Second to None

11. Levi

CHAPTER 11

Levi

L eeds, Friday, August 22nd

In some ways, Cass hadn’t changed.

He still had the same effortless charm, a mix of cheek and self-deprecation that made people trip over their own two feet. It was on full display now, as he gave my acts a tour of the backstage area, Frank trailing behind, and explained how things worked at a big-scale festival concert like this. How the stage was divided into zones of movement so the cameras and lights could track him. Showing them his in-ear monitors, custom-made so he heard a perfect mix of the instruments and vocals rather than a wall of noise. The importance of making eye contact with different sections because “even if you can’t see them, trust me—they’ll swear you looked right at them.”

I could practically see them falling in love with him. Hell, I didn’t blame them. He was the kind of person who could chisel through any armour, find the cracks, and pour himself into them like molten gold. They’d never stood a chance.

But I knew him still. So I caught the details most people would miss—an undercurrent of exhaustion, almost invisible under the glossy sheen of energy. It was in the dip of his head when he paused to listen, in the set of his shoulders when he answered Cosma’s question about bad weather contingency plans.

Was it the swirl of speculation that wore him down? Our surprise band reunion had been everywhere—good for publicity and thus donations. While serious outlets had left it at a vague mention of fans expressing ‘particular interest in how close Monroe seemed with former bandmate Levi Blake, given they haven’t been spotted together in years,’ gossip rags showed rather less restraint. They’d dug into murky confirmations of my sexuality, analysed his rainbow necklace and our dinner date, and cited anonymous sources ‘close to us’ that claimed we’d always had a ‘special bond.’ No mention of Emily, though. Cass’s team had done their job.

Twenty minutes to showtime, with night settling down, Cosma, the boys, and I left Cass with his band and found the restricted viewing area next to the stage. I got stopped more than usual, some asking for pictures, my face clearly fresh in people’s minds after the charity performance and being linked to the Cassian Monroe. My acts hovered nearby, pretending to be cool even though their eyes darted between the crowd and the stage often enough to betray their excitement.

The side area offered a decent vantage point. When the lights over the main stage dimmed to yellows and pinks, large screens flickering with Cass’s logo, the energy shifted from scattered cheers to piercing screams. Once the band filtered out to take their places, fans pressed forward like a wave. A chant of Cass’s name rose up.

Showtime. My body knew the signs, adrenaline flooding my system even though it wasn’t me about to burst on stage.

“This is mad ,” Cosma said, leaning close to be heard over the roar.

Yeah, it was. And still my chest ached with a sharp kind of longing, nothing like when I’d caught one of Mason’s shows some months ago. This was bright and immediate, slicing through my delusions about being here as a distant observer.

And then Cass strode out.

The crowd screamed in colour as his silhouette emerged, striking against the luminous backdrop. A gladiator, born to the stage. The haze of the spotlights doused his loose silk shirt in a kaleidoscope of rainbow hues, his face all angles and softness, long fingers curling around the microphone like a caress. I bit the inside of my cheek, used the sting of pain to settle my rabbiting pulse.

No. I couldn’t do this. Not again.

The music started, raw and thundering, with the crowd singing every word right back at him. He prowled the stage, magnetic under the lights, and I caught just bits and pieces of the song, snatches of lyrics that made no sense in isolation—‘dive deep’ and ‘holy water’ and ‘in my bones.’ I knew his hits because they were impossible to escape, but I’d never actually listened to any of his albums—afraid to find myself in them, afraid that I wouldn’t.

The first song melted into the second, every moment bright and immediate to me. His curls, haloed by the haze of spotlights. The delicate dip of his collarbone, laid bare by the undone buttons of his shirt. His eyes, dark and half-lidded like it was just us alone in some hotel room—only this was thousands, all tethered to him.

“Leeds!” he yelled once the song drew to a close, the faint throb of a bass lingering. “Thank you for lending me your voices. You sound beautiful !”

Another roar rolled over me, and I remembered what he’d said back in LA—that people weren’t here to hear him sing, but themselves. It pulled me back into myself, a stubborn edge to the realisation that I wasn’t just another fan succumbing to his magic. I knew him.

