3. Levi
LEVI
T here’s nothing like waking up to the scent of citrus and lavender in the air.
Except for when the little brat wearing the intoxicating perfume barges through the door at noon with the vacuum on the destroy the sound barrier setting.
I groan, grab the pillow beside me, and hold it over my head.
It doesn’t help, but at least I can compose myself before I have to look at her.
Ava doesn’t stop, banging into shit and otherwise being a holy fucking terror while she vacuums my room.
“Jesus Christ,” I grit, rolling over to find she’s not even looking at me. Her headphones are in her ears, and she’s sweeping as if I’m not lying right in front of her, dick swaying in the breeze, with a massive fucking hangover.
Without her realizing I’m here, it gives me a moment to check her out.
My little housekeeper is something that men used to go to war for.
Perfect little body, round ass, pretty green eyes.
Throaty voice that I can’t help but wonder if it would sound just as sexy moaning my name as it does when she’s stuttering out some excuse for being in my father’s room.
Ava Ryan is perfect in every way.
And that’s why I can’t fucking stand her.
Climbing from the bed, I go over to the wall, bend down, and rip the cord from the plug.
My head throbs in the silence that follows.
Ava spins around, letting out a yelp when she sees me there. I doubt the little vacuum tyrant even knew I was here. She’s never been very perceptive, especially when it comes to me.
Fucking figures . . .
“Oh my God!” she blurts, her eyes wide as saucers and filled with horror.
I look down, following her gaze.
Oh, right. My dick’s still out.
“You want an autograph?” It lacks any humor, because well . . . after being woken up like that, I’m not feeling very humorous.
Ava’s cheeks flush a deep shade of crimson, and she looks past me, toward the wall instead.
I almost laugh. I would, were I not still on edge from her waking me up from a dead sleep. I rarely get sleep without strings attached.
“I-I-I . . .”
She’s flustered. It’s cute. Oddly enough, I’ve never found anything cute before in my fucking life.
Unable to resist fucking with her, I step closer, and she backs up abruptly until she crashes into the dresser behind me.
Yeah, just as I thought. I’d chew her up and spit her out before breakfast.
“If you wanted a peek, all you had to do was ask.”
“I’m s-sorry,” she stammers, feet still rooted in place where she’s pressed back against the dresser. “I-I’ll go.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” She doesn’t respond, though I can hear her sharp little intake of breath.
Fuck, I forgot how beautiful she is up close. Like she was handcrafted to ruin me.
“Come on, Ava. You woke me up for a reason. Might as well make it worth it.”
Her eyes find mine for only a split second, and finally, fucking finally, she decides to fight back.
“Did I?” she counters. “Wake you?”
“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” I know exactly what she’s referring to, and I’m not sorry.
No matter how much she’s on my mind, some subconscious part of me needs to prove to her that it doesn’t mean anything.
Why else would I bring random girls home every night?
“Lonely over there in your little prudish bubble?”
“You’ve woken me up for the last three nights with your . . . fans ,” she says haughtily, crossing her arms over her chest. Of course, my eyes follow, and she notices me checking her out, only making her glare at me more.
Grabbing a pair of boxers from the end of the bed, I slip them on. Forgive me, but fucking with her makes my dick hard, and the last thing I need is her knowing that.
“So, you were eavesdropping.”
Her cheeks darken even more, and she looks away.
I want her to meet my gaze, but she refuses. Part of me wants to break that habit. The other half is grateful. Staring into her eyes is like staring into an eclipse. Fucking dangerous.
“I’m just asking you to at least be considerate that there are other people here that work for a living and have to get up early.”
How could I forget? I’ve only been reminded of that simple fact every time I’ve caught a whiff of her intoxicating perfume in the last six months she’s worked here. It’s like that shit’s hardwired to go straight to my dick.
Don’t even get me started on the rest of her.
Suddenly, I’m acutely aware of the little brat standing in my space. Her scent. The little baby hairs blowing in the fan—the ones that frame her delicate face. Fuck, the blush on her cheeks. The fire in her eyes.
Bad idea, Cross . . .
Unfortunately, I’m full of those.
“So, you’re jealous.”
Her mouth falls open, and I chuckle low and dark under my breath.
“Of course not.”
“When was the last time you got laid, Ava?”
“None of your business,” she snaps.
Her cheeks flame when I take a step toward her.
Then another until her perfect ass hits the dresser.
She lets out a sharp intake of breath when I stop in front of her.
Close enough that she can feel the heat of my body.
