Chapter 27
Levi
Iwoke before the sun, but this time the bed felt different.
Becca was curled against my chest, her breath warm and even on my collarbone, one leg hooked over mine like she was afraid I’d disappear if she let go. The faint scent of her shampoo lingered on the sheets, mixing with the river air that slipped through the cracked window.
I didn’t move. I wasn’t sure I was capable of it.
I lay there just watching her sleep, and there was something happening in my chest that I didn’t have words for—this enormous, almost unbearable feeling, like my ribcage was the wrong size for what was inside it.
Fifteen years. Fifteen years of wanting her, of watching her from the wrong side of every distance I’d either built or been handed, and she was here.
In my arms. Her eyelashes dark against her cheeks, mouth soft and slightly open, the faint freckles across her nose that only showed up in certain light.
I knew about those freckles. I’d been noticing those freckles for longer than I’d ever admitted to anyone, including myself.
This is real. I had to keep reminding myself. This is actually real.
I felt something that might have been the closest I’d ever come to reverent.
Like I’d been handed something I hadn’t earned and was terrified of dropping it.
Like the universe had made some beautiful, inexplicable mistake in my favor, and I was just lying here in the dark, heart full to the point of aching, trying to memorize every detail before it disappeared.
It didn’t disappear.
I brushed a strand of hair off her forehead, light enough not to wake her, but she stirred anyway. Her eyes fluttered open, sleepy and unguarded, and when she saw me looking, a slow, shy smile curved her lips.
And there it was. That smile. The one I’d replayed more times than I’d ever admit, the one that had gotten me through more bad nights than I had any right to confess.
Only now it was real, and it was close, and it was aimed at me, and I felt the impact of it somewhere behind my sternum like I always did, except now I didn’t have to pretend otherwise.
“Morning,” she whispered.
“Morning.” My voice came out rougher than I meant it to.
She shifted closer, pressing her bare skin to mine, and the simple contact sent heat rushing through me all over again. Last night had been everything.
I kissed her forehead, then her temple, then the corner of her mouth.
She sighed into it, turning her face up so our lips met properly.
It was soft at first, lazy, like we had all the time in the world.
But the longer we kissed, the hungrier it got.
Her hand slid down my chest, nails grazing my stomach, and I groaned against her mouth when her fingers wrapped around me.
“Becca,” I rasped, already hard for her again.
She smiled against my lips. “Still want me?”
“Always.” I rolled us so she was on top, straddling my hips, her thighs bracketing mine.
I ran my hands up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts, then cupping them fully.
She arched into the touch, head tipping back, and the sight of her—flushed, hair mussed, eyes half-lidded—nearly undid me right there.
I sat up, pulling her closer so her breasts pressed against my chest. We kissed again while my hands roamed her back, her hips, the curve of her ass. She rocked against me, slick heat sliding along my length, teasing without letting me in, and I bit back a curse.
“Condom,” she breathed.
I reached for my jeans on the floor, grabbed one, and rolled it on with shaking hands. She watched me, eyes dark and trusting, then lifted herself just enough to guide me to her entrance.
“Slow,” she whispered.
I nodded, gripping her hips as she sank down inch by inch. We both groaned at the stretch, the heat, the way she fit me like she was made for it. When she was fully seated, she stilled, forehead pressed to mine, breathing hard.
“You feel…” I swallowed. “Like everything I’ve ever wanted, and I almost can’t believe this is happening.”
She kissed me then and started to move. Gentle rolls at first, then longer strokes, her hands braced on my shoulders.
I met her rhythm, thrusting up to meet her, one hand sliding between us to circle her clit with my thumb.
She gasped into my mouth, hips moving against me, and I felt her start to tighten around me.
“Levi—”
“Come for me,” I murmured against her lips. “Let me feel you.”
She did—shattering with a broken cry, clenching hard around me, nails digging into my shoulders. I followed right after, burying myself deep, groaning her name as I pulsed inside her.
We stayed like that—sweaty, trembling, wrapped around each other—until our breathing slowed. She collapsed against my chest, and I held her tight, one hand stroking her hair, the other splayed across her lower back.