I knew the way he scribbled lyrics in messy bursts, his notebooks a chaos I’d loved deciphering. I knew how his hands moved over my body, warm and steady, and the faint surrender in how he curved into my kiss when he wanted me to lead. I knew the chinks he hid from the world, like how he wasn’t that close to his parents even though he claimed otherwise, or the sharp scent of his sweat after a run.

It settled something in my bones. No, I wasn’t just another face in this crowd.

As if to prove me right, he glanced at where I stood. I wasn’t sure he could see me, not with the lights in his eyes, but the cheeky tilt to his smile faded into something soft and real. He turned back to the crowd a second later, introducing his third song.

“Wow,” Cosma said, just loud enough for me to hear her. “So it really is true, huh?”

I wasn’t meant to confirm anything yet. Cass’s team had provided clear instructions, something about a steady drip-drip strategy, only in much fancier terms. So I shot her a little smile. “I’m your mentor, love. You want to gossip about boys, call a friend.”

She grinned, clearly unimpressed by my deflection. “Yeah, sure. But just so you know, you guys aren’t subtle. The way you look at each other—like, anyone with half a brain can see it.”

“Half a brain and the willingness to use it,” I said with a wink. “Not a given these days. And this is not a confirmation, just so we’re clear.”

“Okay.” She laughed, ducking her head. “Noted.”

Cass’s next song was one of his bigger hits, thrumming with positive vibes. Halfway through the first chorus, he strode to the far side of the stage and picked up a sign someone held out to him, waving it for the crowd to see. Dusted in glitter, it spelled out a multi-coloured ‘Love is love.’

He was grinning when he handed it back, a thousand phones raised to capture his every move. And that… just… That was it . The moment it hit me that this was real. He was real. Maybe a part of me had held out until now, suspending belief and wondering if he might change his mind, turn tail and run. But—no. He wouldn’t. He was in this, entirely.

And Christ —I was too.

* * *

‘Where are you staying?’

I read it over. Deleted it. Only to rewrite the exact same words and hit send before I could change my mind again. Then I sat back on the bed of a hotel room that was guaranteed to be a notch below Cass’s—when leaving was a security risk, you made damn sure the digs were nice. Of course it wasn’t as bad as it had been with Neon Circuit, the fans had grown up with him, but he still couldn’t move freely in places where his presence was expected.

They’d whisked him away right after the concert, no chance for me to even say goodbye. He might already be on a flight home, for all I knew, because up until now, I’d refused to plan ahead.

‘Dakota Hotel,’ he replied within a minute. ‘City center.’

So, a five-minute walk from where I was staying with my acts. With the festival in full swing, we were fortunate to snag rooms through the label, which had reserved plenty since three of our artists were performing. I stared at my phone, something restless swirling through my gut. If I went to see Cass now…

Fuck it.

‘Can I come over?’

His response came almost immediately—a room number. All right. I was doing this, then. Or—we were. Unless he had no idea what this was, thought I might just be looking for an innocent chat.

But he knew me too.

‘10 minutes,’ I wrote back, then quickly brushed my teeth and threw on a hoodie before I left.

The streets were quiet at this hour, even with the festival in town. My heart pulsed in time with my steps, steady and deliberate. Outside the Dakota, a small cluster of fans still huddled in hopeful whispers, their phone screens like the glint of fireflies as I slipped past—unnoticed, I hoped. This was not for show.

Generic chilled-out music welcomed me to a dark, stylish lobby. Once upon a time, I’d practically lived in hotels like this; now, I just felt… over it, kind of. But I still knew how to act like I belonged, projecting confidence as I strode towards Frank, who was waiting for me by the lift. “Evening,” I said.

“Levi.” He nodded briskly even as something eased around his eyes.

“You taking me up, then?” I asked.

“That’s why I’m here.”

I shoved my hands into my pockets and gave him a quiet smile. “Thanks, Frank.”

“Thanks for remembering my name.” He didn’t wait for a response, simply turned to stall the lift door so I could enter first. I wouldn’t have been sure what to say anyway—ask how many of Cass’s hookups didn’t bother to learn the bodyguard’s name? Yeah, hardly.

