Chapter 26
Becca
“Welcome back to Somebody Said in Sweetbriar—I’ve been thinking about the space between knowing something is coming and it actually arriving. There’s a whole life that happens in that gap. I’m starting to think that’s the part that matters most.”
The day had been mercifully ordinary—hours of answering the same questions about breakfast burritos and lottery tickets, restocking the hot case and the scratch-off display that emptied almost as fast as I filled them, and one very long debate with a customer about whether the sausage or bacon burrito was superior.
By the time my shift ended, the steady routine of it all felt almost surreal after the intensity of last night and this morning.
Levi’s truck pulled up just as I stepped out of work, the familiar rumble cutting through the quiet evening air. He leaned over to open the passenger door for me with that easy smile I was already getting used to seeing directed at me. “Ready to go home?” he asked.
I slid in beside him, the day’s tension melting away the second I buckled in. “Very ready.”
We made one quick stop at Golden Dragon.
The paper bags crinkled warmly in my lap the whole drive back to the campground, fragrant with orange chicken, vegetable lo mein, and a stack of egg rolls with extra sweet and sour sauce packets on the side.
He hadn’t needed to ask what I wanted. He already knew.
When we finally pulled onto the gravel road leading home, Levi glanced over at me, one hand resting lightly on my thigh.
“Tonight’s just us,” he said softly, that small, private smile curving his lips, the one that had always felt like it belonged only to me, only now it carried the quiet comfort of someone who’d already held me through the night and wanted to do it again.
We carried plates to the tiny table, lamp glowing soft gold, river song drifting through the cracked window like a lullaby. We ate slowly, sharing the egg rolls, our knees brushing under the table. Every glance lingered longer than the one before.
He watched me take a bite, and something in his expression softened. “You look happy,” he said quietly, voice warm with something like wonder.
I swallowed, smiling back. “I am. Really happy. Right here, right now. With you. And we’ve got these next couple of days—just us. No podcast yet. No big decisions. Just time to breathe. To be close. I want to hold on to that.”
His smile deepened, slow and gentle, the kind that made tingles run up and down my spine. He set his fork down, leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table. His voice dropped to that low, steady register that always made my pulse skip, but tonight it was quieter, more careful.
“Becca,” he said, reaching across to brush his thumb along the inside of my wrist, slow and light, “last night still feels like a dream I’m afraid I’ll wake up from.”
The words wrapped around me like the warmest blanket. A soft heat bloomed in my chest, my skin felt alive under his thumb, aware of every small, careful point of contact.
I turned my hand over, laced my fingers with his.
“I keep thinking about it too,” I said softly.
“The way you held me after. The way you looked at me like I was something special. I want more of that. I want to be close to you again—slow this time. I want to feel you next to me, hear you breathe, knowing we’ve got these couple of days to just exist together. ”
His breath caught, just barely. His thumb stilled on my wrist, then resumed its gentle stroking, like the motion helped him stay steady. “I want that too,” he said, voice thick with feeling.
I stood slowly, tugging him up with me. Our bodies met, his hands settling at my waist, mine sliding up his chest until I could feel the steady thump of his heart under my palm.
“Then come here,” I whispered, rising on my toes to kiss him.
He met me halfway. The kiss started soft—lips brushing, gentle, like we were savoring the beginning of something we both wanted to last. It deepened gradually, naturally.
His tongue touching mine in slow, careful strokes, one hand sliding into my hair to cradle the back of my head, the other pulling me close so I could feel the warmth of him, the quiet strength in his arms.
I sighed into his mouth, fingers threading through his hair. He walked me backward until my back met the counter. Then he lifted me gently onto it, stepping between my thighs, hands resting on my hips like they belonged there.
We kissed like that for long minutes, lazy, lingering, no hurry at all.
His lips moved to my jaw, my neck, soft, open-mouthed kisses that made me shiver.
I tilted my head back, giving him more room, and he took it—kissing the sensitive spot below my ear, breathing me in like I was the only thing that mattered.
“Bed?” he murmured against my skin, voice low and warm.
I nodded, smiling. “Bed. But slow. We’ve got time.”
His eyes flared dark. He stood, pulling me up with him in one smooth motion.
Then he kissed me—slow at first, reverent, like he was tasting something sacred.
My arms wound around his neck, and his wrapped my waist, lifting me just enough that my toes barely skimmed the floor.
We moved toward the bedroom like we were dancing, shedding clothes in soft piles along the way, my sweater, his shirt, my leggings, his jeans.
By the time we reached the bed, we were down to underwear, skin flushed and breathing unevenly.
He eased me onto the mattress and followed, settling between my thighs, bracing on his forearms so his weight didn’t crush me.
For long minutes, we just kissed—deep, slow, open-mouthed kisses that tasted like years of restraint finally breaking.
His tongue stroked mine, teasing, retreating, coaxing little whimpers from my throat every time he pulled back just enough to make me chase him.
His mouth left mine to map my jaw, the sensitive line of my throat.
He found the spot below my ear and sucked gently; I arched, gasping his name.
His hands roamed—warm palms gliding up my sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts, then cupping them fully.
He rolled one nipple between his fingers, gentle pressure that sent heat arrowing straight between my legs.
“Levi…” I breathed, hips lifting.
He kissed lower—collarbone, the swell of my breast—then took me into his mouth, tongue circling slow, teeth grazing just enough to make me moan. I threaded my fingers through his hair, holding him there while he worshipped one nipple, then the other, until I was trembling beneath him.
When he lifted his head, his eyes were nearly black. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against my skin. “I’ve dreamed about this—about you—more times than I can count.”
“Show me what you dream of,” I whispered.
He did.
His hands slid down my body, learning every curve, the dip of my waist, the flare of my hips, the soft skin of my inner thighs. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of my underwear and paused, eyes on mine.
“Yes,” I said. “Please.”
He peeled them off slowly, kissing every new inch of skin revealed—hip bone, the crease of my thigh.
When I was bare, he settled between my legs again, broad shoulders spreading me wider.
He kissed the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, then higher, his breath hot against me, before his tongue finally touched me with slow, deliberate strokes that had me clutching the sheets.
He learned me with patient devotion. Noting the way I bucked when he sucked gently, the way my thighs shook when he circled just right.
He slipped one finger inside, then two, curling them while his mouth stayed on my clit, and I shattered—back arching, a broken cry of his name, pulsing around his fingers.
He kissed his way back up my body while aftershocks rippled through me, soft presses to my stomach, ribs, throat. When he reached my mouth, I tasted myself on his tongue and moaned into the kiss.
I pushed at his shoulders until he rolled onto his back. Straddling him, I braced my hands on his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle under my palms. I kissed him deeply, rocking against the thick length still trapped in his boxers, drawing a low groan from his throat.
“Becca,” he rasped. “You’re killing me.”
I smiled against his mouth, slid down his body, kissing his chest, his stomach, tracing the line of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband.
I tugged his boxers down and off; he sprang free, hard and flushed.
I wrapped my hand around him, stroking slowly, watching his face tighten with pleasure.
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 to the 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.