I pressed my lips to her temple. “How are you feeling?”
She nodded against my neck. “Amazed. And scared, maybe. In a good way.”
I kissed her hair. “Me too.”
We lay there a while longer, skin cooling, hearts steadying. Eventually, she lifted her head, eyes soft and searching.
“Shower?” she asked quietly. “I’m sticky. And I want to feel you close again.”
My chest tightened. “Yeah. Come on.”
I turned the water on, let it heat while we stood there naked in the cramped space, foreheads touching, hands gentle on each other’s skin. When steam started curling around us, I stepped in first and pulled her under the spray with me.
The water was hot, pounding against our shoulders as she pressed her back to my chest. I wrapped my arms around her from behind, one hand splayed across her stomach, the other cupping her breast. She sighed, head tipping back against my shoulder, and I kissed the wet curve of her neck.
“God, you’re beautiful,” I murmured against her skin. “Even soaked and shivering.”
She laughed softly, reaching up to thread her fingers through my wet hair. “You’re not so bad yourself. God, I never thought I’d ever like this tiny shower.”
I turned her slowly, backing her against the tile wall.
The water streamed over us, slicking every inch of skin as I kissed her.
My hands roamed down her sides, over her hips, between her thighs.
She was already slick again, sensitive from earlier, and when my fingers slid inside her, she gasped into my mouth, hips rocking against my hand.
“Levi…” Her voice broke on my name.
I kissed her harder, swallowing the sound, working her slow and steady until she was trembling, thighs shaking, fingers digging into my shoulders. When she came, it was quiet this time—shuddering, clenching around my fingers, a soft, broken whimper against my lips.
I held her through it, kissing her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth as she came down. She looked up at me with eyes that were glassy and full, and something in my chest cracked wide open.
“I’ve wanted this forever,” I whispered. “You. Just you. Like this. Mine.”
She cupped my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. “I’m here,” she said simply. “I’m right here.”
We stayed under the spray until the water started to cool, washing each other gently—my hands in her hair, hers soaping my back, quiet laughter when we bumped elbows in the tiny space.
When we finally stepped out, I wrapped her in a towel, rubbing her arms to warm her, kissing her forehead while she shivered and smiled.
We dressed in the bare minimum, her in an oversized T-shirt that hit mid-thigh and smelled faintly of her lavender detergent, me in a pair of boxers from my bag—and padded barefoot to the kitchen.
The tile was cool under my feet, the early light slanting through the small window above the sink in soft, pale gold.
Becca opened the pantry and pulled out a box of Pop-Tarts.
The foil packets crinkled as she tore one open—strawberry, her favorite, the kind with the thick frosting and colorful sprinkles that looked too cheerful for how tired we both were.
She slid two into the toaster slots, pressed the lever down, and waited.
Thirty seconds later, the kitchen filled with that sweet, toasted-sugar smell, warm and nostalgic.
We sat at her tiny table, side by side, knees brushing under it the second we settled. The lamp was still on from last night, casting a soft golden pool across the wood.
She took the first bite, eyes closing for a second as the strawberry goodness hit her tongue. I watched her throat move when she swallowed, watched the way her lips curved in quiet satisfaction, and felt that same helpless attraction I’d carried for years tighten in my gut.
“You’re staring again,” she said without opening her eyes.
“Can’t help it.” I leaned forward, voice low. “You look like you’re tasting something holy.”
She laughed softly, set the Pop-Tart down, and reached across to brush her thumb along my lower lip. Before I could think, I caught her wrist gently and kissed the pad of her thumb, tasting sweet pastry and her skin.
Her breath hitched. She leaned in.
The kiss started slow, soft mouths, lingering, tasting Pop-Tarts and sleep and each other.
Then it deepened. I cupped the back of her neck, fingers threading into damp hair still tangled from the shower.
She made a small sound against my tongue, shifted closer until her chair scraped the floor.
My free hand found her thigh under the table, sliding up the soft cotton of her shirt until I felt bare skin.