So I walked past Frank into the lift. He followed and swiped his keycard, and then we watched the numbers climb. Top floor, of course.

“I, uh.” I slid him a quick glance. “Back with Neon Circuit, you know—I remember everyone who kept me in one piece. Didn’t always make it easy for them, mind you, but we travelled the world together. That kind of trust sticks, so I figure it’s the same for Cass with you.”

His gaze lingered on me for a beat before he shifted his stance, more relaxed now. “Appreciate it.”

We fell back into silence. When the lift slid to a buttery halt, I took a deep, harsh breath before I exited into the corridor ahead of him, heart fluttering. Yeah, I was nervous. Sue me.

“Go left,” Frank said. “It’s the second room on the right.”

“Thanks.” I turned to find a ‘Do not disturb’ sign hanging off Cass’s door. I knocked anyway, energy like a living, breathing thing under my skin. I rocked back on my heels, forward on my toes—and then Cass pulled the door open.

He must have showered not that long ago, hair curling in damp ringlets against his temple. No make-up to hide his imperfections, his face washed clean, blue eyes clear and almost grey in the dim light of the corridor. Barefoot.

This wasn’t Cassian Monroe. This was Cass. Just Cass.

And I wanted him even more.

I was staring. So was he, shadows in his eyes that I couldn’t read. Without a word, he moved half a step to the side, and I walked past him into the room. He closed the door and leaned against it.

“Good show,” I said softly, turning.

“Thanks.” He didn’t smile, and neither did I.

“Cass.” I said his name like it was a sentence, and he dipped his head the slightest bit. It felt like an invitation. He didn’t move, though. Just stayed there, leaning against the door, his lips parted as he drew a breath that made his chest rise.

I closed the space between us.

Toe to toe, faint warmth radiating off him, the lingering trace of his shower gel. He spread his thighs just a little, enough to slide down by an inch or two, and held my gaze. A challenge? A plea?

I kissed him—hard, desperate, like I’d been holding my breath for years. Caging him in against the door, my fingers digging into the meat of his forearms. His mouth opened under mine, hot and slick. Taste of toothpaste on his tongue. I chased it, relearning the ridges of his teeth all over again, and he kissed me back just as fiercely, fingers fisted in the back of my hoodie to pull me closer.

“Lee,” he said into my mouth, and I swallowed whatever other words might follow, stumbling back and dragging him with me. We bumped into a sleek console table, a lamp wobbling without falling. The brief flare of pain as the table edge connected with my hip faded into a background hum almost immediately. Irrelevant.

“Bedroom?” I muttered.

“Yeah.” His laugh was rough and breathless, made no actual sense in response to my question but for how it came out overwhelmed, like he needed this as much as I did. His lips were swollen already, spit-slick. “Behind you. Door’s open.”

He nudged me into motion, the gentle pressure at odds with the bruising grip he had on my waist. We tripped into the bedroom, all understated luxury—dark woods and soft lighting, furniture that didn’t demand attention but exuded wealth. A quick glance to orient myself, then I closed my eyes, heartbeat like thunder in my ears, like a rainstorm rolling in. His teeth trailed down my jaw, his breath hot. Jesus. I blinked down at him.

He raised his head and our eyes met. Somehow, everything went still for a beat.

Here we are.

“Is this…?” Cass trailed off, a hitch in his breath that made me reach out to frame his face. Fuck, he was beautiful. Always had been, but now… There were subtle differences to when we’d been younger—a quiet strength in the set of his jaw, a hint of stubble, a new maturity in his eyes. But the way he looked at me was the same. Open and waiting. Trusting.

“Yeah.” I leaned in for another kiss, slow and searching this time, the frantic haze lifted for something that ached in my chest and bones. “Yeah,” I repeated, the word shaped against his lips. “We are. If you’re in. If you want.”

“Yes,” he said, a near-whisper as though it held some kind of inescapable truth. “Levi , yes .”

Oh, thank God. Because I couldn’t imagine stepping back from him now, hated the thought of not being able to touch anymore—didn’t want to revive the distance that had stretched for too damn long.