Far enough away that she can’t feel how hard my cock is.
How my heartbeat’s rocketing out of control in my chest.
. . . Just how much I enjoy these spats with her.
“You wish it were you in my bed at night? Making you come until you can’t hold it anymore? Until you can’t be quiet no matter what you do?”
Her lips purse, and she glowers at me. I still catch the shiver that rolls through her and the way her thighs tighten.
This is what I live for. She fires off at me. I fire back. The highlight of my day is fighting with Ava Ryan, and I’d be lying if I didn’t fantasize about bringing her back to my room every single night, instead of the girls I bring home.
Fuck, I can’t get her out of my head.
She’s burrowed her way into my brain. In every single one of my darkest fantasies.
It’s fucking madness.
“You know what I think, little ghost?”
“Don’t call me that,” she grumbles, bending herself back over the dresser in an effort to get away from me.
The lamb and the big bad wolf.
I smirk, leaning forward and placing both my hands on the dresser beside her, effectively caging her in. She’s so small, I tower over her, especially at this angle. She keeps her eyes on my chest, refusing to meet my gaze.
“I think you’re pissed off because I’m not bringing you into my room at night.
I bet if I slipped my hand into your panties right now, you’d be soaking wet for me.
” She swallows audibly, a tremor moving through her.
She looks to the side when I press just that hair’s breadth closer, nearly aligning my body with hers.
“That what you want?” Her breath hitches when I reach up, dragging my knuckles down the side of her neck.
“You want to be fucked until you don’t have to think about anything but me and the things I’m doing to you, sweetheart? ”
Fuck, she smells like heaven. Like salvation.
Like everything I can’t fucking have.
“You’re an asshole,” she grits, her voice breathier than usual. “And I wouldn’t sleep with you if you paid me a million dollars.”
“Is that so?”
A throat clears behind us, and Ava launches away from me like I’ve just spontaneously caught fire. I don’t move for a moment because I don’t give a fuck who’s at the door. I’m having too much fun.
“Ava, what are you doing in here?” Paulina’s voice is stern, and I cock a brow in her direction. She’s never been outwardly warm toward the housekeeper, which is strange to me. Usually, Paulina loves the strays with as much heart as anyone else in the family.
I mean, fuck, she practically keeled over when Mila went missing the second time.
“I-I-I’m sorry.”
There’s that I’m sorry shit again. I’ll break that habit if it fucking kills me.
“I’ll just go.”
“I think that would be wise,” Paulina says, her cheeks flushed with irritation.
Ava rushes to grab the sweeper cord, but I beat her to it. Picking it up, I don’t hand it to her. I look right over her head at Paulina, and judging by the way her lips tighten, she understands exactly what I’m saying.
I’m the only one allowed to fuck with Ava. Aunt or not, I won’t tolerate her hostility.
“It’s okay, Paulina,” I murmur, stepping right into Ava’s face. She glowers up at me, and the eye contact sears. “She can look if she wants. We both know she wouldn’t know what to do with it if she got her hands on it.”
And then I drop the cord in her hand and push past her into the bathroom to shower and jerk off to the image of the pretty little housekeeper on her knees for me, moaning my name.
My brother doesn’t look up from his newspaper when I plop down in the chair across from him.
“Rough night?”
“Fuck off,” I grumble, scrubbing a hand over my hair. It’s getting long, but I have no desire to go to a barber and get it cut. Barbers require small talk. I’m not one for small talk.
“Paulina came to tell me you were rude to her this morning.”
Snitch .
“Paulina was rude to the housekeeper.”
Christian smirks. “ Just a housekeeper, or a particular housekeeper?”
My brother is turning into a gossip.
“Does it matter? She’s staff.”
“Funny how that only applies when you’re trying to talk yourself out of fucking her.”
“Please, tell me more, Mr. Psychologist. I’d love to hear what other theories you’ve got.”
“Therapy might do you some good. Fix that loose screw in your head.”
“Therapy’s for bitches.”
Finally, he folds the paper down and sits on the desk in front of him, chuckling under his breath.
“Must be getting old,” I remark, nodding to the paper. “You’re really stepping into this whole dad role, aren’t you?”
“I’m not a dad,” he grunts, grabbing a cigarette from his desk. The moment he pops it between his teeth and reaches for the lighter, the doorknob behind me turns, and he spits it out like a dog caught with something it shouldn’t have.
I chuckle because Mila steps in, completely oblivious, while Christian shoots me a death glare, warning me not to tell her.
Fucking whipped.