She parted her legs just enough for me to settle between them, thumb stroking the sensitive crease where thigh met hip.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing harder, foreheads pressed together.
“Pop-Tarts are good,” she whispered, lips brushing mine. “But I’m thinking coffee might be better.”
I smiled against her mouth. “Violet’s?”
“Yes.” She kissed me once more, then pulled back just enough to meet my eyes.
Her voice dropped, vulnerable in a way that hit me square in the chest. “I feel lighter with you here. Like everything—the LLC, the planning documents, Travis showing up, the podcast deadline—it’s all still there, but it’s not so overwhelming anymore.
You make the noise go away. I keep waiting to feel afraid again, like I always do when something big is coming, but right now I’m not.
I’m just here. With you. And it feels safe. ”
I swallowed hard, thumb tracing her jaw. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted to give you.”
She smiled and stood, eyes shining with a brightness that looked almost painful, like joy and fear were fighting for the same space behind her lashes.
“Then let’s go get coffee. Let’s sit at a table and hold hands underneath it like idiots.
Let’s make these next few days fun before everything gets loud again.
I want to laugh with you. I want to steal kisses in the parking lot.
I want to feel like this—like nothing can touch us—for as long as we can. ”
Her voice cracked on the last word, just barely, but I heard it—the tiny fracture that said she knew how fragile the wish was. My heart squeezed so hard it hurt, a deep, bruising ache that spread behind my ribs.
“Yeah,” I said roughly, throat thick as I stood up to take her hand. “We can do that.”
We stood there a moment longer, the air between us suddenly too thin to breathe properly. Then she reached up, fingers trembling as they curled into the front of my shirt, and pulled me down.
The kiss didn’t start gently. It crashed, raw, desperate, like she was trying to pour every unspoken thing into my mouth before she lost the nerve.
Her lips were soft but insistent, parting mine with a small, broken sound that went straight through me.
I groaned low, hands flying to her face, cradling it like something breakable even as I kissed her back just as hard, tongues meeting in a slick, hungry slide that tasted like salt and need.
She pressed herself closer, body trembling against mine, fingers knotting in my hair so tight it stung in the best way.
I backed her into the doorframe, one arm braced above her head, the other sliding down her spine to pull her hips flush to me.
She arched up with a soft whimper that vibrated into my chest, legs parting instinctively so I could settle between them.
The friction was immediate, searing—she gasped into my mouth, the sound ragged and unguarded, and I swallowed it like it was mine to keep.
We kissed like we were running out of time, like if we stopped, the world outside would rush in and take this from us.
Teeth grazed lips, breaths came in sharp, uneven bursts, her nails scraping lightly down my neck as if marking territory she was terrified she might lose.
Every time I tried to ease back for air, she chased me, lips swollen and seeking, whispering my name against my mouth like a plea.
When we finally broke apart, foreheads pressed together, we were both shaking. Her eyes were wet, lashes clumped, cheeks flushed so dark it looked like fever. Mine burned too. I could feel the pulse hammering in my throat, every nerve raw and exposed.
“I’m so scared this is the last easy thing we get. But I want it anyway. I want every stupid, perfect second before it all changes. Too much is going on.”
I cupped her face, thumbs brushing the damp tracks on her cheeks.
My own voice came out wrecked. “Then we take the seconds. All of them. And if it gets hard, I’m still right here.
Holding your hand under the table. Stealing kisses in parking lots.
I’m not letting go, Becca. Not unless you tell me to. ”
She let out a shaky, watery laugh, then surged up to kiss me again—slower this time, deeper, like she was sealing a promise. When she pulled back, her smile was tremulous but real.
“Come on,” she said, voice still husky, lips brushing mine with every word. “Before I cry and ruin the tough-girl vibe I’m trying to project.”
I laughed, rough and low, stole one more bruising kiss, slow, lingering, full of everything we weren’t saying.
We got dressed, grabbed jackets, keys, and each other’s hands, stepping out into the cool morning air still tangled together, still breathing hard, still holding on like the world might try to pry us apart any second.