I pushed him back onto the bed, felt like I was falling right along with him as I watched him sink into the plush duvet. He splayed his legs, obviously hard, damp hair a mess against the white sheets—sinful and real, nothing calculated about it. Mine , I thought and no, he wasn’t. But tonight, I could pretend.

His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. I kicked off my shoes before I draped myself over him, my thighs bracketing his hips, my knees pressing into the mattress. His hands slid up under my hoodie and T-shirt, painting a warm trail up the length of my spine. I dropped my forehead to his, and for a moment, we stayed just like that, breathing together.

This was us. This was how we’d used to be. Not those desperate, angry nights in the final year of the band, when we’d crashed into each other, all sharp edges and bruises—but before. Young and impossibly bright, so in love it felt like the world couldn’t touch us.

Yeah. Well.

“Too many clothes,” Cass murmured.

Right. I nodded, nose dragging along his, before I sat back to pull the hoodie and T-shirt over my head. He made no move to follow suit, just lay there watching me, and I resisted the urge to cross my arms in front of my chest. The faint draft of the air conditioning cooled the flush on my cheeks.

“Is this a party for one?” I asked, striving for confidence I didn’t feel. Maybe he noticed because his smile turned soft.

“It’s been years, Lee. Let me look my fill.”

“Goes both ways, you know?”

“Yeah, all right.” He raised himself up a little and grasped the hem of his T-shirt, got it tangled around his head. I reached out to help and tossed it aside, a chuckle easing the breathless weight in my stomach.

“Smooth, Monroe. You’d think a certified sex symbol would have better moves.”

“It’s called expectations versus reality.” His tone was light, but something about his expression didn’t sit quite right with me—an uncertain tilt to his mouth, almost imperceptible in the gentle wash of the bedside lamp. Hmm.

“Good thing I’m here for the reality.” I shifted to straddle him, pressing down . He inhaled sharply, the tension in his face melting away even as his body arched under mine. I skimmed my palms along his stomach, mapping out the changes—the broader chest and firmer lines of his stomach, the small Lyra constellation inked into his skin. When I’d first caught sight of it, I’d read it as a betrayal that he’d gotten it without me. Now? Now I curved down to trace it with my tongue, mesmerised by the delicate lines.

‘A reminder. Of what it cost me—being too afraid to be true to myself.’

“Levi,” Cass said, low.

I hummed before I nipped at his skin, wondering what he’d look like with a love bite right next to the tattoo—a different kind of reminder.

“ Levi ,” he said again, more emphasis behind it. I raised my gaze, and he smiled at me, slow and luminous. My heart gave a dizzying lurch, and then the room tilted when he rolled us over, quickly kicked off his jeans and returned to my side. No underwear. I swallowed because—God, he’d always had a pretty cock. I’d just… forgotten, or maybe I hadn’t wanted to remember. Not massively long, but thick and nicely curved, his treasure trail neatly trimmed.

The first time I’d touched him was the same night he’d kissed me, stretched out on top of him on the sofa as the other boys wandered off to bed one by one, with variations of “Keep it down, will ya?” I’d been his first, and even then, everything raw and new, a part of me wanted to be his last.

His voice pulled me back to the present. “C’mon,” he said, tugging at my trousers. I helped him shove them down my thighs along with my pants. Any flicker of insecurity I might have felt at how I compared—it died when he sat back on his haunches, open wonder in the way he drank me in. It quieted something in me.

“Hi,” I said, smiling.

He inhaled and smiled back, curling one hand around my left ankle, trailing kisses along my shin and up to my knee. I propped myself up on an elbow to watch him—the dark tangle of his hair, the charcoal smudges of his lashes. God . He paused, lips open against my kneecap, then raised his head.

“What happened?” he asked.

Oh. That.

It wasn’t a particularly large scar, its edges uneven where the skin had puckered slightly, pale against my summer tan. I wished he hadn’t noticed it. But I didn’t want to lie either.

“Got drunk one night. Three years ago—almost four now.” I forced myself to hold his gaze. “Dropped a glass.” Whiskey spilling amber across the floor, shards scattering across the kitchen tiles, and me staring at the mess with a dull sort of frustration prickling around the drunken fog in my mind. “I tried to clean it up and fell on it.”

