8. Levi #2
My hands frame her face as I kiss her deeper, harder, pouring months of want into the connection of our mouths. She responds with hunger that surprises us both, her fingers digging into my shoulders as she pulls me closer, as close as physics will allow and somehow still not close enough.
When her back hits the bookshelf, several volumes tumble to the floor with muffled thuds that neither of us acknowledge.
I brace one hand against the shelf beside her head and use the other to trace the line of her throat.
Her pulse hammers beneath my fingertips.
Her scent is so thick now I can taste it on my tongue.
Sweet and intoxicating and the unmistakable signature of an omega responding to her alpha.
Her alpha. The possessive thought hits me like lightning.
“God, Sadie,” I murmur against her mouth, then trail kisses along her jaw to find the sensitive spot below her ear that makes her arch against me with a moan. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this? How many nights I’ve laid awake thinking about touching you, tasting you?”
“Show me,” she whispers, and the breathless demand in her voice makes my cock throb.
I capture her mouth again, this time with none of the gentleness I started with.
This kiss is claiming, consuming, the kind that rewrites the boundaries between two people.
She meets me with equal intensity, her tongue sliding against mine as her hands slip under my shirt to explore the heated skin of my chest and shoulders.
Her fingertips against my bare skin draw a groan from deep in my throat. I press closer, pinning her against the bookshelf with my body, letting her feel how much I want her. She gasps at the contact, her hips rolling against mine in a way that makes stars explode behind my closed eyelids.
“You smell so good,” I breathe against her throat, nipping at the spot where her scent is strongest. “Like everything I’ve ever wanted but never thought I deserved.”
“Levi, please—” Whatever she was going to ask for gets lost when I find that perfect spot again, the one that makes her knees buckle and her scent spike with pure want.
I catch her as she sags against me, supporting her weight easily while I continue my assault on her senses. My mouth finds hers again and she kisses me back with desperate enthusiasm, pouring every unspoken feeling into the connection of our lips and tongues.
Her taste is intoxicating. Wine and sweetness and essence that’s purely Sadie. I want to memorize every nuance, catalog every little sound she makes when I deepen the kiss or change the angle. Want to learn what makes her breath catch and her fingers tighten in my hair.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. Her lips are swollen and dark from kissing, her hair thoroughly mussed where my fingers tangled in it. She looks absolutely wrecked in the best possible way and seeing her like this makes my chest tight with overwhelming emotion.
I reach up to trace the line of her jaw with trembling fingers, marveling at how soft her skin is and how she leans into the touch.
We stay like that for several seconds, foreheads pressed together, while what just happened settles around us. Her scent is still thick with arousal, mixing with wine and the smell of old books. Her heartbeat pounds against mine where our chests press together.
“I...” she starts, then stops, shaking her head.
“I know,” I murmur, because I’m having the same problem.
Slowly, carefully, I help her stand steady, though I keep my hands at her waist. She looks up at me with wonder in her eyes.
“I’ve been wondering what that would feel like,” she admits finally, color rising in her cheeks.
“Good wondering or the kind that keeps you awake at night?”
“Very good wondering.” Her smile is dazed. “Better than I imagined, and I have a pretty good imagination.”
“I’ve been imagining it for months.”
“Really?” She settles back onto the bench, drawing me down beside her, close enough that her vanilla sweetness wraps around me.
“Since you started coming in regularly a few months ago. You’d browse the historical fiction section but always end up buying practical books instead. As if you were giving yourself permission to dream but only if you also did useful work.”
“I was afraid,” she admits with a rueful laugh. “I used to think I wasn’t smart enough for ‘real’ literature. That I should stick to practical things.”
“Who told you that?”
“College boyfriend. He had very strong opinions about what was worth reading.” She shakes her head. “Took me a while to realize that stories aren’t an escape from real life. They help us understand it better.”
“Your college boyfriend was an idiot who clearly didn’t understand that stories teach us how to live better lives.”
“That seems to be the consensus about my ex.” She’s quiet for a moment, then asks, “Read to me?”
“Any requests?”
“About possibility. About finding what you didn’t know you were looking for.”
I reach for another favorite, this one about second chances and unexpected connections, and read to her while she curls against my side. Her scent grows warmer and more content as the words wash over us, and by the time I finish she’s looking at me with quiet satisfaction.
“Levi?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m really glad this wasn’t actually inventory.”
I laugh, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and breathing in the honeysuckle sweetness that’s become my favorite scent in the world. “Me too.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a while, her head on my shoulder, my fingers tracing lazy patterns on her arm. The bookstore feels transformed around us. No longer just my workplace but the site of where everything changed between us.
Eventually she stirs, checking the clock on the wall with a small sigh. “I should probably head home. Tommy Clanton is picking up anniversary arrangements first thing tomorrow.”
I don’t want to let her go, but I understand. We’ve crossed a line tonight that can’t be uncrossed, but that doesn’t mean we need to figure out everything at once.
“I’ll walk you over.”
She nods with a smile that makes my chest warm.
Outside, the October air is crisp and full of possibility. Our hands find each other naturally as we cross the street, fingers intertwining as if we’ve done this a hundred times before.
At her door, she turns to face me, and for a moment we just look at each other in the soft glow of her porch light. Everything feels different now. Charged with new potential, weighted with the memory of how perfectly we fit together.
“Thank you,” she says. “For tonight. For... everything.”
“Thank you for trusting me with it.”
She rises on her toes to kiss me one more time. Gentle now, sweet, a promise rather than desperate need. When she pulls back, her smile is radiant.
“Goodnight, Levi.”
“Goodnight, Sadie.”
I wait until I hear her lock engage before heading home, my head full of her taste and the sound of her sighs and how she looked at me as if I was what she’d been waiting for.