32. Sadie
Sadie
T he bookstore after hours feels like our secret sanctuary.
“You don’t have to help with inventory.” Levi’s said this three times now, but he’s smiling as he watches me shelve poetry collections. “Reid’s handling all the business expansion paperwork.”
“I love being here.” I carry new releases toward the front display, breathing in the familiar smell of old paper and leather bindings. “This is where you first kissed me. Besides, I want to understand what we’re building together.”
Four weeks after claiming, and I still feel this incredible sense of belonging. Like every day I discover something new about being part of a pack, about being loved this completely.
It still amazes me sometimes. Being claimed, being wanted, being home. Contributing feels good, feels right. The habit of being useful is older than most, and now I get to channel it into something I actually love.
“I love watching you work.” His voice has gone quieter, rougher. I can feel his breath against my neck when he speaks.
My pulse kicks up. “Levi.”
“I love how you bite your lip when you’re concentrating.” His thumb traces across my mouth, and I have to suppress a shiver. “How you get that little furrow between your eyebrows when you’re problem-solving.”
Heat races through my system, settling low in my belly. “Stop talking like that.”
“Why?”
“Because it makes me want to do inappropriate things in your bookstore.”
His smile promises trouble. “What kind of inappropriate things?”
The question hangs between us, and suddenly the air feels thick with possibility. I can see the exact moment he realizes I’m not joking, when his pupils dilate and his scent shifts to something darker, hungrier.
The smart thing would probably be to suggest we go upstairs to the apartment above his store that’s currently unoccupied. But then he takes a half-step closer, and I catch the full intensity of his scent, and I realize I don’t want to be smart right now.
Instead, I reach for his shirt front and guide him away from the mystery section, walking him backward through the narrow aisle until his shoulders hit the poetry shelf where we shared our first kiss.
His eyes go wide—surprise and arousal mixing in those amber depths—as I claim his mouth. I pour all my gratitude and want into the kiss, tasting coffee and something uniquely him. When his hands tangle in my hair, I make a sound that’s embarrassingly desperate.
“Here?” He’s breathless when I break away to work at his shirt buttons.
“Especially here.” I kiss my way down his chest as I free him from his clothes, mapping the lean muscles I’ve memorized over weeks of stolen touches. “Where you first made me believe I could have this.”
The practical part of my brain notes that we should probably lock the front door, that someone could walk by and see the lights on, that I’m about to give him a blowjob surrounded by first-edition Dickens. But the larger part of me just feels deliciously bold.
When I sink to my knees before him, his hands tangle in my hair with a soft groan that sounds like prayer and surrender combined.
“Sadie, you don’t have to?—”
“I want to.” I look up to meet his eyes, seeing how the amber flecks have gone dark with want. “Want to taste you. Want to show you how grateful I am for everything you give me.”
The first touch of my mouth against him makes him curse softly, head falling back against the books.
I start slow, learning what makes him gasp and tremble, what makes his hands tighten in my hair.
This is new territory for me—not the act itself, but doing it here, now, because I want to give him something instead of because it’s expected.
I trace my tongue along his length, tasting salt and something purely him. His breath hitches when I focus on the sensitive spot just beneath the head, and I file that reaction away for later. The weight of him on my tongue feels perfect, substantial but not overwhelming.
“Damn, sweetheart.” The words come out strangled when I take him deeper. “Your mouth feels incredible.”
His praise makes me bolder. I use my tongue to trace the prominent vein along his shaft, hollowing my cheeks as I work him with increasing confidence. When I look up at him through my lashes, his amber eyes have gone nearly black with want.
“You taste so good,” I murmur, pulling back to catch my breath. “I love watching you lose control.”
The admission makes him groan, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. I smile and take him back into my mouth, deeper this time, until I feel him hit the back of my throat. The sound he makes—broken and desperate—sends heat pooling between my thighs.
I establish a rhythm, alternating between long, slow strokes and quick flicks of my tongue. My hands explore what my mouth can’t reach, one cupping his balls while the other grips his base. When I roll his balls gently between my fingers, he makes a sound like he’s breaking apart.
“Just like that.” His hips start to thrust gently, and I can smell how his scent has gone darker, more possessive. “God, you’re so good at this. So fucking perfect.”
I can feel how he throbs against my tongue, taste the salt of his arousal growing stronger.