“Jesus, Lee.” His eyes shone with something that wasn’t quite shock, wasn’t quite pity.

I looked away. “On the bright side, it was the final kick in the arse that I needed. Booked myself into rehab the next day. Mason had been on my case for weeks, so… that finally did it.”

Cass shoved a shaky hand through his hair, drawing several deep breaths as silence wrapped around us. Well, hey. Effectively ruined the mood, hadn’t I?

Only then he ducked down and pressed a kiss to the scar—gentle, almost reverent. His voice cracked a little when he spoke. “I’m glad this did it. I’m glad it was this, and not something worse.”

Oh, hell. I reached for him, pushed him onto his back and crawled on top, claimed his mouth like—like— God . Like he was air and water, fire and earth. It didn’t make sense. I couldn’t do this again, but tomorrow was light years away.

He shivered into me, tugging me closer, fingers in my hair. “I want?—”

I kissed him quiet because me too. Me too . Eyes closed, I felt him shift under me, blinked just long enough to see his hand slide under the pillow. When he pressed a condom and lube into my palm, I paused.

“When did you…?”

His gaze was steady. “When you asked to come over.”

“You knew?”

“Hoped.”

This was real, wasn’t it? For tonight, it was. I let the foil crinkle between my fingers, studying him for seconds that thudded in my chest. He let me, the slight tilt of his chin daring me to touch him already, eyes heavy-lidded, the faintest upwards quirk to one side of his mouth. He looked sure of what he wanted, sure it was me, and I was caught by a wave of desire so intense it almost swept me under.

“Right,” I managed. Right.

I set the condom aside for now and squashed the useless thought of how I wished we didn’t need it. This wasn’t then. I stroked one hand along his hip and uncapped the lube with the other before I moved between his thighs. He bent one leg, foot flat against the bed, draped the other over my shoulder, and curved a hand around my elbow, grounding us both. Beautiful, God. How many times had we done this? And would this be the last?

Stop overthinking. Tomorrow can sort itself out.

“All right?” I asked, tracing small circles around his rim, my attention dragging up his gorgeous body. Somehow, I didn’t think he wanted to hear the things I’d used to tell him freely— you’re so beautiful, babe, I just love looking at you. Could do it all day. Like it had lost its shine. Like being adored for his face and body made him wonder if that was all he had to offer.

“Yeah,” he breathed, and I watched the way his lashes fluttered when I nudged a finger into him. He rocked into the stretch, cock heavy on his belly and lips parted as he watched me.

Beautiful . My beautiful boy.

“You make it bloody hard to think, you know that?” My voice sounded hoarse to my own ears. “The way you move with me, the way you open up—it’s like nothing else.”

“Is that a—” He broke off when I added a second finger, head arching back as spots of hectic red bloomed high on his cheeks. Not the polished star the world got to see, but Cass . “That a bad thing?”

“No, Cass. It’s amazing. You’re…” Gorgeous . Fuck, I was messing this up, wasn’t I? White heat flowed through my veins as he shoved back against my fingers. God, yeah, he’d always loved it a little rough. But I just… I needed him to know he was more than a perfect arse and a pretty face to me. Always had been. “You don’t do anything halfway. You’re right here with me, fully in the moment. Totally present. I’ve always loved that about you.”

Too much?

His throat moved when he swallowed. “You don’t have to butter me up, you know. I’m gonna let you fuck me either way.”

“Cass.” I crooked my fingers and watched his mouth fall open, hair a mess against the pillow.

He made a questioning noise, more groan than anything concrete. I leaned down to kiss him, swallowing the little sounds he made at each twist and stretch.

“Learn to take a compliment,” I said when I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.

His mouth curved up, something bright and soft about him even in the shadowed room. “Maybe you’re just terrible at compliments.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I allowed. “I could put my mouth to better use.”

“Or you could fuck me.” He said it lightly, as though it was a comment on the weather. The forecast today? Slightly humid with a high chance of orgasms. Only the way his breath came in quick, shallow bursts gave him away.

