stomach, thumb brushing the edge of the robe. “For what?”
“For… being careful. For not pushing when I was scared. For taking care of me after.”
Levi exhales slowly against your hair. There’s no easy answer for him here. You can almost feel him searching for one and failing. He settles upon, “That’s my job.”
You furrow your eyebrows. “Your job?”
“For this weekend.”
You let your hand relax over his and close your eyes fully. “Okay.”
Levi stays awake longer, as he often does. He can tell from the shift in your breathing when sleep takes you completely. His eyes remain open in the dark, fixed on the faint seam of light around the curtains. One hand stays at your waist. The other rests under his own pillow.
Your father’s face flashes through his mind uninvited. The way he laughs too loudly at his own stories. The way he still calls you kid in front of Levi. The way he trusted Levi enough over the years to hand him spare keys, emergency contacts, pieces of his life without hesitation. Guilt spreads outward. He stares into the dark and feels it. He doesn’t deny it, but he doesn’t let it change anything either.
Instead he looks down at the curve of you under the covers, at the robe collar slipped slightly off one shoulder, at the faint bite mark near your neck that will need covering tomorrow. He thinks about sending you home. About the messages that will start again as soon as the two of you are back in separate houses playing your separate parts. About how quickly this stopped feeling temporary. His hand tightens once at your waist, then eases.
When he finally bends and presses his mouth to the back of your neck, the touch is brief. By morning he’ll be composed again, already issuing instructions while he packs your things and tells you what to wear home, where to look if your father asks questions, how soon to text once you’ve showered and shut your bedroom door.
And he’ll already be thinking about when the next trip will be.