His control is fraying—I can see it in the tight line of his shoulders, hear it in the ragged way he’s breathing.
The knowledge that I’m doing this to him, that I have this kind of power over someone so composed, is intoxicating.
“Sadie,” he warns, voice rough with need. “If you keep doing that thing with your tongue, I’m not going to last much longer.”
Instead of backing off, I double down. I take him as deep as I can, swallowing around him while my hand works his base in a twisting motion. His reaction is immediate and violent—a sharp curse as his whole body goes rigid.
I can feel his knot starting to swell at the base of his cock, and the knowledge that I’m doing this to him, that I’m making his alpha biology respond this intensely, sends a thrill through me. I wrap my fingers around the growing knot, squeezing gently.
“Fuck, Sadie—” His hips jerk, and I can smell how his scent has gone completely alpha-dominant, possessive and wild.
“Sadie, I’m close.” He tries to pull away.
But I don’t let him retreat. Instead, I take him deeper, swallowing around the head of his cock until he’s shaking with the effort of holding back.
Part of my brain is amazed at how confident I feel, how right this seems—the same brain that’s also noting how uncomfortable this hardwood floor is on my knees.
“Let go.” I murmur around him.
When he falls apart with my name on his lips, I swallow everything he gives me, savoring both the taste and the knowledge that I can make this quiet, controlled man completely lose himself.
“Come here.” His voice is rough as he pulls me up for a deep kiss that tastes like gratitude and overwhelming love.
But when I expect him to hold me, to let us both catch our breath, his hands are already working at my clothes with purposeful intent.
“My turn,” he murmurs against my lips, backing me against the opposite shelf. “My turn to show you how grateful I am.”
“Levi, you don’t have to?—”
“I want to.” He echoes my earlier words back to me, his hands sliding under my shirt to find bare skin. “Want to taste you. Want to make you fall apart the way you just did to me.”
His fingers find the clasp of my bra, and when he frees my breasts, his mouth follows immediately. The sensation of his lips and tongue on my sensitive skin makes me gasp and arch against him.
“So beautiful,” he breathes against my skin, working his way down my body with deliberate slowness. “Love how you respond to me.”
When he drops to his knees before me, I thread my fingers through his hair, already trembling with anticipation. He strips away my jeans and underwear with careful hands, pressing soft kisses to my thighs as he goes.
“Hold onto the shelf,” he instructs, his voice gone rough with want. “I’m going to make this so good for you.”
The first touch of his mouth against my core makes me cry out, the sound echoing off the bookstore walls. He starts slow, learning my responses the same way I learned his, building me higher with every stroke of his tongue.
“Levi,” I gasp, my grip tightening in his hair. “Oh god, that feels incredible.”
He hums against me, the vibration sending shockwaves through my system. When he slides two fingers inside me while his mouth focuses on my most sensitive spot, I nearly come apart immediately.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, working me with skilled precision. “Let me hear how good this feels.”
I can’t form coherent words anymore, only broken sounds of pleasure as he brings me closer and closer to the edge. When my orgasm finally crashes over me, I come with his name on my lips, my whole body shaking with the intensity of it.
For a moment we just hold each other, both breathing hard. His heart pounds against my chest, and I can smell the satisfied contentment in his scent mixing with the lingering arousal.
“That was...” He trails off, pressing his forehead against mine.
“Good?”
“Perfect.” He kisses me again, softer this time. “You’re perfect.”
We clean up quietly, straightening books and clothes with gentle touches and soft smiles.
I notice he’s careful to put the fallen poetry volumes back in alphabetical order, which is so perfectly Levi that it makes my chest tight with affection.
The bookstore feels even more like ours now—another space marked by our connection.
As we work, I feel nothing but contentment settling in my bones. Usually I might second-guess myself, but watching Levi carefully shelve Byron next to Blake, seeing the satisfied curve of his mouth, all I feel is settled. Right. Happy.
“Thank you.” His arm settles around my waist as we lock up, like it belongs there.
“For helping with inventory?”
He laughs, low and warm. “Among other things.” His expression grows more serious.
“I’m learning that love isn’t just about what you receive.” I lean into his warmth as we walk to his car. “It’s about what you choose to give back.”
As we drive home to our cottage and our nest, I understand completely that being part of this pack doesn’t make me dependent. It makes me free to love as generously as I’ve been loved.
And I finally, truly believe I deserve every bit of it.