God, I’d been with something like a dozen guys since we’d ended, mostly drunk off my arse and trying to purge him from my system. Hadn’t worked—no one had even come close. Because this was us, too: teasing and little challenges, how we could go from heavy to light to hot to sweet in the space of a minute.

I’d fucking missed this.

I’d fucking missed him .

“Well.” I stretched the word like a rubber band. “I guess I could fuck you.” My voice was thoughtful—and then I pushed three fingers into him.

He inhaled, sharp, and bore down against them, his entire body one long, lean curve. “Damn it, Lee. I’m ready .”

I pressed my nose against his throat, my stomach muscles quivering, arms straining with the effort of holding myself up above him. I’d been meaning to make him wait a little longer just to prove that I could, that I wasn’t some fan hanging on his every word. But my control was slipping, blood rushing like a whitewater river in my ears.

Something must have given me away because his voice dipped low and sweet. “Please, Levi? Promise I’ll be good for you.”

Turned out he remembered how to push my buttons, too.

“Okay, babe,” I whispered, and I didn’t notice the endearment until surprise flickered across his face. He didn’t comment, though, just watched with hungry eyes as I slicked on the condom, my hands fumbling slightly.

“Smooth,” he said, a smile coating the edges of his voice.

Some of the tension in my chest dissipated, and I grinned at him. “Some of us don’t have a reputation to uphold.”

“Oh, please—you still set the bar for me,” he said. Joking? I couldn’t quite tell.

“Only because I was your first.”

“That’s not why.” Definitely not joking, his eyes dark and intense.

I had no ready response at the tip of my fingers, so I dropped a kiss to his knee, shifting his legs slightly for better access, and then slowly pushed into him. The way his body stretched for me was… Christ. Fucking magic , pure and true. His nails dragged down my back, a counterpoint to the velvet heat of him.

“You all right?” I murmured.

His head tipped back into the pillow, the pale curve of his throat exposed. “Been worse. Move .”

“Such a sweet talker.” I snapped my hips forward and covered his mouth at the same time, teeth catching on his bottom lip. He opened up, arse tilting to urge me on.

“Media trained,” he said into the gap between one kiss and the next, breathless, and I shivered out a laugh.

“Don’t think sex talk was something they covered.”

He wrapped his leg around me, heel digging in to pull me deeper. I stayed just like that for a moment, breathing him in, our open mouths pressed together. One of his hands framed my face, thumb lightly tracing the line of my cheekbone. God. Cass .

I started to move again, slow at first, shifting in increments. Each one drew a gasp from him, a rhythm building between us that sent hot sparks flitting through my vision. Beautiful friction as I picked up the pace, his fingers digging crescents into my forearm. His hair stuck to his forehead in damp, curling tendrils, pupils blown so wide they swallowed the blue of his irises.

I shoved into him, and he met each thrust, his back arched and spine pressed against the sheets. Sweat shone in the hollow where his neck met his shoulder. I kissed him again, sloppy now as I reached between us to get my hand around him. He covered it with his own, fingers slotting together, slick with lube and sweat.

“Levi. Lee.” Exhaled air more than my name, a tiny crease between his brows catching the lamplight. “I’m…”

“Yeah,” I said, yes , the only thing that made sense anymore. This. Us. Inevitable and impossible, rational thought swept away as he tightened around me. Chasing the edge, mouths pressed together, beautiful darkness crowding in around the corners of my mind.

He clung to me when he came, body snapping taut, and I pushed forward in desperate little jolts, eyes squeezed shut, stars scattered through my vision. “Come on,” he mumbled, voice shot, arms and legs wrapping me up. “Want you to—want you, Lee.”

Like stepping off a cliff. The rush of air stole all thought, suspended in weightless infinity, only to crash back into myself—deep and soft, heart thundering in my ears.

Breaths mingling, his arms around me like he intended to hold on for life. “Stay,” he said.

I shouldn’t.

The sheets rustled when he shifted under me, pulling back just enough for our eyes to meet. “Please?”

And I just… collapsed. I was already in too deep, folding right back into him like I’d learned nothing at all. This was going to hurt either way—might as well enjoy the high before gravity hit.

“Okay,” I said, and it felt like temporary surrender. Just for tonight.